CHAPTER XVI
GOD AND THE KING
Monsieur Heinsius sat in the little room at the Binnenhof, which hadbelonged to the Grand Pensionnaries of Holland ever since the Republichad been formed. The furniture and the tall clock in the corner wereunchanged since the time of the great John de Witt; the window looked onthe Vyverberg, where the swans were floating on the grey, shining, andplacid water. It was a day in late March, the year 1702, and the clockof the Groote Kerk had just struck four.
There was a pause in M. Heinsius's strenuous work; for the moment he hadnothing to do, and he was very glad of the rare leisure. He had notbeen in good health for some time, and to-day felt feverish and heavy inhis limbs; he winced at the effort of giving instructions to hissecretaries, putting up his papers, and going home, so remained, halfdozing in his chair, looking at the peaceful surface of the lake, andthe still bare trees, and neat brick houses beyond.
Before him, on his old black polished bureau, lay the last letter fromthe King-Stadtholder, which had given him great pleasure, for alarmingreports had been current in The Hague as to the health of His Majestysince his accident at Hampton Court; but in this he said not one word ofhis illness. The last words were--"I am infinitely concerned to learnthat your health is not yet quite established. May God be pleased togrant you a speedy recovery. I am unalterably your good friend,William."
True, the letter was dated the 20th of February, and had been delayed inthe coming, and M. Heinsius knew that there might be other news in thepackets that were held up in the North Sea by the spring storms; but hebelieved that the King would not so have written had he been in anydanger.
Then an extraordinary thing happened to M. Heinsius. He was leaningback in his chair, weary and exhausted, his head aching with a littlefever, and a kind of lassitude on his senses, when something caused himto move his head sharply and look through the open door into the nextchamber, where two of his secretaries usually worked.
They were, however, now absent in the Assembly, and M. Heinsius believedhimself alone in the two rooms; he was therefore surprised to see ayoung man standing in this outer chamber looking out at the Vyverbergand The Hague with an arrested air of intense interest.
M. Heinsius moved round in his chair, but felt no desire to speak. Boththe rooms were full of early sunshine and absolutely silent. M.Heinsius observed the stranger with a sensation of vague wonder.
He was very young--little more than a boy--but of a very grave, stillcarriage; he wore a violet coat, a black sash, a plain sword, and acravat of Frisian needlework; his clothes were of the fashion of thirtyyears ago--of the time of John de Witt.
He was very slender and slight; his hair, which was long, thick, andheavily curling, of a deep chestnut colour, fell either side a thin hawkface that M. Heinsius could only imperfectly see; he wore one jewel, andthat was the colour of the Garter.
M. Heinsius neither spoke nor moved. Presently the youth turned andcame towards the Grand Pensionary's cabinet, walking stiffly, andholding his hat under his arm. M. Heinsius noticed the old-fashionedrosettes on his square-toed shoes.
He came steadily through the sunlight, his glance cast thoughtfullydown, and advanced to the desk before which M. Heinsius sat; he movedbetween the Grand Pensionary and the window, and, leaning forward, puthis right hand, which was ringless and beautiful, on the letter ofWilliam of Orange.
Then he lifted a pair of eyes of singular power and of a marvellousbrilliancy, and flashed a smile at M. Heinsius.
"It is finished," he said, pressing his palm on the letter. "But youwill know what to do."
Then he turned and looked out of the window with wistful passion, as ofone leaving something he loves, and sighed a little. After a moment hemoved away, reluctantly it seemed, and went as he had come, slowly andgravely into the outer chamber, with the sunshine all about him.
M. Heinsius rose now, and turned to follow him; when he reached the doorof the anteroom he found it empty....
The Grand Pensionary returned to his seat and hid his face in his hands,telling himself that he had the fever; he tried to think and argue withhimself, but it was a useless effort, and he fell presently into alittle sleep--or swoon--from which he only roused when he felt a touchon his shoulder, and started up to find the room dark and his secretarystanding with a candle and a packet in his hand.
"From England?" murmured M. Heinsius.
"Yes, Mynheer."
The Grand Pensionary took the letter eagerly, hoping to see the writingof the King; but it was addressed in the hand of my Lord Albemarle.
"I have been exhausted unto sleep," he said. "Light me the candles--Iwill read this and go home."
The candles, in their pale brass sticks, illumined the dark, simpleroom, the black shining desk, the pale worn face of M. Heinsius, as heopened the letter from England.
It was dated at Kensington House, and this was what the Grand Pensionaryread:--
"I have to offer you the saddest and most unwelcome news in the world,which indeed I am not yet able to write plainly.
"My beloved master died yesterday between seven and eight of theevening, which is a loss that we and indeed all Europe cannot be toosensible of.
"He died with the greatest courage and serenity, speaking not at allduring his last days, save to thank us graciously for our services. Hehad no words even for the priests who came about him, which may causesome scandal here.
"I believe his thoughts to have been always on the Republic, from someshort ejaculations he made, even while the prayers for the dying werebeing read. I think that even at the very last his sole concern was theUnited Provinces.
"He asked for my lord of Portland, who came; but His Majesty was pastspeech, yet he took my lord's hand very tenderly, and carried it up tohis heart, which was then at the last beat, and died in that attitude,after but a short struggle with his breath.
"They found a locket of the late Queen's hair fastened by a black ribbonto his sword-arm.
"As he was spared nothing during his life, neither was he at his death;for the doctors say now that he must have been in great and perpetualagony, for his broken collar-bone had pierced his lungs--yet not asingle murmur escaped him. His courage was of the most resplendent anyman may have--for it was tried in every way.
"I cannot write a fuller account, for I am struck beyond expression bythis event. You will, of course, hear of it from others.
"There is very little grief here. They talk of a statue--but when shallwe see it raised? They are busy praising Queen Anne, who is thesilliest creature I know--a strange people, these English; I am out ofhumour with them, and you will see me at The Hague very soon.
"I must tell you that the Earl of Sunderland died in retirement atAlthorp a few weeks since, despised and neglected by all. But the Kingremained his friend to the end, and even consulted with him secretly,and he had the faithful attendance of my lady, who is as good a woman asany I ever met, and, God knows, a lonely one now.
"People here, I think, cannot realize what His Majesty did, nor the taskhe put through when he was in a manner dying, nor their own ingratitude.But you and I know, and England will come to enjoy the fruits of hiswork in the years that are coming--and in Holland he can never beforgotten, for he was the greatest of the family of the noblest and mostpatriotic princes whom the world hath ever seen, and while we are apeople we shall revere his name.
"There is much to tell you; but I cannot write of business now, andthink to see you soon.--Mynheer the Grand Pensionary, your affectionatefriend, ALBEMARLE."
M. Heinsius put down the letter; he felt scarcely sad; a gloriousenthusiasm stirred his heart; the room seemed all too confined for hismood; he went to the window, pushed it open, and looked out at the darkwater and the dark houses beyond, where the lights were beginning toshow in the windows.
Now there was no doubting the identity of the young man of his vision,nor what the words meant--
"It
is finished, but you know what to do."
The Grand Pensionary knew; he held in his hands all the clues to thevast policies of his late master; he could guide the Republic though thecoming great events of war as the King would have wished.
The peaceful evening fell to complete darkness; still Antoon Heinsiusstood looking over The Hague. The King hath gone to give his account toGod, he thought, and God will say--Not in vain did I make you mycaptain--not in vain.
THE END
_Printed by_ MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, _Edinburgh_
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