Sainte Aldegonde, accordingly, yielded to the arguments and entreaties of
his friend, and repaired without delay to Antwerp.

The advice of William the Silent--as will soon be related--was not acted
upon; and, within a few weeks after it had been given, he was in his
grave. Nowhere was his loss more severely felt than in Antwerp. It
seemed, said a contemporary, that with his death had died all authority.
The Prince was the only head which the many-membered body of that very
democratic city ever spontaneously obeyed. Antwerp was a small republic
--in time of peace intelligently and successfully administered--which in
the season of a great foreign war, amid plagues, tumults, famine, and
internal rebellion, required the firm hand and the clear brain of a
single chief. That brain and hand had been possessed by Orange alone.

Before his death he had desired that Sainte Aldegonde should accept the
office of burgomaster of the city. Nominally, the position was not so
elevated as were many of the posts which that distinguished patriot had
filled. In reality, it was as responsible and arduous a place as could
be offered to any man's acceptance throughout the country. Sainte
Aldegonde consented, not without some reluctance. He felt that there
was odium to be incurred; he knew that much would be expected of him,
and that his means would be limited. His powers would be liable to a
constant and various restraint. His measures were sure to be the subject
of perpetual cavil. If the city were besieged, there were nearly one
hundred thousand mouths to feed, and nearly one hundred thousand tongues
to dispute about furnishing the food.

For the government of Antwerp had been degenerating from a well-organised
municipal republicanism into anarchy. The clashing of the various bodies