Chapter II: The Tempters

“Mynheer, if you call the position one of absolute despair,” said William Bentinck, “you will not be wrong.”

He spoke to M. Beuningen, late ambassador to England, who was now employed on desperate errands between the States and the Prince.

It was afternoon, warm and cloudy; the two walked up and down the little garden belonging to the farm where the Captain General had fixed his headquarters. About them lay the encampment. The remnant of the Dutch army, thirteen thousand men, had been gathered here at Newerbrugge to defend the two remaining provinces in concordance with the dauntless policy of the Prince, which was in direct contrast to the consternation, desperation, and submission displayed by the Government.

M. Van Beuningen, accomplished, high-minded, voluble, charming and impetuous, fair, handsome, and finely dressed, was silent awhile, fixing his blue eyes on the distant, sluggish waters of the old Rhine.

M. Bentinck spoke again--

“Louis will be at the Hague in a week.”

“How can you utter such words?” broke out M. Beuningen passionately.

“It is so obvious. Did you hear that Leerdam and Knotsenbourg, Swartenluis, and many smaller places have fallen?”

“I know … I know----”

“Well?” M. Bentinck asked.

“I still have hopes.”

“In what?”

“In the Prince.”

M. Bentinck smiled rather grimly.

“The Prince is another matter--he is not involved in the ruin of the States.”

M. Beuningen glanced at him quickly.

“Mynheer,” he said in an agitated voice, “you are His Highness’ friend--tell me, in God’s name, has he a mind to sell us to the French?”

“Why, you speak bluntly.”

“The matter is not one for fair phrasing.”

M. Bentinck knocked with his cane at the heavy heads of the pinks along the walk.

“I am not free to say anything of the Prince, Mynheer; but I will tell you this, His Highness is in no way bound to the States, who have kept his rights from him and treated him with suspicion and distrust for twenty years.”

“You justify his acceptance of overtures from the King of France?”

“I say he is not bound by any law to refuse them.”

“By your leave, Mynheer,” answered M. Beuningen, “the laws of God forbid a man to sell his country.”

“The laws of God,” smiled M. Bentinck, “vary according to the interpreter,--and I think, Mynheer, that there will be very little of the United Provinces left for any one to either buy or sell.”

M. Beuningen uttered a little sound of desperation. The Prince’s friend watched him with some malice, for he had been of the republican party in the days of the glory of John de Witt.

“What is it like at the Hague?” asked M. Bentinck.

They halted by the gate and looked over the neat painted paling towards the camp.

“It is naught but wrath and anguish,” answered M. Beuningen with emotion. “M. de Witt hath but recovered from a raging fever to find himself execrated. He hath written a justification of himself--about the Secret Service money, and the ill supplying of the Army--but who will listen to sober reason?”

“And the peace proposals please no one?”

Coenraad Beuningen replied hotly--

“They are insolent--impossible. When M. de Groot read them to the States, many wept and wrung their hands.… They have asked five days in which to consider them.”

He paused a moment, then added--

“The shops are closed, all business suspended. This week they did not print _The Gazette_; the Binnenhof is besieged with angry people--one feeling appears to warm them against the chill of despair, and that is the firmness of the Prince.”

“These things point to a revolution from within even if we escape conquest without.”

“The Prince hath always had the people, and now they believe he can save them----”

“Do they believe,” asked M. Bentinck, “that by making him Stadtholder they will mollify Charles into breaking with Louis?”

“Some may, I do not.”

“Nor I,” admitted M. Bentinck.

“The States,” continued M. Beuningen, “are further divided among themselves. Many are for accepting the terms as they stand--M. Fagel says he would sooner be cut to pieces than subscribe to them.… M. Jacob Van der Graef was executed yesterday, the crowd tried to rescue him. He confessed to the attack on M. de Witt and expressed his repentance----”

“And named his accomplices,” commented M. Bentinck.

“Who have escaped----”

“They are in the camp the States say.”

“I know. The States wrote to His Highness requesting that the men be delivered up; the Prince had other business to attend to than making a search for obscure fanatics.”

“What of M. de Montbas?” asked M. Beuningen.

“He was found guilty and banished for fifteen years; the Prince told them to reconsider the sentence----”

“Not finding it severe enough?”

“No.”

“That shows His Highness hates a traitor----”

“Or a coward.”

The two men fell into silence, their gaze still upon the tents.

Close by the soldiers had built fires between bricks, and in a raised earth-oven were cooking meat. The sun darted a long ray through the clouds and sparkled on the distant Rhine; a white butterfly fluttered up from the garden and flew over the tents.

A horseman rode up, flung the reins to his servant, and dismounted at the farmhouse gate.

It was the Prince.

M. Bentinck and M. Beuningen stood aside.

“Come into the house,” said the Captain General abruptly.

When they had followed him into the hall he spoke again.

“The English envoys have arrived--I am to see them now. Mynheer Van Beuningen, you come from the Hague, I will speak with you afterwards.”

Leaving the messenger of the States standing under the mirror--the first thing to be found in all Dutch houses (so that the visitor might find his own image before anything)--the Prince turned to the room to the left, followed by William Bentinck.

It was a small chamber of dark wood, plainly furnished; the table covered with dispatches.

The Prince went to the window and opened it. The fever that he had recovered from, as by a miracle, returned at intervals, and had greatly aggravated his asthmatic cough; he was shivering now, though the weather was oppressively hot.

He returned to the table and spoke to Bentinck--

“I have heard from Sir Gabriel.”

“Favourable news, Sir?”

“King Louis is resolved to ruin the States, but is wholly friendly to me. M. de Louvois said the English asked too much, and were not in a condition to put forward such terms as his master--so they quarrel already over the plunder.” He coughed, and seated himself at the table. “I have other news,” he said in the same even tones, laying his letters down. “Nymwegen has fallen.”

“Sir!”

“Yesterday,” continued William.

“We have come to a bitter pass!”

“M. Fagel writes there is fierce dissension at the Hague.… We will see what these English have to say.”

“They are in the camp now!”

“Count Struym conducts them here,” answered William.

He took off his mantle and leant back in his chair. He looked ill, and coughed continually.

M. Bentinck regarded him curiously. He rather wondered what the Prince was going to say to these English.

The situation was so desperate that any terms offered were almost bound to be accepted, but William Bentinck could not think of the Prince as submitting to either England or France.

Suddenly William broke out--

“Did you hear the terms M. de Groot obtained? Outrageous insolence! Does he think we will be content to be slaves? But they brought it on themselves by sending a crawling embassy of submission.”

“Do you imagine the English will be more reasonable, Highness?”

“I think they come to confirm their alliance with France--not to obtain justice for us.”

“Will you see them alone, Highness?”

“No--you remain, William.”

The Prince spoke in a gasping way, and held his hand to his side.

The room was full of hot air from the camp-fires, and the smell of the cooking. William rose and closed the window again, and as he was returning to his chair the English envoys entered, preceded by Count Struym.

There was a second’s pause of curiosity on either side.

William saw two splendidly dressed gentlemen, who carried themselves with an air of pride and grandeur, both tall, handsome, and decked out in the extreme of fashion.

Their persons he remembered perfectly well. The Earl of Arlington, quiet in manner, of a placid countenance, dark ringlets and moustaches, his carriage fine, but rather stout; richly habited now in black velvet and gold brocade, scarlet feathers in his hat, and wearing a collar of jewels. My lord Buckingham, once “the most beautiful person that ever graced a European Court,” but now over florid and heavy, his face suffused and lined, but still with the manner of his youth, and gorgeously attired in white cut velvet, his blonde hair elaborately curled, his blue mantle starred with silver, every detail of his attire sumptuous and costly.

On their part the Englishmen beheld a slight youth of the middle height, with a thin face, an arched nose, curved lips set disdainfully, and deep and powerful eyes, wearing plain armour and top-boots, leather gloves, and a linen cravat.

The envoys swept off their hats and bowed very low; then Buckingham held his beaver against his breast and looked at his companion over the curling feathers.

“I must receive you very simply, my lords,” said the Prince in English, as Count Struym withdrew. “I think that we have chairs--though little else.”

“I am sorry,” answered my lord Arlington, “to meet Your Highness again in this pass.”

“And I,” said the Duke, seating himself grandly, “am pleased to see Your Highness again under any circumstances.”

William gave him a quick look, then addressed himself to the Earl--

“This is my lord Bentinck--he is entirely in my confidence.”

The two noblemen bowed. M. Bentinck knew some English, but did not trust himself to speak it.

The Prince seated himself. He still wore his hat, that shaded his pale face and heavy brown hair.

The Duke, filling the room with perfume, splendour, and dazzlement, sat erect, his right hand on his gold cane, the hazy sunlight winking in his jewels.

William glanced keenly from one to the other.

“My lord Halifax?” he questioned.

“Is following, Your Highness--he was too late to accompany us.”

Of the three it was Lord Halifax whom William preferred.

“Your Highness,” continued Arlington, “we have to put before you the terms of the King, our master.”

“And I, my lord, have some reproaches to make on the manner in which His Majesty has forsaken the Triple Alliance.”

“It is to satisfy Your Highness on that matter that we are now here----”

The Duke interrupted--

“Shall we to business?”

“If you please, my lord,” answered William, not looking at him.

“Your Highness is not too fatigued?” asked Buckingham, who would sooner have gone to his supper first.

“An it please you I will hear you now,” replied the Prince.

The Earl was drawing off his gloves.

“You must not confuse the King’s action against the States with his feelings towards yourself, Highness,” he said.

“Yet I must exclaim against my uncle for this war.”

“Sir, I assure you he would never have undertaken it had he not seen your account very clear.”

The young General lowered his eyes.

“In the war, my lord?”

“Yes; it was always His Majesty’s intention to avenge the ill-treatment of Your Highness by the States,” replied Arlington. “And this war may be much to your advantage.”

William looked up.

“My lord, I cannot discuss the matter from that standpoint.… I speak as the General of the forces of the United Provinces.”

Buckingham smiled.

“It is an army almost non-existent, Your Highness,” he said.

The Prince slightly flushed.

“My lord, I do not admit that--I am expecting help from Brandenburg and Spain.”

“I trust that they will not be needed, Highness,” replied Arlington. “Peace, we hope, will render them unnecessary.”

“I do hope, my lord, an honourable peace may be come by, but the terms the King of France offers are not to be considered----”

“Yet those in desperate straits can scarce be choosers,” answered Buckingham.

“We have not come to desperation, my lord; the Emperor alone is sending me fifteen thousand men.”

The Duke shrugged his shoulders.

“Your Highness has heard of the fall of Nymwegen?”

“Yes, my lord,” answered William composedly, “but we have not the losses of the campaign under discussion--but the exorbitance of the demands of France.”

“The second is the result of the first, Highness--the King of France is in a position to make these demands.”

“And we,” returned the Prince, “are in a condition to refuse them.”

“Your Highness speaks confidently.”

“I would not have my words bolder than my actions--I am prepared to stand by what I say.”

Buckingham answered--

“Sir, what terms do you object to?”

William fixed his eyes on him.

“My lord, to all of them.… M. de Groot offered the King of France Maestricht and the towns on the border, such as Breda, Bergen-op-Zoom, and Hertogenbosch--and in this I think he exceeded his commission.”

“His Majesty rejected these terms haughtily,” commented Arlington.

The Prince glanced at him gravely.

“The King of France’s demands are these--that the frontiers of the Republic be withdrawn to the river Leek, leaving in his hands Guelders, Overyssel, Utrecht and Brabant, Delfzyl and its dependencies, which are, my lords, the keys of Groningen; the free exercise of the Romish faith in the States; the revocation of all edicts detrimental to French commerce; the rights of our East India Company waived in favour of his; a tribute of 12,000,000 florins; and lastly, sir, to complete the humiliation of the States he demands that a formal embassy be sent every year to do homage to him and thank him for having left us so much.”

“Well,” answered Buckingham, “the terms of a conqueror, Your Highness--and what avails it to complain when there is no alternative?”

Arlington replied more gently--

“We will endeavour, Sir, to soften these terms.”

William looked from one to another.

“I think these terms are of M. de Louvois’ suggestion--they will prove the worst piece of policy he ever set his hand to. If he had taken M. de Groot’s terms he had had a great advantage; but now he will obtain nothing.”

The two envoys exchanged a glance.

“Sir,” said the Earl, “you confuse yourself with the States--this does not ruin you.”

William coughed and drew a painful breath.

“What does my uncle desire of the States?” he asked quietly.

“I have the heads of His Majesty’s demands in my mind, Highness,” answered Arlington. “Firstly, the right of the flag, and a yearly rent for the herring fisheries, £100,000 a year or less; secondly, the expenses of the war, fixed at £500,000, to be paid in next October; thirdly, three or four towns as hostages--Flushing, Sluys, the Brill, or such.”

“The States will never agree to those terms, nor could I in conscience advise them to,” answered William firmly.

Arlington was suave.

“They might be moderated----”

Buckingham interrupted--

“Why, by God?… Is France to get all and England nothing?”

The Prince bit his lip with the effort to keep back a violent answer.

“My lords,” he said in a low voice, “I have no power to treat with you save as General of the States, and with the object to detach you from the French alliance. I do not think it would be to the advantage of England to see the Republic in the hands of France, and it is my aim to separate you from your ally.”

Again the envoys looked at each other. Both trained in small dissimulation, neither great enough statesmen to know that candour is often more effective than deception, they regarded this statement as boyish simplicity. It emboldened Arlington to bring out his trump card.

“To return to the terms of France----”

“Sir,” interrupted the Prince, “talk no more of them--we would sooner die a thousand deaths than submit to them.”

“I will take it upon me,” answered the Earl, “to moderate them--so that we find our account in the adjustment; but we must have the cautionary towns.”

“I am confident the States--will never give them,” returned William.

Buckingham rose suddenly and came to the table.

“There is somewhat else to add,” he said, with his air of good-humoured insolence. “You will not lose by this----”

Arlington took it up--

“This in confidence between us: so you cede these terms His Majesty will make you greater than any of your House have been.”

“Is that in your instructions?” asked William quietly.

“It is a point His Majesty made with the King of France,” answered Arlington eagerly. “If you make this peace, not only will the war be removed from your country, but you will be made Sovereign of it, and both the Kings will secure you, at home and abroad. For their Majesties agree to make this a condition of peace with the States, that they take you for King over such of the Low Countries as be left after we have had our partage.”

William kept his eyes lowered, and leant a little sideways over the arm of the chair.

“Ye were to make this proposal to me?” he asked.

My lord Buckingham put the matter more bluntly.

“We are to offer you the hereditary sovereignty of the United Provinces, Sir, if you will give up to the King of England the towns he demands from the States, forbear to contest the conquests of the French, and place in King Louis’ hands those remaining towns he has not yet taken.”

For the first time since the interview William looked at Bentinck, who stood motionless by the window.

“Sir,” said my lord Arlington, “do you hesitate?--you will be a sovereign Prince.”

“I like better,” replied William, “the condition I am in of Captain General of the United Provinces.”

“It is to your interest,” said Buckingham strongly, “to take this offer.”

William gave him a proud look.

“Maybe, sir,” he replied; “but I believe myself in honour, and in conscience, bound not to prefer my interest before my obligation.”

My lord laughed, half wearily.

“Honour and conscience!” he repeated; “it is strange diplomacy that quotes them.”

“They are things,” answered the Prince, “that I have some regard for----”

My lord Arlington interposed--

“I think you are ambitious. This offer may well rouse your hopes of glory--Louis’ ranks offer many chances--you will be protected by the two most powerful kings in the world.”

William put his hand to his forehead.

“Did you come to bait me with these prospects, my lords, or to treat for an honourable peace?”

“This is a peace wholly advantageous----”

“To me, my lord; not to the States.”

Buckingham was contemptuous.

“The States! do they any longer exist?--a handful of traders--always opposed to Your Highness.”

“I must not remember that now, sir, for I am entrusted with their sole defences.”

“Why, the better for you--since you have your revenge put into your hand.”

The Prince narrowed his eyes on him.

“I am Dutch, my lord.”

Buckingham accepted the rebuke with a shrug.

“You are King Louis’ cousin, Highness, and King Charles’ nephew.”

“But I am neither Stewart nor Bourbon, my lord, but of my father’s House.”

The envoys were silent a while. They had bartered away their own honour so long ago that they had forgotten they had ever had any. They were clever at overcoming scruples, but a firm attitude of cold honesty bewildered them both; it roused, too, my lord Buckingham’s sneers. He let his glance run with a galling look of mockery over the young man who presumed to have a conscience.

“If you refuse these offers what other course have you open to you?” he asked. “In whom will you trust?”

William looked at him straightly--

“In God.”

“God!” echoed my lord, with a jesting accent of sarcasm.

The Prince flushed.

“He is not dead because ye have forgotten Him at Whitehall, my lord.”

“I perceive that Your Highness is a fanatic,” sneered Buckingham.

“I am a Calvinist,” returned the Prince; “and I take such comfort in my faith that no mocks can touch me.”

The Duke smiled at Arlington.

“What have we here?” he asked. “This would sound like Tom o’ Bedlam in London. If Your Highness is to talk like a country parson, I am silenced.”

The Earl spoke--

“I must entreat Your Highness to consult your advisers on what we have said--this matter may not be decided easily.”

William rose and held on to the back of his chair.

“It may be decided in a breath, my lord.” He addressed himself to Arlington, and had his back half turned to the Duke. “But the terms of peace--I will appeal to you to consider those. In the name of wisdom, of generosity, of policy, my lord, offer us terms we can with honour accept.”

Arlington rose.

“Sir, if you prove not tractable in this matter we must go to the French, and I have small hopes of concessions from them.”

“I beseech you to try your best, my lord.”

“I shall always be mindful of Your Highness’ interests.”

“If Your Highness is mindful of them yourself,” added Buckingham.

William took no heed of him.

“My lord,” he continued to Arlington, “I should wish you to see some of the States; M. Beuningen is with me--we will approach this matter after supper.”

“Highness,” answered the Earl, “I would warn you--at the present juncture--to make no mention to the States of the offer of the sovereignty of the Provinces.”

“I will make no promise,” said William, who, being jealous of his word, was always loath to bind himself. “I must say what I think fit, my lord.”

“It is for your own good we give the caution,” advised Buckingham arrogantly.

Again the Prince ignored him.

“Count Struym has found accommodation for you, my lord,” he told Arlington. “I will see you at supper.… It were better, perhaps, we considered privately before we said anything further in this matter.”

The English deputies departed, leaving the Prince very pale, very composed, standing by his chair in the modest room, and William Bentinck silent against the window-frame.

“Here’s a proud piece,” said Buckingham, as he flaunted out into the twilight. “Here’s a to do over a few miles of marsh!”

He was, in truth, deeply mortified by the Prince’s cold reception.

“Wait until he has seen his advisers--he will subscribe to our proposals yet,” answered Arlington, himself disappointed. “What prince of one-and-twenty ever preferred his country to his interests?--besides----”

“Besides he hath no alternative,” added Buckingham, “and must know it. This is but playing with us to enhance his own value. Wait till to-night, my lord, you will see me prove myself a pretty politician.”