Nevertheless, this insignificant frame locked up a desperate and daring character; this mild and inoffensive nature had gone pregnant seven years with a terrible crime, whose birth could not much longer be retarded.  Francis Guion, the Calvinist, son of a martyred Calvinist, was in reality Balthazar Gerard, a fanatical Catholic, whose father and mother were still living at Villefans in Burgundy.  Before reaching man’s estate, he had formed the design of murdering the Prince of Orange, “who, so long as he lived, seemed like to remain a rebel against the Catholic King, and to make every effort to disturb the repose of the Roman Catholic Apostolic religion.”

When but twenty years of age, he had struck his dagger with all his might into a door, exclaiming, as he did so, “Would that the blow had been in the heart of Orange!” For this he was rebuked by a bystander, who told him it was not for him to kill princes, and that it was not desirable to destroy so good a captain as the Prince, who, after all, might one day reconcile himself with the King.

As soon as the Ban against Orange was published, Balthazar, more anxious than ever to execute his long-cherished design, left Dole and came to Luxemburg.  Here he learned that the deed had already been done by John Jaureguy.  He received this intelligence at first with a sensation of relief, was glad to be excused from putting himself in danger, and believing the Prince dead, took service as clerk with one John Duprel, secretary to Count Mansfeld, governor of Luxemburg.  Ere long, the ill success of Jaureguy’s attempt becoming known, the “inveterate determination” of Gerard aroused itself more fiercely than ever.  He accordingly took models of Mansfeld’s official seals in wax, in order that he might make use of them as an acceptable offering to the Orange party, whose confidence he meant to gain.

Various circumstances detained him, however.  A sum of money was stolen, and he was forced to stay till it was found, for fear of being arrested as the thief.  Then his cousin and employer fell sick, and Gerard was obliged to wait for his recovery.  At last, in March, 1584, “the weather, as he said, appearing to be fine,” Balthazar left Luxemburg and came to Treves.  While there, he confided his scheme to the regent of the Jesuit college—­a “red-haired man” whose name has not been preserved.  That dignitary expressed high approbation of the plan, gave Gerard his blessing, and promised him that, if his life should be sacrificed in achieving his purpose, he should be enrolled among the martyrs.  Another Jesuit, however, in the same college, with whom he likewise communicated, held very different language, making great efforts to turn the young man from his design, on the ground of the inconveniences which might arise from the forging of Mansfeld’s seals—­adding, that neither he nor any of the Jesuits liked to meddle with such affairs, but advising that the whole matter should be laid before the Prince of Parma.  It does not appear that this personage, “an excellent man and a learned,” attempted to dissuade the young man from his project by arguments, drawn from any supposed criminality in the assassination itself, or from any danger, temporal or eternal, to which the perpetrator might expose himself.