# The Silent Prince/Chapter 37

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE DEATH OF THE SILENT PRINCE.
Ten years passed, and still the war continued. But it was conducted in a languid and desultory manner, and there were many intervals of peace. The Grand Commander Requesens had been succeeded by Don John of Austria, and he by Alexander of Parma.
The provinces of Holland and Zealand were united in one great hatred and one great hope. They determined to regain their ancient privileges and to expel the detested foreigners from their soil. Brave little Holland was the leader in this enterprise. Think for a moment of that narrow strip of sand and half-submerged earth, only one hundred and twenty miles in length, and from four to forty miles in width, and of that one man, with a backing of only a few cities, waging war for ten years with the most powerful despot of the age!
In the breathing space now afforded them, the people of Holland and Zealand repaired the dykes which they had destroyed in self-defence. It was a ​stupendous task, but the Prince encouraged the people by his presence and his energy. Yearly the Prince made a tour of the provinces. His coming was heralded by the spontaneous homage of grateful hearts. William did not appear before his fellow countrymen as a vulgar potentate seeking admiration. He was like a beloved father visiting his children, and happy and honored were those who heard his voice or grasped his hand. No one was too humble or too ignorant to approach him. His gracious words and outstretched hand were for all.
In 1579 the "Union of Utrecht" occurred, which was the corner-stone of the Netherland Republic. Nine provinces out of the seventeen had ranged themselves on the side of the Prince of Orange, and now they formally banded themselves together for mutual protection and support. They agreed to defend each other "with life, goods and blood" against all force brought to bear upon them by the King of Spain. This union placed the Reformed religion on a level with the old. Protestantism was no longer proscribed. From out of subterranean cellars, forests, caves, and secret conventicles, the heretics who had worshipped God with fear and trembling came out boldly into the light of day, and voiced their devotions in language consonant with their beliefs.
There had been many attempts on the part of Spain to treat with the Prince of Orange, but he ​spurned the proffered hand of majesty. "There can be no friendship between the destroyer and the protector of a people," he said.
At the instigation of Cardinal Granvelle, whose hatred of the Prince of Orange was of ancient date, Philip very readily consented to set a price upon the head of Orange. "It will be well," he wrote Parma, "to offer thirty thousand crowns or so to any one who will deliver the Prince, dead or alive. Thus the country will be rid of a man so pernicious." Accordingly, the famous Ban was fulminated against the foremost statesman of the age, and would-be assassins vied with each other for the coveted reward.
The Silent Prince treated this official document with the contempt it deserved. He replied to it in his "Apology," which was one of the most memorable documents of history.
In 1582, at a public festival, in which the Prince took an active part, his life was attempted. A young man approached him and handed him a petition. As William began to read it, the youth drew a pistol and discharged it at the head of Orange. The ball passed into his neck, and entering the mouth came out under the left jawbone. For four weeks the condition of the Prince was critical, but he recovered.
When William was restored to consciousness, his first words were, "Do not kill him! I forgive ​him my death!" referring to his murderer. But these words of mercy came too late. The military guard had fallen upon the criminal on the spot, and immediately despatched him.
In the pockets of the murderer were found a Jesuit catechism, a prayer-book, an Agnus Dei, a crucifix, and tablets covered with prayers addressed to the Virgin, the Saviour, and the Saviour's Son (!) imploring their combined aid in bringing this murderous deed to a safe and sure accomplishment. This poor fanatic had furthermore offered to bribe the heavenly host, from Christ down to the Virgin Mary, if they would mercifully preserve his life. To the Saviour he promised "a coat of costly pattern," to the Virgin at Guadalupe "a new gown." To the "Mother of God" at Montserrat "a crown, a gown and a lamp," and so on throughout the heavenly household.
And what of our friends, the Chenoweths and Van Straalens? After the siege of Leyden, Dr. Chenoweth received a letter from a former patient who had emigrated to South Africa some years previously. In this letter, Heer Ogier described the fertility of the coast country, the salubrious climate and the tropical vegetation, and he urged the doctor to come out there with his family, as the conditions for a permanent and prosperous settlement were highly favorable. Already many re​fugees from France, Germany and the Low Countries had gone thither, and the nucleus of a colony was already on the ground.
Dr. Chenoweth laid the matter before his household. The male members at once declared emphatically that it would be cowardly to desert their native land in her time of need. Madam Chenoweth, in whom the sentiment of patriotism was a passion, warmly approved this decision. The young wives, Hilvardine and Katharine, were not cast in the same heroic mould. They would have preferred quiet homes and the joys of domestic life.
"Why do you object to emigration? " said Hilvardine to her husband when they were alone. "Surely in times of war an army is often obliged to retreat before overwhelming forces. Such a course is not only permissible, but honorable."
"But you forget, my dear," said Conrad, "that it would be a dastardly act to depart and leave the Prince to bear the brunt of the storm. I once told you that I was willing to sacrifice everything for you, save honor."
Hilvardine said no more. In the course of time Conrad and his friend Reynold resumed their positions in the army of Orange.
Dr. Chenoweth was too infirm to engage in military duties, and he had built a house in Leyden similar to the one he had occupied in Antwerp. ​The building, from its tiny windows to its brass bell and the scraper on the stoep, was scrupulously clean and trim, and here, amid joy and pain, the bittersweets of life, which are included in that one word, home, dwelt our friends. Time had dealt gently with them all. Dr. Chenoweth's hair had silvered, and he walked with less vigorous tread; but as he sat on his vine-covered porch, beside his still comely wife, he was the picture of stately rest after labor.
One afternoon in July, 1584, the family were surprised by the unexpected appearance of Conrad and Reynold. Their faces were grief-stricken, and they made no attempt to conceal their profound emotion.
"What has happened?" inquired Dr. Chenoweth.
Conrad could not answer, for tears choked his utterance, and Reynold replied, "William, Prince of Orange, has at last been assassinated."
"Assassinated?" echoed his listeners, with blanched faces.
"Yes," was the reply. "There have been five attempts to murder the Prince within the last two years. The sixth attempt was successful."
"Tell us the particulars of this foul deed!" said Dr. Chenoweth, in a broken voice.
"A young man came to the house of the Prince in Delft, and represented himself as Francis Guion, ​a Protestant, and the son of a Calvinist who had been martyred for his faith. He desired to serve the Prince, and although he possessed a villainous countenance the Prince, always loath to believe a man to be other than he claimed to be, took him into his household. On the tenth of July, as the Prince was coming up the stairs to his chamber, having just dined, a man suddenly appeared on the stairs within a few feet of him and discharged a pistol at William's heart. Three poisoned balls entered his body, and the Prince, feeling that death was near, exclaimed, 'O God, have mercy upon my soul! Have mercy on this poor people!' These were the only words he spoke. In a few moments he breathed his last in the arms of his wife. His murderer was in reality Balthazar Gérard, a fanatical Catholic, who believed it to be his mission to rid the world of that 'foul heretic,' William of Orange. He confided his diabolical scheme to the Regent of the Jesuit College at Tréves, whose name history has not preserved. That dignitary gave Gérard his blessing, and told him that if he performed his mission he should be enrolled with the martyrs."
"And what became of Gérard? Was he allowed to escape?"
"No. He was speedily captured, and was literally torn in pieces. This cruel execution was an ​insult to the memory of the noble man whose death the Netherlanders sought to avenge."
After tea the reunited household gathered on the piazza. The air was spicy and fragrant with the perfume of a thousand blossoms. The sun was fast nearing the horizon, a red disk in an amber sky.
Conrad had just been speaking of the grief of the people at the death of their beloved leader, and saying that in Delft, when the calamity became known, the little children cried in the streets.
"What was the secret of our Prince's greatness?" inquired Katharine Van Straalen.
Different opinions were expressed, extolling his love of freedom, his spirit of self-abnegation, his charity for the opinions of others, and his faith in God.
"I think these qualities can all be summed up in one sentence," said Madam Chenoweth. "I can express myself no better than by appropriating the strong Saxon phrase of the ancient apostle. The quality which the Silent Prince possessed, and which was the foundation of all his eminent virtues was, 'the grace of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.'"
"The people of Holland have lost their Father," said Conrad, "and the human race a devoted champion of liberty. God be praised that our fallen ​leader lived to see the dawn of freedom, and the day-star of joy and peace arise upon the nation.”
“Yes,” replied Dr. Chenoweth, “there is no assassin strong enough, and no weapon deadly enough, to quench the inextinguishable spark of liberty in the human breast. The friends of liberty die, but liberty itself, a fruit of the Gospel, is immortal.”
THE END.
ROBBRT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK.