abjuration. They would then be entirely without a head. The idea of a
nominal Republic was broached by none. The contest had not been one of
theory, but of facts; for the war had not been for revolution, but for
conservation, so far as political rights were concerned. In religion,
the provinces had advanced from one step to another, till they now
claimed the largest liberty--freedom of conscience--for all. Religion,
they held, was God's affair, not man's, in which neither people nor king
had power over each other, but in which both were subject to God alone.
In politics it was different. Hereditary sovereignty was acknowledged as
a fact, but at the same time, the spirit of freedom was already learning
its appropriate language. It already claimed boldly the natural right of
mankind to be governed according to the laws of reason and of divine
justice. If a prince were a shepherd, it was at least lawful to deprive
him of his crook when he butchered the flock which he had been appointed
to protect.

"What reason is there," said the states-general, "why the provinces
should suffer themselves to be continually oppressed by their sovereign,
with robbings, burnings, stranglings, and murderings? Why, being thus
oppressed, should they still give their sovereign--exactly as if he were
well conducting himself--the honor and title of lord of the land?" On
the other hand, if hereditary rule were an established fact, so also were
ancient charters. To maintain, not to overthrow, the political compact,
was the purpose of the states. "Je maintiendrai" was the motto of
Orange's escutcheon. That a compact existed between prince and people,
and that the sovereign held office only on condition of doing his duty,
were startling truths which men were beginning, not to whisper to each
other in secret, but to proclaim in the market-place. "'Tis well known
to all," said the famous Declaration of Independence, two years
afterwards, "that if a prince is appointed by God over the land, 'tis to