There could also be little doubt that Maurice aimed at a crown, while Barneveldt was a staunch republican. A more deadly cause of enmity was now springing up, for the torch of religious discord was aflame in Holland, between two opposing sects, the Gomarites and the Arminians. The former accused the latter of being more lax than the Papists, while the Arminians loudly declared the Gomarites to be cruel and intolerant, and the God they worshipped unjust and merciless.
For the most part, the clergy, with many of the upper classes, headed by Maurice and his family, favoured the Gomarites; while Barneveldt, with the municipal body, upheld the Arminian doctrines. Political and religious differences waxed fiercer each day that passed, and Maurice forgot all he owed to the guardian of his youth.
Barneveldt’s star was setting; slander and calumny of all kinds were busy with the name of this single-minded, large-hearted old man, whom the Stadtholder did not disdain in his anger to accuse of secret negotiations with Spain. In a letter to the Prince, Barneveldt bewails their estrangement, for which he had ‘given no cause, having always been your faithful servant, and with God’s blessing, so will I remain.’
He went on to say he had done good service to the State for upwards of forty years, and as far as religious opinions went, he had never changed. But neither his public nor private appeals stood him in good stead: he was denounced as a traitor and a sceptic; libellous pamphlets, shameful and absurd accusations, were disseminated against him. One great bone of contention between the two sects was the convening of a Synod, on which the Stadtholder and the States had determined. To dissuade the Prince from this step, the Advocate asked an interview, which was granted. Here is the picture, drawn by a master hand: The Advocate, an imposing magisterial figure, wrapped in a long black velvet cloak, leaning on his staff, tall, but bent with age and anxiety, haggard and pale, with long grey beard, and stern blue eyes. What a contrast to the florid, plethoric Prince!—in big russet boots, shabby felt hat encircled by a string of diamonds, his hand clutching his sword-hilt, and his eyes full of angry menace,—the very type of the high-born, imperious soldier. Thus they stood and surveyed each other for a time, those two men, once fast friends, between whom a gulf was now fixed. Expostulations, recriminations, passed, Barneveldt strongly deprecating the idea of the Synod, which he was well assured would only lead to more ill feeling rather than to any adjustment of differences; in answer to which Maurice curtly announced that the measure was decided on, and then opposed a stubborn silence (as was his wont when thwarted) to all the arguments and eloquence of the Advocate. That meeting was their last on earth.
Not long after this interview, as Barneveldt was one day sitting in his garden, he was visited by two friends, of authority in the State, who had come to warn him of the plan that had been formed for his arrest. He received the intelligence calmly, remarking he knew well ‘there were wicked men about;’ then, lifting his hat courteously, he added, ‘I thank you, gentlemen, for your warning.’ He continued his steady course as heretofore, and was accordingly shortly afterwards arrested on his way to the Session, and lodged in prison; his intimate friend, the learned Grotius, and several other leading members of the Arminian community, were imprisoned at the same time. The treatment which Barneveldt was subjected to in his captivity was most inconsiderate and severe; indeed, the only mercy vouchsafed to him was the attendance of his faithful body-servant; he was not allowed communication with the outer world, although, on more than one occasion, he contrived to elude the vigilance of his keepers by means of a few words concealed in a quill or the centre of a fruit. His books and papers were taken from him; he was denied the assistance of a lawyer or a secretary to prepare his defence, or even pen and ink for his own use; and when he asked for a list of the charges which were to be brought against him, he was refused.
In spite of all these hindrances, when summoned before a ‘packed’ tribunal, his defence was noble, eloquent, and manly, although his enemies insultingly called it a confession. He was accused of troubling the Church of God, sowing dissension in the Provinces, and calumniating his Excellency, and—crowning injustice—was declared a traitor to his native country. John Olden de Barneveldt!—was there any one in that Assembly whose love was so profound for his God, his country, and his Prince? He was not present when the final sentence was passed, namely, that he should suffer death by the sword, and that all his goods should be confiscate; but when the news was brought, the prisoner received it with the calm dignity which always characterised him.
From ‘my chamber of sorrow’ he wrote a touching farewell (pen and ink being grudgingly accorded him) to his family, which he signed ‘from your loving husband, father, grandfather, and father-in-law.’ In all these relations of life Barneveldt had been dearly loved, and his home had been the scene of ‘domestic bliss;’ the only paradise that has survived the fall.
He intrusted the clergyman who ministered to him with a message to the Prince of Orange, assuring him that he had always loved and served him as far as it was consistent with his duty to the State, and his principles. He craved forgiveness if he had ever failed towards him in any point, and concluded by earnestly recommending his children to the care of his Excellency.
Maurice received the messenger with tears in his eyes, on his part declaring that he had always had a sincere affection for Barneveldt, though there were one or two things he found it hard to forgive, such as the accusation, which the Advocate brought against him, of aspiring to the sovereignty; but he did forgive all, and as regarded the children, he would befriend them as long as they continued to deserve it. With these poor crumbs of comfort the clergyman went back to the prison.
It must not be supposed that no efforts were made to save De Barneveldt: the French Ambassador used all his persuasions and all his eloquence, the widowed Princess of Orange wrote to her stepson to entreat him to save his father’s friend, and the friend of his boyhood and early life; but for the first time Maurice was deaf to the appeal of Louisa de Coligny, and excused himself from seeing her on frivolous pretences. Some surprise was expressed that the wife and family of De Barneveldt did not petition the Stadtholder, and it was even whispered that if either the wife or daughter-in-law (both women distinguished by noble birth and noble hearts) had sought an interview with Prince Maurice, it might have been granted; but they relied on a promise, perhaps, that no harm should come to the prisoner, even as our Strafford did, a few years later. The venerable captive prepared for death, declining an interview with his relations, lest the sight of those dear ones should unnerve him, and destroy the composure which it was so essential to maintain, while it was carefully withheld from him how earnestly his family had desired to see him once more.