But Grotius towards the end of his trial showed still greater weakness.  After repeated refusals, he had at last obtained permission of the judges to draw up in writing the heads of his defence.  To do this he was allowed a single sheet of paper, and four hours of time, the trial having lasted several months.  And in the document thus prepared he showed faltering in his faith as to his great friend’s innocence, and admitted, without any reason whatever, the possibility of there being truth in some of the vile and anonymous calumnies against him.

“The friendship of the Advocate of Holland I had always highly prized,” he said, “hoping from the conversation of so wise and experienced a person to learn much that was good . . . .  I firmly believed that his Excellency, notwithstanding occasional differences as to the conduct of public affairs, considered him a true and upright servant of the land . . . .  I have been therefore surprised to understand, during my imprisonment, that the gentlemen had proofs in hand not alone of his correspondence with the enemy, but also of his having received money from them.

“He being thus accused, I have indicated by word of mouth and afterwards resumed in writing all matters which I thought—­the above-mentioned proofs being made good—­might be thereto indirectly referred, in order to show that for me no friendships were so dear as the preservation of the freedom of the land.  I wish that he may give explanation of all to the contentment of the judges, and that therefore his actions—­which, supposing the said correspondence to be true, are subject to a bad interpretation—­may be taken in another sense.”

Alas! could the Advocate—­among whose first words after hearing of his own condemnation to death were, “And must my Grotius die too?” adding, with a sigh of relief when assured of the contrary, “I should deeply grieve for that; he is so young and may live to do the State much service.” could he have read those faltering and ungenerous words from one he so held in his heart, he would have felt them like the stab of Brutus.

Grotius lived to know that there were no such proofs, that the judges did not dare even allude to the charge in their sentence, and long years afterwards he drew a picture of the martyred patriot such as one might have expected from his pen.

But these written words of doubt must have haunted him to his grave.

On the 18th May 1619—­on the fifty-first anniversary, as Grotius remarked, of the condemnation of Egmont and Hoorn by the Blood Tribunal of Alva—­the two remaining victims were summoned to receive their doom.  The Fiscal Sylla, entering de Groot’s chamber early in the morning to conduct him before the judges, informed him that he was not instructed to communicate the nature of the sentence.  “But,” he said, maliciously, “you are aware of what has befallen the Advocate.”

“I have heard with my own ears,” answered Grotius, “the judgment pronounced upon Barneveld and upon Ledenberg.  Whatever may be my fate, I have patience to bear it.”