So little was he inspired by the sentiment of self-elevation, that he was anxiously seeking for a fitting person—­strong, wise, and willing enough—­to exercise the sovereignty which was thrust upon himself, but which he desired to exchange against an increased power to be actively useful to his country.  To expel the foreign oppressor; to strangle the Inquisition; to maintain the ancient liberties of the nation; here was labor enough for his own hands.  The vulgar thought of carving a throne out of the misfortunes of his country seems not to have entered his mind.  Upon one point, however, the Prince had been peremptory.  He would have no persecution of the opposite creed.  He was requested to suppress the Catholic religion, in terms.  As we have seen, he caused the expression to be exchanged for the words, “religion at variance with the Gospel.”  He resolutely stood out against all meddling with men’s consciences, or inquiring into their thoughts.  While smiting the Spanish Inquisition into the dust, he would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place.  Earnestly a convert to the Reformed religion, but hating and denouncing only what was corrupt in the ancient Church, he would not force men, with fire and sword, to travel to heaven upon his own road.  Thought should be toll-free.  Neither monk nor minister should burn, drown, or hang his fellow-creatures, when argument or expostulation failed to redeem them from error.  It was no small virtue, in that age, to rise to such a height.  We know what Calvinists, Zwinglians, Lutherans, have done in the Netherlands, in Germany, in Switzerland, and almost a century later in New England.  It is, therefore, with increased veneration that we regard this large and truly catholic mind.  His tolerance proceeded from no indifference.  No man can read his private writings, or form a thorough acquaintance with his interior life, without recognizing him as a deeply religious man.  He had faith unfaltering in God.  He had also faith in man and love for his brethren.  It was no wonder that in that age of religious bigotry he should have been assaulted on both sides.  While the Pope excommunicated him as a heretic, and the King set a price upon his head as a rebel, the fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man.  Peter Dathenus, the unfrocked monk of Poperingen, shrieked out in his pulpit that the “Prince of Orange cared nothing either for God or for religion.”

The death of Requesens had offered the first opening through which the watchful Prince could hope to inflict a wound in the vital part of Spanish authority in the Netherlands.  The languor of Philip and the procrastinating counsel of the dull Hopper unexpectedly widened the opening.  On the 24th of March letters were written by his Majesty to the states-general, to the provincial estates, and to the courts of justice, instructing them that, until further orders, they were all to obey the Council of State.  The King was confident that all would do their utmost to assist that body in securing the holy Catholic Faith and the implicit obedience of the country to its sovereign.  He would, in the meantime, occupy himself with the selection of a new Governor-General, who should be of his family and blood.  This uncertain and perilous condition of things was watched with painful interest in neighbouring countries.