On the following day, Imbize executed a coup d’etat.  Having a body of near two thousand soldiers at his disposal, he suddenly secured the persons of all the magistrates and other notable individuals not friendly to his policy, and then, in violation of all law, set up a new board of eighteen irresponsible functionaries, according to a list prepared by himself alone.  This was his way of enforcing the democratic liberty of Greece, Rome, and Geneva, which was so near to his heart.  A proclamation, in fourteen articles, was forthwith issued, justifying this arbitrary proceeding.  It was declared that the object of the somewhat irregular measure “was to prevent the establishment of the religious peace, which was merely a method of replanting uprooted papistry and the extirpated tyranny of Spain.”  Although the arrangement’s had not been made in strict accordance with formal usage and ceremony, yet they were defended upon the ground that it had been impossible, by other means, to maintain their ancient liberties and their religious freedom.  At the same time a pamphlet, already prepared for the occasion by Dathenus, was extensively circulated.  In this production the arbitrary revolution effected by a demagogue was defended with effrontery, while the character, of Orange, was loaded with customary abuse.  To prevent the traitor from coming to Ghent, and establishing what he called his religious peace, these irregular measures, it was urged, had been wisely taken.

Such were the efforts of John Imbize—­such the calumnies of Peter Dathenus—­in order to counteract the patriotic endeavors of the Prince; but neither the ruffianism of John nor the libels of Peter were destined upon this occasion to be successful.  William the Silent treated the slanders of the scolding monk with dignified contempt.  “Having been informed,” said he to the magistrates of Ghent, “that Master Peter Dathenns has been denouncing me as a man without religion or fidelity, and full of ambition, with other propositions hardly becoming his cloth; I do not think it worth while to answer more at this time than that I willingly refer myself to the judgment of all who know me.”

The Prince came to Ghent, great as had been the efforts of Imbize and his partisans to prevent his coming.  His presence was like magic.  The demagogue and his whole flock vanished like unclean birds at the first rays of the sun.  Imbize dared not look the Father of his country in the face.  Orange rebuked the populace in the strong and indignant language that public and private virtue, energy, and a high purpose enabled such a leader of the people to use.  He at once set aside the board of eighteen—­the Grecian-Roman-Genevese establishment of Imbize—­and remained in the city until the regular election, in conformity with the privileges, had taken place.  Imbize, who had shrunk at his approach, was meantime discovered by his own companions.  He had stolen forth secretly on the night before the Prince’s arrival, and was found cowering in the cabin of a vessel, half dead with fear, by an ale-house keeper who had been his warm partisan.  “No Skulking,” cried the honest friend; seizing the tribune of the people by the shoulder; “no sailing away in the night-time.  You have got us all into this bog, and must come back, and abide the issue with your supporters.”