This unlooked-for close to a career which had been so brilliant, and to a life from which so much was yet to be expected, makes us pause to consider for a moment the different opinions of his times and of history on the fate of a personage so remarkable.  The contemporary Flemish memoirs say that he died of the plague; those of Spain call his disorder the purple fever.  The examination of his corpse caused an almost general belief that he was poisoned.  “He lost his life,” says one author, “with great suspicion of poison.”  “Acabo su vida, con gran sospecho de veneno.”—­Herrera.  Another speaks of the suspicious state of his intestines, but without any direct opinion.  An English historian states the fact of his being poisoned, without any reserve.  Flemish writers do not hesitate to attribute his murder to the jealousy of Philip II., who, they assert, had discovered a secret treaty of marriage about to be concluded between Don John and Elizabeth of England, securing them the joint sovereignty of the Netherlands.  An Italian historian of credit asserts that this ambitious design was attributed to the prince; and admits that his death was not considered as having arisen from natural causes.  “E quindi nacque l’opinione dispersa allora, ch’egli mancasse di morte aiutata piu tosto che naturale.”—­Bentivoglio.  It was also believed that Escovedo, his confidential secretary, being immediately called back to Spain, was secretly assassinated by Antonio Perez, Philip’s celebrated minister, and by the special orders of the king.  Time has, however, covered the affair with impenetrable mystery; and the death of Don John was of little importance to the affairs of the country he governed so briefly and so ingloriously, if it be not that it added another motive to the natural hatred for his assumed murderer.

The prince of Parma, who now succeeded, by virtue of Don John’s testament, to the post of governor-general in the name of the king, remained intrenched in his camp.  He expected much from the disunion of his various opponents; and what he foresaw very quickly happened.  The duke of Alencon disbanded his troops and retired to France; and the prince Palatine, following his example, withdrew to Germany, having first made an unsuccessful attempt to engage the queen of England as a principal in the confederacy.  In this perplexity, the Prince of Orange saw that the real hope for safety was in uniting still more closely the northern provinces of the union; for he discovered the fallacy of reckoning on the cordial and persevering fidelity of the Walloons.  He therefore convoked a new assembly at Utrecht; and the deputies of Holland, Guelders, Zealand, Utrecht, and Groningen, signed, on the 29th of January, 1579, the famous act called the Union of Utrecht, the real basis or fundamental pact of the republic of the United Provinces.  It makes no formal renunciation of allegiance to Spain, but this is virtually done by the omission of the king’s name.  The twenty-six articles of this act consolidate the indissoluble connection of the United Provinces; each preserving its separate franchises, and following its own good pleasure on the subject of religion.  The towns of Ghent, Antwerp, Bruges, and Ypres, soon after acceded to and joined the union.