Already, during the latter period of his residence in the Netherlands, he had lived in a comparative and forced solitude.

His house had been avoided by those power-worshippers whose faces are rarely turned to the setting sun.

He had, in consequence, already, before his departure, begun to discourse on the beauties of retirement, the fatigues of greatness, and the necessity of repose for men broken with the storms of state.

A great man was like a lake, he said, to which a thirsty multitude habitually resorted till the waters were troubled, sullied, and finally exhausted.

Power looked more attractive in front than in the retrospect.