General caused, on the 16th of August, 1672, Cornelius de
Witt to be arrested; and the noble brother of John de Witt
had, like the vilest
criminal, to
undergo, in one of the
apartments of the town prison, the
preparatory degrees of
torture, by means of which his judges expected to force from
him the
confession of his alleged plot against William of
Orange.
But Cornelius was not only possessed of a great mind, but
also of a great heart. He belonged to that race of martyrs
who, indissolubly
wedded to their political convictions as
their ancestors were to their faith, are able to smile on
pain: while being stretched on the rack, he recited with a
firm voice, and scanning the lines according to
measure, the
first strophe of the "Justum ac tenacem" of Horace, and,
making no
confession, tired not only the strength, but even
the fanaticism, of his
executioners.
The judges,
notwithstanding, acquitted Tyckelaer from every
charge; at the same time sentencing Cornelius to be deposed
from all his offices and dignities; to pay all the costs of
the trial; and to be banished from the soil of the Republic
for ever.
This judgment against not only an
innocent, but also a great
man, was indeed some
gratification to the passions of the
people, to whose interests Cornelius de Witt had always
devoted himself: but, as we shall soon see, it was not
enough.
The Athenians, who indeed have left behind them a pretty
tolerable
reputation for
ingratitude, have in this respect
to yield precedence to the Dutch. They, at least in the case
of Aristides,
contented themselves with banishing him.
John de Witt, at the first intimation of the
charge brought
against his brother, had resigned his office of Grand
Pensionary. He too received a noble
recompense for his
devotedness to the best interests of his country, taking
with him into the
retirement of private life the
hatred of a
host of enemies, and the fresh scars of wounds inflicted by
assassins, only too often the sole guerdon
obtained by
honest people, who are
guilty of having worked for their
country, and of having forgotten their own private
interests.
In the
meanwhile William of Orange urged on the course of
events by every means in his power,
eagerlywaiting for the
time when the people, by whom he was idolised, should have
made of the bodies of the brothers the two steps over which
he might
ascend to the chair of Stadtholder.
Thus, then, on the 20th of August, 1672, as we have already
stated in the
beginning of this chapter, the whole town was
crowding towards the Buytenhof, to
witness the
departure of
Cornelius de Witt from prison, as he was going to exile; and
to see what traces the
torture of the rack had left on the
noble frame of the man who knew his Horace so well.
Yet all this
multitude was not crowding to the Buytenhof
with the
innocent view of merely feasting their eyes with
the
spectacle; there were many who went there to play an
active part in it, and to take upon themselves an office
which they conceived had been badly filled, -- that of the
executioner.
There were, indeed, others with less
hostile intentions. All
that they cared for was the
spectacle, always so attractive
to the mob, whose
instinctive pride is flattered by it, --
the sight of
greatness hurled down into the dust.
"Has not," they would say, "this Cornelius de Witt been
locked up and broken by the rack? Shall we not see him pale,
streaming with blood, covered with shame?" And was not this
a sweet
triumph for the burghers of the Hague, whose envy
even beat that of the common rabble; a
triumph in which
every honest citizen and townsman might be expected to
share?
"Moreover," hinted the Orange agitators interspersed through
the crowd, whom they hoped to manage like a sharp-edged and