while his hand crackled and smoked in the red-hot tube; during
the time when the red-hot tongs were tearing his flesh he uttered no
cry; when the knife penetrated into his entrails he bowed his head,
murmured a few incomprehensible words, and expired.

The death of the Prince of Orange filled the country with
consternation. His body lay in state for a month, and the people
gathered round his last bed kneeling and weeping. The funeral was
worthy of a king: there were present the States General of the United
Provinces, the Council of State, and the Estates of Holland, the
magistrates, the clergy, and the princes of the house of Nassau.
Twelve noblemen bore the bier, four great nobles held the cords of the
pall, and the Prince's horse followed splendidly caparisoned and led
by his equerry. In the midst of the train of counts and barons there
was seen a young man, eighteen years of age, who was destined to
inherit the glorious legacy of the dead, to humble the Spanish arms,
and to compel Spain to sue for a truce and to recognize the
independence of the Netherlands. That young man was Maurice of Orange,
the son of William, on whom the Estates of Holland a short time after
the death of his father conferred the dignity of Stadtholder, and to
whom they afterward entrusted the supreme command of the land and
naval forces.

While Holland was mourning the death of the Prince of Orange, the
Catholic priesthood in all the cities under Spanish rule were
rejoicing over the assassination and extolling the assassin. The
Jesuits exalted him as a martyr, the University of Louvain published
his defence, the canons of Bois-le-Duc chanted a Te Deum. After a few
years the King of Spain bestowed on Gerard's family a title and the
confiscated property of the Prince of Orange in Burgundy.

The house where William was murdered is still standing: it is a
dark-looking building with arched windows and a narrow door, and forms
part of the cloister of an old cathedral consecrated to St. Agatha. It
still bears the name of Prinsenhof, although it is now used for
artillery barracks. I got permission to enter from the officer on
guard. A corporal who understood a little French accompanied me. We
crossed a courtyard full of soldiers, and arrived at the memorable
place. I saw the staircase the Prince was mounting when he was
attacked, the dark corner where Gerard hid himself, the door of the
room where the unfortunate William dined for the last time, and