Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall;
and may God be merciful to his soul.'"
A very beautiful story is told of Barneveldt's widow. Her son plotting
to avenge his father and crush the Stadtholder was discovered and
imprisoned. His mother visited Maurice to ask his pardon. "Why," said
he, "how is this--you value your son more than your husband! You did
not ask pardon for him." "No," said Barneveldt's widow; "I did not
ask pardon for my husband, because he was innocent; I ask pardon for
my son, because he is guilty."
Prince Maurice never recovered from the error--to put for the moment
no worse epithet to it--of the death of Barneveldt. He had killed
his best counsellor; thenceforward his power diminished; and with
every rebuff he who had abandoned his first adviser complained
that God had abandoned him. Davies sums up the case thus: "The
escutcheon of Maurice is bright with the record of many a deed of
glory; the fabric of his country's greatness raised by his father,
strengthened and beautified by himself; her armies created the masters
of military science to the civilized world; her States the centre and
mainspring of its negotiations; her proud foe reduced to sue humbly
at her feet. But there is one dark, deep stain on which the eye of
posterity, unheeding the surrounding radiance, is constantly fixed:
it is the blood of Barneveldt.
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