John de Witt does his part. His heart swells with pleasure at the deliverance of his country; he does justice, too late, to the Prince whom he has always mistrusted.
He is reviled, hated, cursed; the storm has already engulfed his brother.
Cornelius de Witt, who left the Hague with a guard of honour as plenipotentiary of Their Noble Mightinesses, returned to it on foot, a prisoner.
He is accused by one Tichelaer, a barber-surgeon, of a conspiracy to murder the Prince of Orange.
So vile is this man, so weak and improbable his tale, that at first John de Witt is not much concerned; his brother’s innocence, he thinks, is too obvious.
To him, not to the people.
Tichelaer’s story is good enough for them. It is accepted; spread through the country with horrid additions.
The Grand Pensionary finds that all his influence is not sufficient to save his brother. He spares nothing; he toils day and night, but he is a fallen man.
In the Gevangenpoort, under whose dark archway he has so often passed in his splendour, Cornelius de Witt lies expecting death, as he has expected it since the day at Dordt when he resisted the will of the people.
He is sick, and as he lies there in hospital he cuts with a little knife into the wood of his bed a view of his house at Dordt, of his brother’s house, and of The Seven Provinces.