Within a very few weeks, however, the whole arrangement was coolly cancelled by the Duchess, her permission revoked, and peremptory prohibition of all preaching within or without the walls proclaimed.  The government was growing stronger.  Had not Noircarmes and Rassinghem cut to pieces three or four thousand of these sectaries marching to battle under parsons, locksmiths, and similar chieftains?  Were not all lovers of good government “erecting their heads like dromedaries?”

It may easily be comprehended that the Prince could not with complacency permit himself to be thus perpetually stultified by a weak, false, and imperious woman.  She had repeatedly called upon him when she was appalled at the tempest and sinking in the ocean; and she had as constantly disavowed his deeds and reviled his character when she felt herself in safety again.  He had tranquillized the old Batavian provinces, where the old Batavian spirit still lingered, by his personal influence and his unwearied exertions.  Men of all ranks and religions were grateful for his labors.  The Reformers had not gained much, but they were satisfied.  The Catholics retained their churches, their property, their consideration.  The states of Holland had voted him fifty thousand florins, as an acknowledgment of his efforts in restoring peace.  He had refused the present.  He was in debt, pressed for money, but he did not choose, as he informed Philip, “that men should think his actions governed by motives of avarice or particular interest, instead of the true affection which he bore to his Majesty’s service and the good of the country.”  Nevertheless, his back was hardly turned before all his work was undone by the Regent.

A new and important step on the part of the government had now placed him in an attitude of almost avowed rebellion.  All functionaries, from governors of provinces down to subalterns in the army, were required to take a new oath of allegiance, “novum et hactenua inusitatum religionia juramentum,” as the Prince characterized it, which was, he said, quite equal to the inquisition.  Every man who bore his Majesty’s commission was ordered solemnly to pledge himself to obey the orders of government, every where, and against every person, without limitation or restriction.—­Count Mansfeld, now “factotum at Brussels,” had taken the oath with great fervor.  So had Aerachot, Berlaymont, Meghem, and, after a little wavering, Egmont.  Orange spurned the proposition.  He had taken oaths enough which he had never broken, nor intended now to break:  He was ready still to do every thing conducive to the real interest of the monarch.  Who dared do more was no true servant to the government, no true lover of the country.  He would never disgrace himself by a blind pledge, through which he might be constrained to do acts detrimental, in his opinion, to the safety of the crown, the happiness of the commonwealth, and his own honor.  The alternative presented he willingly embraced.  He renounced all his offices, and desired no longer to serve a government whose policy he did not approve, a King by whom he was suspected.