A GREAT SORROW
DECEMBER 31st, 1599. My MS. book has been neglected for many months past; not from the want of something to write about, but just because I had no heart to write. Throughout the Netherlands the days, or at least most of them, have been dark and gloomy. As the news, which seemed so terrible that at first we almost refused to believe the report, that William, Prince of Orange, had fallen by the hand of an assassin, spread from town to town, from village to village, rich and poor, high and low, wept as children might weep who had lost a wise and loving father. We did not even try to comfort each other, for what with surprise and sorrow we had no comfort to give.
Five previous attempts on his life had been made; once, as I have already recorded, he had lain for weeks hovering between life and death. He had through the good hand of God escaped so many dangers, and had never seemed to be more greatly needed than at the moment of his death, that we never thought such a sad ending to the story of his brave and useful life would one day have to be written.
Father often said of him that he had never known a man whose life appeared to be more governed by one desire, "to do the will of God," and though we cannot understand why God allowed his enemies to triumph, we bow to the stroke, and own how little of God's purposes we really comprehend; but we are sure, quite sure, that He is wise and good and loving, for " Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.” (Psa. 103:1313Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him. (Psalm 103:13).) Perhaps some: day, in the clear light of eternity, many things that perplex us now will be made plain; till then, we will "trust and not be afraid.”
But I must try to recall how it all happened. About two years after the death of his dearly-loved wife, Charlotte de Bourbon, the prince married Louisa, the widowed daughter of the French Admiral Coligny. She, too, had known sorrow. "Black Bartholomew," as it is often called now, must have been a day of sad and painful memories to her, as both her father and her first husband were among those killed. She, too, proved herself an affectionate and devoted wife, and their union, though not of long duration, appears to have been, a happy one.
Well and wisely as William ruled over the Netherlands, he had many bitter enemies among the Roman Catholics, who never forgave him for the bold stand he had taken for truth and liberty. He was by no means, ignorant, of their feelings towards him, but leaving himself in the hands of God quietly went on with his many public duties. Those who sought his life, at last accomplished by cunning and deception what they had failed to do by force.
A young man, whose name I do not care to record, for it does not deserve to be remembered, obtained several interviews with the prince; he professed to be the son of a martyr, always carried a large hymn book under his arm, and talked loudly of his zeal for the reformed faith; but he was really an agent of the priests; from whom he had received instructions to take the life of William of Orange, and made himself as far as possible acquainted with the home life and habits of the prince. He knew there was no small degree of risk in the attempt, but the priests had not only given him absolution, or, in other words, a full and free pardon for the crime he intended to commit, but had assured him that by killing William he would render a great service not only to the Roman Catholics but to the world. If he could escape, a rich reward was promised him, but if not, his family would receive a pension, and a patent of nobility.
The opportunity came at last for which the assassin had for some time waited. On that day the prince dined with his family, and appeared more than usually cheerful. As he rose to leave the table his wife called his attention to a dark figure muffled in a cloak, who stood in a recess near. The prince replied, "Oh, it is only someone who has a petition to present," and began to ascend the stairs leading to his private apartments. He had only taken two steps when the assassin followed and stabbed him.
He fell, mortally wounded, and expired shortly afterward. The assassin was not suffered to escape.
There is not a single blank page or even a spare line in my MS. book, and there is no need that I should begin another. The children of bygone years are the men and women of to-day; a new generation is growing up round me, and I can only hope and pray that the story of the dark days in which all the power of the Inquisition was used to oppress and crush the followers of Christ (many in both Spain and Holland who, though weak in themselves, had learned the blessed secret of simple faith in a risen living Savior were "out of weakness made strong," and cheerfully, often joyfully, laid down their lives rather than deny their Lord) will help the boys and girls who read it to value their Bibles more than they have ever done.