The King’s Government might seek solace in syntax.  They might triumph in Cardinal Bentivoglio’s subtleties, and persuade themselves that to treat with the republic as a free nation was not to hold it for a free nation then and for ever.  But the whole world knew that the republic really was free, and that it had treated, face to face, with its former sovereign, exactly as the Kings of France or Great Britain, or the Grand Turk, might treat with him.  The new commonwealth had taken its place among the nations of the earth.  Other princes and potentates made not the slightest difficulty in recognising it for an independent power and entering into treaties and alliances with it as with any other realm.

To the republic the substantial blessing of liberty:  to his Catholic Majesty the grammatical quirk.  When the twelve years should expire, Spain might reconquer the United Provinces if she could; relying upon the great truth that an adverb was not a preposition.  And France or Great Britain might attempt the same thing if either felt strong enough for the purpose.  Did as plausible a pretext as that ever fail to a state ambitious of absorbing its neighbours?

Jeannin was right enough in urging that this famous clause of recognition ought to satisfy both parties.  If the United Provinces, he said, happened not to have the best muskets and cannons on their side when it should once more come to blows, small help would they derive from verbal bulwarks and advantages in the text of treaties.

Richardot consoled himself with his quibbles; for quibbles were his daily bread.  “Thank God our truce is made,” said he, “and we have only lost the sovereignty for twelve years, if after that we have the means or the will to resume the war—­whatever Don Pedro de Toledo may say.”

Barneveld, on his part, was devoutly and soberly pleased with the result.  “To-day we have concluded our negotiations for the truce,” he wrote to Aerssens.  “We must pray to the Lord God, and we must do our highest duty that our work may redound to his honour and glory, and to the nation’s welfare.  It is certain that men will make their criticisms upon it according to their humours.  But those who love their country, and all honest people who know the condition of the land, will say that it is well done.”

Thus modestly, religiously, and sincerely spoke a statesman, who felt that he had accomplished a great work, and that he had indeed brought the commonwealth through the tempest at last.

The republic had secured the India trade.  On this point the negotiators had taken refuge in that most useful figure of speech for hard-pressed diplomatists and law-makers—­the ellipsis.  They had left out the word India, and his Catholic Majesty might persuade himself that by such omission a hemisphere had actually been taken away from the Dutch merchants and navigators.  But the whole world saw that Article IV. really contained both the East and West Indies.  It hardly needed the secret clause to make assurance doubly sure.