They declined to give up Owen and Baldwin, however, and meantime the negotiations for the marriage of the Prince of Wales and the Infanta, the million ducats of yearly pension for the needy James, and the reduction of the Dutch republic to its ancient slavery to Spain “under the eye and arm of Britain,” faded indefinitely away.  Salisbury indeed was always too wise to believe in the possibility of the schemes with which James and some of his other counsellors had been so much infatuated.

It was almost dramatic that these plottings between James and the Catholic king against the life of the republic should have been signally and almost simultaneously avenged by the conspiracy of Guido Fawkes.

On the other hand, Rosny had imparted to the Dutch envoy the schemes of Henry and his ministers in regard to the same object, early in 1605.  “Spain is more tired of the war,” said he to Aerssens, under seal of absolute secrecy, “than you are yourselves.  She is now negotiating for a marriage between the Dauphin and the Infanta, and means to give her the United Provinces, as at present constituted, for a marriage portion.  Villeroy and Sillery believe the plan feasible, but demand all the Netherlands together.  As for me I shall have faith in it if they send their Infanta hither at once, or make a regular cession of the territory.  Do you believe that my lords the States will agree to the proposition?”

It would be certainly difficult to match in history the effrontery of such a question.  The republican envoy was asked point blank whether his country would resign her dearly gained liberty and give herself as a dowry for Philip the Second’s three-years-old grand daughter.  Aerssens replied cautiously that he had never heard the matter discussed in the provinces.  It had always been thought that the French king had no pretensions to their territory, but had ever advocated their independence.  He hinted that such a proposition was a mere apple of discord thrown between two good allies by Spain.  Rosny admitted the envoy’s arguments, and said that his Majesty would do nothing without the consent of the Dutch Government, and that he should probably be himself sent ere long to the Hague to see if he could not obtain some little recognition from the States.

Thus it was confidentially revealed to the agent of the republic that her candid adviser and ally was hard at work, in conjunction with her ancient enemy, to destroy her independence, annex her territory, and appropriate to himself all the fruits of her great war, her commercial achievements, and her vast sacrifices; while, as we have just seen, English politicians at the same moment were attempting to accomplish the same feat for England’s supposed advantage.  All that was wished by Henry to begin with was a little, a very little, recognition of his sovereignty.  “You will do well to reflect on this delicate matter in time,” wrote Aerssens to the Advocate; “I know that the King of Spain is inclined to make this offer, and that they are mad enough in this place to believe the thing feasible.  For me, I reject all such talk until they have got the Infanta—­that is to say, until the Greek Kalends.  I am ashamed that they should believe it here, and fearful that there is still more evil concealed than I know of.”