Certainly, the Prince of Orange did not at that moment indulge in
speculations concerning the nature and origin of government. The
Congress of Delft had just clothed him with almost regal authority.
In his hands were the powers of war and peace, joint control of the
magistracies and courts of justice, absolute supremacy over the army and
the fleets. It is true that these attributes had been conferred upon him
ad interim, but it depended only upon himself to make the sovereignty
personal and permanent. He was so thoroughly absorbed in his work,
however, that he did not even see the diadem which he put aside.
It was small matter to him whether they called him stadholder or
guardian, prince or king. He was the father of his country and its
defender. The people, from highest to lowest, called him "Father
William," and the title was enough for him. The question with him was
not what men should call him, but how he should best accomplish his task.

So little was he inspired by the sentiment of self-elevation, that he was
anxiously seeking for a fitting person--strong, wise, and willing enough
--to exercise the sovereignty which was thrust upon himself, but which he
desired to exchange against an increased power to be actively useful to
his country. To expel the foreign oppressor; to strangle the
Inquisition; to maintain the ancient liberties of the nation; here was
labor enough for his own hands. The vulgar thought of carving a throne
out of the misfortunes of his country seems not to have entered his mind.
Upon one point, however, the Prince had been peremptory. He would have
no persecution of the opposite creed. He was requested to suppress the
Catholic religion, in terms. As we have seen, he caused the expression
to be exchanged for the words, "religion at variance with the Gospel."
He resolutely stood out against all meddling with men's consciences,
or inquiring into their thoughts. While smiting the Spanish Inquisition