their country’s distress pierced their hearts.  As soon as the four burgomasters, the eight magistrates of the city, and the members of the common council appeared at the windows, hundreds of voices joined in the Geusenlied,—­[Beggars’ Song or Hymn.  Beggar was the name given to the patriots by those who sympathized with Spain.]—­which had long before been struck up by individuals, and when at sunset the volatile populace scattered and, still singing, turned, either singly or by twos or threes, towards the taverns, to strengthen their confidence in better days and dispel many a well-justified anxiety by drink, the market-place of Leyden and its adjoining streets presented no different aspect, than if a message of victory had been read from the town-hall.

The cheers and Beggars’ Song had sounded very powerful—­but so many hundreds of Dutch throats would doubtless have been capable of shaking the air with far mightier tones.

This very remark had been made by the three well-dressed citizens, who were walking through the wide street, past the blue stone, and the eldest said to his companions: 

“They boast and shout and seem large to themselves now, but we shall see that things will soon be very different.”

“May God avert the worst!” replied the other, “but the Spaniards will surely advance again, and I know many in my ward who won’t vote for resistance this time.”

“They are right, a thousand times right.  Requesens is not Alva, and if we voluntarily seek the king’s pardon—­”

“There would be no blood shed and everything would take the best course.”

“I have more love for Holland than for Spain,” said the third.  “But, after Mook-Heath, resistance is a thing of the past.  Orange may be an excellent prince, but the shirt is closer than the coat.”

“And in fact we risk our lives and fortunes merely for him.”

“My wife said so yesterday.”

“He’ll be the last man to help trade.  Believe me, many think as we do, if it were not so, the Beggars’ Song would have sounded louder.”

“There will always be five fools to three wise men,” said the older citizen.  “I took good care not to split my mouth.”

“And after all, what great thing is there behind this outcry for freedom?  Alva burnt the Bible-readers, De la Marck hangs the priests.  My wife likes to go to Mass, but always does so secretly, as if she were committing a crime.”

“We, too, cling to the good old faith.”

“Never mind faith,” said the third.  We are Calvinists, but I take no pleasure in throwing my pennies into Orange’s maw, nor can it gratify me to again tear up the poles before the Cow-gate, ere the wind dries the yarn.”

“Only let us hold together,” advised the older man.  “People don’t express their real opinions, and any poor ragged devil might play the hero.  But I tell you there will be sensible men enough in every ward, every guild, nay, even in the council, and among the burgomasters.”