“No, no,” said the .Prince, in reply, “we will have nothing except in black and white.  Otherwise things will be said on both sides, which will afterwards be interpreted in different ways.  Nay, it will be denied that some important points have been discussed at all.  We know that by experience.  Witness the solemn treaty of Ghent, which ye have tried to make fruitless, under pretence that some points, arranged by word of mouth, and not stated particularly in writing, had been intended in a different sense from the obvious one.  Governments given by royal commission, for example; what point could be clearer?  Nevertheless, ye have hunted up glosses and cavils to obscure the intention of the contracting parties.  Ye have denied my authority over Utrecht, because not mentioned expressly in the treaty of Ghent.”

“But,” said one of the envoys, interrupting at this point, “neither the Council of State nor the Court of Mechlin consider Utrecht as belonging to your Excellency’s government.”

“Neither the Council of State,” replied the Prince, “nor the Court of Mechlin have anything to do with the matter.  ’Tis in my commission, and all the world knows it.”  He added that instead of affairs being thrown into confusion by being reduced to writing, he was of opinion, on the contrary, that it was by that means alone they could be made perfectly clear.

Leoninus replied, good naturedly, that there should be no difficulty upon that score, and that writings should be exchanged.  In the meantime, however, he expressed the hope that the Prince would honor them with some preliminary information as to the points in which he felt aggrieved, as well as to the pledges which he and the states were inclined to demand.

“And what reason have we to hope,” cried the Prince, “that your pledges, if made; will be redeemed?  That which was promised so solemnly at Ghent, and ratified by Don John and his Majesty, has not been fulfilled.”

“Of what particular point do you complain?” asked Schetz.  “Wherein has the Pacification been violated?”

Hereupon the Prince launched forth upon a flowing stream of invective.  He spoke to them of his son detained in distant captivity—­of his own property at Breda withheld—­of a thousand confiscated estates—­of garrisons of German mercenaries—­of ancient constitutions annihilated—­of the infamous edicts nominally suspended, but actually in full vigor.  He complained bitterly that the citadels, those nests and dens of tyranny, were not yet demolished.  “Ye accuse me of distrust,” he cried; “but while the castles of Antwerp, Ghent, Namur, and so many more are standing, ’tis yourselves who show how utterly ye are without confidence in any permanent and peaceful arrangement.”

“And what,” asked a deputy, smoothly, “is the point which touches you most nearly?  What is it that your Excellency most desires?  By what means will it be possible for the government fully to give you contentment?”