of obloquy among the Reformers, because of his leniency to Catholics?  Nay more, was not his intimate councillor, the accomplished Saint Aldegonde, in despair because the Prince refused to exclude the Anabaptists of Holland from the rights of citizenship?  At the very moment when William was straining every nerve to unite warring sects, and to persuade men’s hearts into a system by which their consciences were to be laid open to God alone—­at the moment when it was most necessary for the very existence of the fatherland that Catholic and Protestant should mingle their social and political relations, it was indeed a bitter disappointment for him to see wise statesmen of his own creed unable to rise to the idea of toleration.  “The affair of the Anabaptists,” wrote Saint Aldegonde, “has been renewed.  The Prince objects to exclude them from citizenship.  He answered me sharply, that their yea was equal to our oath, and that we should not press this matter, unless we were willing to confess that it was just for the Papists to compel us to a divine service which was against our conscience.”  It seems hardly credible that this sentence, containing so sublime a tribute to the character of the Prince, should have been indited as a bitter censure, and that, too, by an enlightened and accomplished Protestant.  “In short,” continued Saint Aldegonde, with increasing vexation, “I don’t see how we can accomplish our wish in this matter.  The Prince has uttered reproaches to me that our clergy are striving to obtain a mastery over consciences.  He praised lately the saying of a monk who was not long ago here, that our pot had not gone to the fire as often as that of our antagonists, but that when the time came it would be black enough.  In short, the Prince fears that after a few centuries the clerical tyranny on both sides will stand in this respect on the same footing.”

Early in the month of May, Doctor Leoninus and Caspar Schetz, Seigneur de Grobbendonck, had been sent on a mission from the states-general to the Prince of Orange.  While their negotiations were still pending, four special envoys from Don John arrived at Middelburg.  To this commission was informally adjoined Leoninus, who had succeeded to the general position of Viglius.  Viglius was dead.  Since the memorable arrest of the State Council, he had not appeared on the scene of public affairs.  The house-arrest, to which he had been compelled by a revolutionary committee, had been indefinitely prolonged by a higher power, and after a protracted illness he had noiselessly disappeared from the stage of life.  There had been few more learned doctors of both laws than he.  There had been few more adroit politicians, considered from his point of view.  His punning device was “Vita mortalium vigilia,” and he acted accordingly, but with a narrow interpretation.  His life had indeed been a vigil, but it must be confessed that the vigils had been for Viglius.