It was, naturally, with very little satisfaction that the Prince beheld the arrival of Don John.  His sagacious combinations would henceforth be impeded, if not wholly frustrated.  This he foresaw.  He knew that there could be no intention of making any arrangement in which Holland and Zealand could be included.  He was confident that any recognition of the Reformed religion was as much out of the question now as ever.  He doubted not that there were many Catholic magnates, wavering politicians, aspirants for royal favor, who would soon be ready to desert the cause which had so recently been made a general cause, and who would soon be undermining the work of their own hands.  The Pacification of Ghent would never be maintained in letter and spirit by the vicegerent of Philip; for however its sense might be commented upon or perverted, the treaty, while it recognized Catholicism as the state religion, conceded, to a certain extent, liberty of conscience.  An immense stride had been taken, by abolishing the edicts, and prohibiting persecution.  If that step were now retraced, the new religion was doomed, and the liberties of Holland and Zealand destroyed.  “If they make an arrangement with Don John, it will be for us of the religion to run,” wrote the Prince to his brother, “for their intention is to suffer no person of that faith to have a fixed domicile in the Netherlands.”  It was, therefore, with a calm determination to counteract and crush the policy of the youthful Governor that William the Silent awaited his antagonist.  Were Don John admitted to confidence, the peace of Holland and Zealand was gone.  Therefore it was necessary to combat him both openly and secretly—­by loud remonstrance and by invisible stratagem.  What chance had the impetuous and impatient young hero in such an encounter with the foremost statesman of the age?  He had arrived, with all the self-confidence of a conqueror; he did not know that he was to be played upon like a pipe—­to be caught in meshes spread by his own hands—­to struggle blindly—­to rage impotently—­to die ingloriously.

The Prince had lost no time in admonishing the states-general as to the course which should now be pursued.  He was of opinion that, upon their conduct at this crisis depended the future destinies of the Netherlands.  “If we understand how to make proper use of the new Governor’s arrival,” said he, “it may prove very advantageous to us; if not, it will be the commencement of our total ruin.”  The spirit of all his communications was to infuse the distrust which he honestly felt, and which he certainly took no pains to disguise; to impress upon his countrymen the importance of improving the present emergency by the enlargement, instead of the threatened contraction of their liberties, and to enforce with all his energy the necessity of a firm union.  He assured the estates that Don John had been sent, in this simple manner, to the country, because the King and cabinet