John Neyen, father commissary of the Franciscans, who had thus invited himself to the momentous conference, was a very smooth Flemish friar, who seemed admirably adapted, for various reasons, to glide into the rebel country and into the hearts of the rebels.  He was a Netherlander, born at Antwerp, when Antwerp was a portion of the united commonwealth, of a father who had been in the confidential service of William the Silent.  He was eloquent in the Dutch language, and knew the character of the Dutch people.  He had lived much at court, both in Madrid and Brussels, and was familiar with the ways of kings and courtiers.  He was a holy man, incapable of a thought of worldly advancement for himself, but he was a master of the logic often thought most conclusive in those days; no man insinuating golden arguments more adroitly than he into half-reluctant palms.  Blessed with a visage of more than Flemish frankness, he had in reality a most wily and unscrupulous disposition.  Insensible to contumely, and incapable of accepting a rebuff, he could wind back to his purpose when less supple negotiators would have been crushed.

He was described by his admirers as uniting the wisdom of the serpent with the guilelessness of the dove.  Who better than he then, in this double capacity, to coil himself around the rebellion, and to carry the olive-branch in his mouth?

On the 25th February the monk, disguised in the dress of a burgher, arrived at Ryswick, a village a mile and a half from the Hague.  He was accompanied on the journey by Cruwel, and they gave themselves out as travelling tradesmen.  After nightfall, a carriage having been sent to the hostelry, according to secret agreement, by Recorder Aerssens, John Neyen was brought to the Hague.  The friar, as he was driven on through these hostile regions, was somewhat startled, on looking out, to find himself accompanied by two mounted musketeers on each side of the carriage, but they proved to have been intended as a protective escort.  He was brought to the recorder’s house, whence, after some delay, he was conveyed to the palace.  Here he was received by an unknown and silent attendant, who took him by the hand and led him through entirely deserted corridors and halls.  Not a human being was seen nor a sound heard until his conductor at last reached the door of an inner apartment through which he ushered him, without speaking a syllable.  The monk then found himself in the presence of two personages, seated at a table covered with books and papers.  One was in military undress, with an air about him of habitual command, a fair-complexioned man of middle age, inclining to baldness, rather stout, with a large blue eye, regular features, and a mouse-coloured beard.  The other was in the velvet cloak and grave habiliments of a civil functionary, apparently sixty years of age, with a massive features, and a shaggy beard.  The soldier was Maurice of Nassau, the statesman was John of Olden-Barneveld.