In 1598 Hugo accompanied Count Justin of Nassau (natural son of William the Silent) and John Olden Barneveldt on a diplomatic mission to Paris. Henry the Fourth, remembering the tribute paid him by the young foreigner, showed him especial favour, presented him with his picture and a chain of massive gold, and pointed him out to the courtiers as ‘a miracle of learning, and the wonder of Holland.’ The young Prince of Condé also took great delight in his society, and called him his secretary. To this youthful patron Grotius dedicated his first printed work, Martianus Capella.
Hugo remained in Paris for about a year, when a summons from his parents called him home. On his return he took up his abode at the house of Prince Maurice of Nassau’s chaplain, a learned and pious man, where he studied law without neglecting his literary labours. He pleaded his first cause at Delft when only seventeen, gaining thereby the greatest applause. He published works on astronomy, physics, navigation, both in dead and living languages, and his description of the siege of Ostend (which place had held out three years against the Spaniards) was considered a masterpiece. His writings on contemporary history, in which he did full justice to the noble and patriotic deeds of his countrymen, also called especial attention to the merits of the young author, and the Government were easily induced to listen to the recommendation of Olden Barneveldt, and in due time Hugo Grotius was selected as historiographer, and this in preference to many candidates, all of whom were his seniors, while the salary was increased in consideration of the nominee’s acknowledged talents. The French King wished to secure him as President of the Library at Paris, and the star of Grotius was now in the ascendant. He was named to the post of Pensionary of the city of Rotterdam, vacant by the death of Elias, brother to Olden Barneveldt, with whom Grotius now contracted an intimate friendship. This office, together with other privileges, entitled the holder to a seat in the Assembly of the States of Holland, and afterwards to the same honour in that of the States-General. On this promotion, Grotius’s father was desirous that his son should marry, and an alliance was accordingly agreed on with Maria von Reigensberg, a lady of noble family in Zeeland, the daughter of a Burgomaster of Veer, in that province. The bride, it would seem, was by no means comely in appearance; she was stoutly built and of a swarthy complexion, but the future proved Maria von Grotius to be a woman of strong affection, acute intelligence, and indomitable courage. Shortly after his arrival in Rotterdam, Grotius was sent to England on a mission connected with some dispute which had arisen between the Dutch and English, connected with the whale fisheries, and here he was cordially welcomed by James the First, with whom he had many conferences, on matters theological, as well as diplomatic, while his society was eagerly courted by all the men of eminence in this country. But a storm was gathering over the calm horizon of Hugo Grotius’s hitherto bright career. On his return to Rotterdam he found that the religious differences which had been gradually waxing hotter and hotter throughout the United Provinces had now assumed a most formidable aspect. The whole country was divided into two separate factions of the Arminians and the Gomarites; the former party strongly opposing, and the latter strenuous upholding, the doctrines of Calvin. After some wavering, or perhaps we had better say investigation, of the subject, Grotius decided on embracing the tenets of Arminius. Remonstrances and counter-remonstrances were brought forward by the two parties, Synods were convened, public disturbances ensued, and the disputes which had commenced in a question of dogma developed into political animosity. A decree was issued by the States, with a view to putting down the serious riots which had lately occurred, and extraordinary powers were granted to magisterial bodies, a measure which, combined with others equally obnoxious to him, gave great offence to Maurice of Nassau, the Stadtholder, and he was violently incensed against the men at whose instigation the step had been taken. Between the prince and the friend of his youth, John Olden Barneveldt, great differences of opinion had for some time existed, and it was in the year 1619 that this venerable patriot and his friend Grotius were both thrown into prison—whence the former, after a summary and unjust trial, only came out on his way to the scaffold. In that solemn moment Barneveldt showed great solicitude as to the fate of his friend, and learning in answer to his question that Grotius did not lie under sentence of death, he exclaimed, ‘I greatly rejoice, for he is young, and will, I firmly trust, live long to be of service to his country.’ The trial of Grotius followed, and accusations as groundless as those which had been brought forward against the grand Pensionary were laid to his charge, including treason to his country, complicity with Spain, etc. etc., and he was sentenced to imprisonment for life and the confiscation of his entire property. He was conveyed from one prison to another, until the castle of Loevenstein, near Gorcum in South Holland, was chosen for his final resting-place. This gloomy old fortress was considered impregnable, and the most stringent measures were taken against escape; indeed the internal arrangements of the building and its contiguity to the river seemed to preclude all possibility of evasion. Here Grotius and his learned friend Hogersbaert were immured, and by dint of manifold petitions and ‘continual wearying,’ their faithful wives were allowed to share their captivity. But all intercourse was forbidden between the two men who were attached to each other, not only by friendship, but sympathy in literary pursuits, while the poor ladies were altogether denied the consolation of each other’s society; and when Hogersbaert’s wife fell ill, Madame Grotius petitioned in vain for the privilege (so dear to every gentle-hearted woman) of ministering to her friend in sickness, or cheering her last moments with the promise of watching over the dying mother’s six helpless children. The only proof of sympathy which one captive was allowed to show the other was in the transmission of a pathetic epitaph by Hugo Grotius, which was gratefully received by the unhappy widower.
Madame Grotius had contrived to retain a portion of her own, when her husband’s property was confiscated, and with this small sum she endeavoured to make his condition less intolerable. She rejected with disdain the scanty dole allowed by Government for the maintenance of the prisoner, and constantly ferried over to Gorcum, on the opposite side of the river, to cater for little dainties for her lord, and the noble dame would stand for hours over the kitchen fire preparing the daily banquet for him and for their children. Maria was indeed one of those characters of combined strength and tenderness, which go near to form ‘the perfect woman.’ When her husband was first arrested, her anxiety for his life never betrayed her into weakness or cowardice; on the contrary, she wrote constantly, urging him to maintain his principles, and rather die than ask pardon, which could only be obtained through servile submission. Her admiration for Grotius, and her pride in his genius, could only be equalled by her affection. To think that a man, with whose name Europe already rang, whose writings were fated to influence the destinies of nations—that he should waste the best days of his life in prison—wither away, as it were, in a living tomb,—the thought was intolerable to her. The Commandant of the fortress, one Deventer, cherished a spite against his noble prisoner, arising from some family feud which had been handed down from the last generation, and he took especial delight in riveting the heavy chains as tightly as he could, and making captivity unbearable. Air and exercise were seldom vouchsafed, and Grotius, the philosopher, the metaphysician, the historian, the world-famed author, might be seen spinning a large top in the lobby adjoining his apartments for the best exercise he could get! Even the society of his beloved wife and that of his children did not suffice to prevent the hours from dragging heavily along, deprived as he was of the joys of a scholar’s heart, the books in which he could study the thoughts of others, the writing materials with which he could record his own; therefore Maria never rested until she had wrung from the authorities the permission to obtain from Grotius’s own library the volumes most coveted, together with pen, ink, and paper. Henceforth the captive’s life was no longer a blank. He devoured his classics, he made notes and translations, he wrote works on History, Theology, Jurisprudence, and thus shed a light on the outer world from behind the walls of his gloomy fortress. But these alleviations were not sufficient to content the faithful wife; she had more daring schemes in view. Had she ever heard, or does the Dutch language, so rich in proverbs, contain an equivalent for our ‘Love laughs at locksmiths’? Certain it is she was destined to realise the words of a lowly poet of our own days—
‘Oh! woman all would do, would dare;
To save her heart’s best cherished care
She’d roam the world tract wide,
Nor bolts nor bars can ’gainst her stand,
Or weapons stay her gentle hand,
When love and duty guide.’
She laid her train most carefully, most skilfully, nor did she allow any undue haste to mar its fulfilment. She had in her constant marketings at Gorcum cultivated the acquaintance and gained the friendship of many of the bettermost tradespeople of the town, and her maid Lieschen, who was market-woman in turn, was instructed to do the same. They both talked constantly to the good burghers’ wives, and interested them in behalf of the captive, the great writer and philosopher, and, what came nearer the women’s hearts, the tender husband and father. The plot was ripening in the devoted conspirator’s mind; but there came a moment of suspicion and alarm; it was reported that Madame Grotius had bought a coil of ropes in Gorcum, doubtless to facilitate her husband’s escape. An inquiry was instituted, when the suspected lady herself pointed out to the emissaries of justice, that ropes, even wings, could they be procured, would be unavailing in a dungeon where the captive on his entrance had to pass through thirteen different doors, each of which was bolted after him. She had in fact other means in store, and fortune favoured her in one particular, namely, that the cross-grained commandant was summoned to a distant town on military business, and Maria Grotius had already ingratiated herself with Madame Deventer by occasional presents of luxuries, to which the good lady was by no means insensible, such as venison, poultry, and the like. When the books were first allowed to enter the prison walls, the chest was submitted on its entrance and exit to a strict search, which had of late been deemed unnecessary.