There is no doubt whatever that John of Barneveld, Advocate and Seal Keeper of the little province of Holland during forty years of as troubled and fertile an epoch as any in human history, was second to none of his contemporary statesmen.  Yet the singular constitution and historical position of the republic whose destinies he guided and the peculiar and abnormal office which he held combined to cast a veil over his individuality.  The ever-teeming brain, the restless almost omnipresent hand, the fertile pen, the eloquent and ready tongue, were seen, heard, and obeyed by the great European public, by the monarchs, statesmen, and warriors of the time, at many critical moments of history, but it was not John of Barneveld that spoke to the world.  Those “high and puissant Lords my masters the States-General” personified the young but already majestic republic.  Dignified, draped, and concealed by that overshadowing title the informing and master spirit performed its never ending task.

Those who study the enormous masses of original papers in the archives of the country will be amazed to find how the penmanship, most difficult to decipher, of the Advocate meets them at every turn.  Letters to monarchs, generals, ambassadors, resolutions of councils, of sovereign assemblies, of trading corporations, of great Indian companies, legal and historical disquisitions of great depth and length on questions agitating Europe, constitutional arguments, drafts of treaties among the leading powers of the world, instructions to great commissions, plans for European campaigns, vast combinations covering the world, alliances of empire, scientific expeditions and discoveries—­papers such as these covered now with the satirical dust of centuries, written in the small, crabbed, exasperating characters which make Barneveld’s handwriting almost cryptographic, were once, when fairly engrossed and sealed with the great seal of the haughty burgher-aristocracy, the documents which occupied the close attention of the cabinets of Christendom.

It is not unfrequent to find four or five important despatches compressed almost in miniature upon one sheet of gigantic foolscap.  It is also curious to find each one of these rough drafts conscientiously beginning in the statesman’s own hand with the elaborate phrases of compliment belonging to the epoch such as “Noble, strenuous, severe, highly honourable, very learned, very discreet, and very wise masters,” and ending with “May the Lord God Almighty eternally preserve you and hold you in His holy keeping in this world and for ever”—­decorations which one might have thought it safe to leave to be filled in by the secretary or copying clerk.