Upon this coffin now sat two common soldiers of ruffianly aspect playing at dice, betting whether the Lord or the Devil would get the soul of Barneveld.  Many a foul and ribald jest at the expense of the prisoner was exchanged between these gamblers, some of their comrades, and a few townsmen, who were grouped about at that early hour.  The horrible libels, caricatures, and calumnies which had been circulated, exhibited, and sung in all the streets for so many months had at last thoroughly poisoned the minds of the vulgar against the fallen statesman.

The great mass of the spectators had forced their way by daybreak into the hall itself to hear the sentence, so that the Inner Courtyard had remained comparatively empty.

At last, at half past nine o’clock, a shout arose, “There he comes! there he comes!” and the populace flowed out from the hall of judgment into the courtyard like a tidal wave.

In an instant the Binnenhof was filled with more than three thousand spectators.

The old statesman, leaning on his staff, walked out upon the scaffold and calmly surveyed the scene.  Lifting his eyes to Heaven, he was heard to murmur, “O God! what does man come to!” Then he said bitterly once more:  “This, then, is the reward of forty years’ service to the State!”

La Motte, who attended him, said fervently:  “It is no longer time to think of this.  Let us prepare your coming before God.”

“Is there no cushion or stool to kneel upon?” said Barneveld, looking around him.

The provost said he would send for one, but the old man knelt at once on the bare planks.  His servant, who waited upon him as calmly and composedly as if he had been serving him at dinner, held him by the arm.  It was remarked that neither master nor man, true stoics and Hollanders both, shed a single tear upon the scaffold.

La Motte prayed for a quarter of an hour, the Advocate remaining on his knees.

He then rose and said to John Franken, “See that he does not come near me,” pointing to the executioner who stood in the background grasping his long double-handed sword.  Barneveld then rapidly unbuttoned his doublet with his own hands and the valet helped him off with it.  “Make haste! make haste!” said his master.

The statesman then came forward and said in a loud, firm voice to the people: 

“Men, do not believe that I am a traitor to the country.  I have ever acted uprightly and loyally as a good patriot, and as such I shall die.”

The crowd was perfectly silent.

He then took his cap from John Franken, drew it over his eyes, and went forward towards the sand, saying: 

“Christ shall be my guide.  O Lord, my heavenly Father, receive my spirit.”

As he was about to kneel with his face to the south, the provost said: 

“My lord will be pleased to move to the other side, not where the sun is in his face.”