For the first time in twenty years he found himself without the cares of government, without the routine of pressing business to attend to.
His body obeyed the new condition of his mind; he found himself wandering with no set purpose, a thing he had not done since his student days in Dordt.
He realised as he went on his way that it was pleasant to walk aimlessly in the last glow of an August sun … perhaps he was a little stunned, weakened by illness and misfortune; his thoughts travelled back to early hopes and interests. He was a free man at last—at last he could find rest.…
At last.
He and Cornelius and their old father could live peaceably in the Spanish Netherlands. He would grow peaches and tulips, translate Horace, and watch his daughters spin or play the guitar.
It would be harder for Cornelius, for he was ever a man of action; but for himself he could not deny that he was utterly weary and that repose seemed sweet.
Leaving the crowded streets, he walked along the side of the canal that led to the Nieuwe Kerk.
He sighed with a pleasurable sense of the peace to come as he watched the slow barges pass down the bright water.
Some were laden with flowers and fruits; from the tall trees came soft scents and delicate sounds of the branches.