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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 33

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1580-1582

By John Lothrop Motley

1855



CHAPTER IV.

     Captivity of La Noue--Cruel propositions of Philip--Siege of
     Groningen--Death of Barthold Enter--His character--Hohenlo commands
     in the north--His incompetence--He is defeated on Hardenberg Heath--
     Petty operations--Isolation of Orange--Dissatisfaction and departure
     of Count John--Remonstrance of Archduke Matthias--Embassy to Anjou--
     Holland and Zealand offer the sovereignty to Orange--Conquest of
     Portugal--Granvelle proposes the Ban against the Prince--It is
     published--The document analyzed--The Apology of Orange analyzed and
     characterized--Siege of Steenwyk by Renneberg--Forgeries--Siege
     relieved--Death of Renneberg--Institution of the "land-Council"--
     Duchess of Parma sent to the Netherlands--Anger of Alexander--
     Prohibition of Catholic worship in Antwerp, Utrecht, and elsewhere--
     Declaration of Independence by the United Provinces--Negotiations
     with Anjou--The sovereignty of Holland and Zealand provisionally
     accepted by Orange--Tripartition of the Netherlands--Power of the
     Prince described--Act of Abjuration analyzed--Philosophy of
     Netherland politics.--Views of the government compact--Acquiescence
     by the people in the action of the estates--Departure of Archduke
     Matthias.

The war continued in a languid and desultory manner in different parts of
the country.  At an action near Ingelmunster, the brave and accomplished
De la Noue was made prisoner.  This was a severe loss to the states, a
cruel blow to Orange, for he was not only one of the most experienced
soldiers, but one of the most accomplished writers of his age.  His pen
was as celebrated as his sword.  In exchange for the illustrious
Frenchman the states in vain offered Count Egmont, who had been made
prisoner a few weeks before, and De Belles, who was captured shortly
afterwards.  Parma answered contemptuously, that he would not give a lion
for two sheep.  Even Champagny was offered in addition, but without
success.   Parma had written to Philip, immediately upon the capture,
that, were it not for Egmont, Seller, and others, then in the power of
Oranges he should order the execution of La Noue. Under the
circumstances, however, he had begged to be in formed as to his Majesty's
pleasure, and in the meantime had placed the prisoner in the castle of
Limburg, under charge of De Billy.

     [Strada, d.  2, iii.  155, 156.  Parma is said to have hinted to
     Philip that De Billy would willingly undertake, the private
     assassination of La Noue.--Popeliniere, Hist. des Pays Bas; 1556-
     1584.]

His Majesty, of course, never signified his pleasure, and the illustrious
soldier remained for five years in a loathsome dungeon more befitting a
condemned malefactor than a prisoner of war.  It was in the donjon keep
of the castle, lighted only by an aperture in the roof, and was therefore
exposed to the rain and all inclemencies of the sky, while rats, toads,
and other vermin housed in the miry floor.  Here this distinguished
personage, Francis with the Iron Arm, whom all Frenchmen, Catholic or
Huguenot, admired far his genius, bravery, and purity of character,
passed five years of close confinement.  The government was most anxious
to take his life, but the captivity of Egmont and others prevented the
accomplishment of their wishes. During this long period, the wife and
numerous friends of La Noue were unwearied in, their efforts to effect
his ransom or exchange, but none of the prisoners in the hands of the
patriots were considered a fair equivalent.  The hideous proposition was
even made by Philip the Second to La Noue, that he should receive his
liberty if he would permit his eyes to be put out, as a preliminary
condition.  The fact is attested by several letters written by La Noue to
his wife.  The prisoner, wearied, shattered in health, and sighing for
air and liberty, was disposed and even anxious to accept the infamous
offer, and discussed the matter philosophically in his letters.  That
lady, however, horror-struck at the suggestion, implored him to reject
the condition, which he accordingly consented to do.  At last, in June,
1585, he was exchanged, on extremely rigorous terms, for Egmont.  During
his captivity in this vile dungeon, he composed not only his famous
political and military discourses, but several other works, among the
rest; Annotations upon Plutarch and upon the Histories of Guicciardini.

The siege of Groningen proceeded, and Parma ordered some forces under
Martin Schenck to advance to its relief.  On the other hand, the meagre
states' forces under Sonoy, Hohenlo, Entes, and Count John of Nassau's
young son, William Louis, had not yet made much impression upon the city.
There was little military skill to atone for the feebleness of the
assailing army, although there was plenty of rude valor.  Barthold Entes,
a man of desperate character, was impatient at the dilatoriness of the
proceedings.  After having been in disgrace with the states, since the
downfall of his friend and patron, the Count De la Marck, he had recently
succeeded to a regiment in place of Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a
homicide or two."  On the 17th of May, he had been dining at Rolda, in
company with Hohenlo and the young Count of Nassau.  Returning to the
trenches in a state of wild intoxication, he accosted a knot of superior
officers, informing them that they were but boys, and that he would show
them how to carry the faubourg of Groningen on the instant.  He was
answered that the faubourg, being walled and moated, could be taken only
by escalade or battery.  Laughing loudly, he rushed forward toward the
counterscarp, waving his sword, and brandishing on his left arm the cover
of a butter firkin, which he had taken instead of his buckler.  He had
advanced, however, but a step, when a bullet from the faubourg pierced
his brain, and he fell dead without a word.

So perished one of the wild founders of the Netherland commonwealth--one
of the little band of reckless adventurers who had captured the town of
Brill in 1572, and thus laid the foundation stone of a great republic,
which was to dictate its laws to the empire of Charles the Fifth.  He was
in some sort a type.  His character was emblematical of the worst side of
the liberating movement.  Desperate, lawless, ferocious--a robber on
land, a pirate by sea--he had rendered great service in the cause of his
fatherland, and had done it much disgrace.  By the evil deeds of men like
himself, the fair face of liberty had been profaned at its first
appearance.  Born of a respectable family, he had been noted, when a
student in this very Groningen where he had now found his grave, for the
youthful profligacy of his character.  After dissipating his partrimony,
he had taken to the sea, the legalized piracy of the mortal struggle with
Spain offering a welcome refuge to spendthrifts like himself.  In common
with many a banished noble of ancient birth and broken fortunes, the
riotous student became a successful corsair, and it is probable that his
prizes were made as well among the friends as the enemies of his country.
He amassed in a short time one hundred thousand crowns--no contemptible
fortune in those days.  He assisted La Marck in the memorable attack upon
Brill, but behaved badly and took to flight when Mondragon made his
memorable expedition to relieve Tergoes.  He had subsequently been
imprisoned, with La Marck for insubordination, and during his confinement
had dissipated a large part of his fortune.  In 1574, after the violation
of the Ghent treaty, he had returned to, his piratical pursuits, and
having prospered again as rapidly as he had done during his former
cruises, had been glad to exchange the ocean for more honorable service
on shore.  The result was the tragic yet almost ludicrous termination
which we have narrated.  He left a handsome property, the result of his
various piracies, or, according to the usual euphemism, prizes.  He often
expressed regret at the number of traders whom he had cast into the sea,
complaining, in particular, of one victim whom he had thrown overboard,
who would never sink, but who for years long ever floated in his wake,
and stared him in the face whenever he looked over his vessel's side.  A
gambler, a profligate, a pirate, he had yet rendered service to the cause
of freedom, and his name--sullying the purer and nobler ones of other
founders of the commonwealth--"is enrolled in the capitol."

Count Philip Hohenlo, upon whom now, devolved the, entire responsibility
of the Groningen siege and of the Friesland operations, was only a few
degrees superior to this northern corsair.  A noble of high degree,
nearly connected with the Nassau family, sprung of the best blood in
Germany, handsome and dignified in appearance, he was, in reality only a
debauchee and a drunkard.  Personal bravery was his main qualification
for a general; a virtue which he shared with many of his meanest
soldiers.  He had never learned the art of war, nor had he the least
ambition to acquire it.  Devoted to his pleasures, he depraved those
under his command, and injured the cause for which he was contending.
Nothing but defeat and disgrace were expected by the purer patriots from
such guidance.  "The benediction of God," wrote Albada, "cannot be hoped
for under this chieftain, who by life and manners is fitter to drive
swine than to govern pious and honorable men."

The event justified the prophecy.  After a few trifling operations before
Groningen, Hohenlo was summoned to the neighbourhood of Coewerden, by the
reported arrival of Martin Schenck, at the head of a considerable force.
On the 15th of June, the Count marched all night and a part of the follow
morning, in search of the enemy.  He came up with them upon Hardenberg
Heath, in a broiling summer forenoon.  His men were jaded by the forced
march, overcame with the heat, tormented with thirst, and unable to
procure even a drop of water.  The royalists were fresh so that the
result of the contest was easily to be foreseen.  Hohenlo's army was
annihilated in an hour's time, the whole population fled out of
Coewerden, the siege of Groningen was raised; Renneberg was set free to
resume his operations on a larger scale, and the fate of all the north-
eastern provinces was once more swinging in the wind.  The boors of
Drenthe and Friesland rose again.  They had already mustered in the field
at an earlier season of the year, in considerable force.  Calling
themselves "the desperates," and bearing on their standard an eggshell
with the yolk running out--to indicate that, having lost the meat they
were yet ready to fight for the shell--they had swept through the open
country, pillaging and burning.  Hohenlo had defeated them in two
enchanters, slain a large number of their forces, and reduced them for
a time to tranquillity.  His late overthrow once more set them loose.
Renneberg, always apt to be over-elated in prosperity, as he was unduly
dejected in adversity, now assumed all the airs of a conqueror.  He had
hardly eight thousand men under his orders, but his strength lay in the
weakness of his adversaries.  A small war now succeeded, with small
generals, small armies, small campaigns, small sieges.  For the time, the
Prince of Orange was even obliged to content himself with such a general
as Hohenlo.  As usual, he was almost alone.  "Donec eris felix," said he,
emphatically--

                         "multos numerabis amicos,
               Tempera cum erunt nubila, nullus erit,"

and he was this summer doomed to a still harder deprivation by the final
departure of his brother John from the Netherlands.

The Count had been wearied out by petty miseries.  His stadholderate of
Gelderland had overwhelmed him with annoyance, for throughout the north-
eastern provinces there was neither system nor subordination.  The
magistrates could exercise no authority over an army which they did not
pay, or a people whom they did not protect.  There were endless quarrels
between the various boards of municipal and provincial government--
particularly concerning contributions and expenditures.

     [When the extraordinary generosity of the Count himself; and the
     altogether unexampled sacrifices of the Prince are taken into
     account, it may well be supposed that the patience of the brothers
     would be sorely tried by the parsimony of the states.  It appears by
     a document laid before the states-general in the winter of 1580-
     1581, that the Count had himself advanced to Orange 570,000 florins
     in the cause.  The total of money spent by the Prince himself for
     the sake of Netherland liberty was 2,200,000.  These vast sums had
     been raised in various ways and from various personages.  His
     estates were deeply hypothecated, and his creditors so troublesome,
     that, in his own language, he was unable to attend properly to
     public affairs, so frequent and so threatening were the applications
     made upon him for payment.  Day by day he felt the necessity
     advancing more closely upon him of placing himself personally in the
     hands of his creditors and making over his estates to their mercy
     until the uttermost farthing should be paid.  In his two campaigns
     against Alva (1568 and 1572) he had spent 1,050,000 florins.  He
     owed the Elector Palatine 150,000 florins, the Landgrave 60,000,
     Count John 670,000, and other sums to other individuals.]

During this wrangling, the country was exposed to the forces of Parma, to
the private efforts of the Malcontents, to the unpaid soldiery of the
states, to the armed and rebellious peasantry.  Little heed was paid to
the admonitions of Count John, who was of a hotter temper than was the
tranquil Prince.  The stadholder gave way to fits of passion at the
meanness and the insolence to which he was constantly exposed.  He
readily recognized his infirmity, and confessed himself unable to
accommodate his irascibility to the "humores" of the inhabitants.  There
was often sufficient cause for his petulance.  Never had praetor of a
province a more penurious civil list.  "The baker has given notice,"
wrote Count John, in November, "that he will supply no more bread after
to-morrow, unless he is paid."  The states would furnish no money to pay
the, bill.  It was no better with the butcher.  "The cook has often no
meat to roast," said the Count, in the same letter, "so that we are often
obliged to go supperless to bed."  His lodgings were a half-roofed, half-
finished, unfurnished barrack, where the stadholder passed his winter
days and evenings in a small, dark, freezing-cold chamber, often without
fire-wood.  Such circumstances were certainly not calculated to excite
envy.  When in addition to such wretched parsimony, it is remembered that
the Count was perpetually worried by the quarrels of the provincial
authorities with each other and with himself, he may be forgiven for
becoming thoroughly exhausted at last.  He was growing "grey and
grizzled" with perpetual perplexity.  He had been fed with annoyance,
as if--to use his own homely expression--"he had eaten it with a spoon."
Having already loaded himself with a debt of six hundred thousand
florins, which he had spent in the states' service, and having struggled
manfully against the petty tortures of his situation, he cannot be
severely censured for relinquishing his post.  The affairs of his own
Countship were in great confusion.  His children--boys and girls--were
many, and needed their fathers' guidance, while the eldest, William
Louis, was already in arms for the-Netherlands, following the instincts
of his race.  Distinguished for a rash valor, which had already gained
the rebuke of his father and the applause of his comrades, he had
commenced his long and glorious career by receiving a severe wound at
Coewerden, which caused him to halt for life.  Leaving so worthy a
representative, the Count was more justified in his departure.

His wife, too, had died in his absence, and household affairs required
his attention.  It must be confessed, however, that if the memory of his
deceased spouse had its claims, the selection of her successor was still
more prominent among his anxieties.  The worthy gentleman had been
supernaturally directed as to his second choice, ere that choice seemed
necessary, for before the news of his wife's death had reached him, the
Count dreamed that he was already united in second nuptials to the fair
Cunigunda, daughter of the deceased Elector Palatine--a vision which was
repeated many times.  On the morrow he learned, to his amazement, that
he was a widower, and entertained no doubt that he had been specially
directed towards the princess seen in his slumbers, whom he had never
seen in life.  His friends were in favor of his marrying the Electress
Dowager, rather than her daughter, whose years numbered less than half
his own.  The honest Count, however, "after ripe consideration,"
decidedly preferred the maid to the widow.  "I confess," he said, with
much gravity, "that the marriage with the old Electress, in respect of
her God-fearing disposition, her piety, her virtue, and the like, would
be much more advisable.  Moreover, as she hath borne her cross, and knows
how to deal with gentlemen, so much the better would it be for me.
Nevertheless, inasmuch as she has already had two husbands, is of a
tolerable age, and is taller of stature than myself, my inclination is
less towards her than towards her daughter."

For these various considerations, Count John, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of his brother, definitely laid down his government of
Gelderland, and quitted the Netherlands about midsummer.  Enough had not
been done, in the opinion of the Prince, so long as aught remained to do,
and he could not bear that his brother should desert the country in the
hour of its darkness, or doubt the Almighty when his hand was veiled in
clouds.  "One must do one's best," said he, "and believe that when such
misfortunes happen, God desires to prove us.  If He sees that we do not
lose our courage, He will assuredly help us.  Had we thought otherwise,
we should never have pierced the dykes on a memorable occasion, for it
was an uncertain thing and a great sorrow for the poor people; yet did
God bless the undertaking.  He will bless us still, for his arm hath not
been shortened."

On the 22nd of July, 1580, the Archduke Matthias, being fully aware of
the general tendency of affairs, summoned a meeting of the generality in
Antwerp.  He did not make his appearance before the assembly, but
requested that a deputation might wait upon him at his lodgings, and to
this committee he unfolded his griefs.  He expressed his hope that the
states were not--in violation of the laws of God and man--about to throw
themselves into the arms of a foreign prince.  He reminded them of their
duty to the holy Catholic religion to the illustrious house of Austria,
while he also pathetically called their attention to the necessities of
his own household, and hoped that they would, at least, provide for the
arrears due to his domestics.

The states-general replied with courtesy as to the personal claims of the
Archduke.  For the rest, they took higher grounds, and the coming
declaration of independence already pierced through the studied decorum
of their language.  They defended their negotiation with Anjou on the
ground of necessity, averring that the King of Spain had proved
inexorable to all intercession, while, through the intrigues of their
bitterest enemies, they had been entirely forsaken by the Empire.

Soon afterwards, a special legation, with Saint Aldegonde at its head,
was despatched to France to consult with the Duke of Anjou, and settled
terms of agreement with him by the treaty of Plessis les Tours (on the
29th of September, 1580), afterwards definitely ratified by the
convention of Bordeaux, signed on the 23rd of the following January.

The states of Holland and Zealand, however, kept entirely aloof from this
transaction, being from the beginning opposed to the choice of Anjou.
From the first to the last, they would have no master but Orange, and to
him, therefore, this year they formally offered the sovereignty of their
provinces; but they offered it in vain.

The conquest of Portugal had effected a diversion in the affairs of the
Netherlands.  It was but a transitory one.  The provinces found the hopes
which they had built upon the necessity of Spain for large supplies in
the peninsula--to their own consequent relief--soon changed into fears,
for the rapid success of Alva in Portugal gave his master additional
power to oppress the heretics of the north.  Henry, the Cardinal King,
had died in 1580, after succeeding to the youthful adventurer, Don
Sebastian, slain during his chivalrous African campaign (4th of August,
1578).  The contest for the succession which opened upon the death of the
aged monarch was brief, and in fifty-eight days, the bastard Antonio,
Philip's only formidable competitor, had been utterly defeated and driven
forth to lurk, like 'a hunted wild beast, among rugged mountain caverns,
with a price of a hundred thousand crowns upon his head.  In the course
of the succeeding year, Philip received homage at Lisbon as King of
Portugal.  From the moment of this conquest, he was more disposed, and
more at leisure than ever, to vent his wrath against the Netherlands, and
against the man whom he considered the incarnation of their revolt.

Cardinal Granvelle had ever whispered in the King's ear the expediency
of taking off the Prince by assassination.  It has been seen how subtly
distilled, and how patiently hoarded, was this priest's venom against
individuals, until the time arrived when he could administer the poison
with effect.  His hatred of Orange was intense and of ancient date.  He
was of opinion, too, that the Prince might be scared from the post of
duty, even if the assassin's hand were not able to reach his heart.  He
was in favor of publicly setting a price upon his head-thinking that if
the attention of all the murderers in the world were thus directed
towards the illustrious victim, the Prince would tremble at the dangers
which surrounded him.  "A sum of money would be well employed in this
way," said the Cardinal, "and, as the Prince of Orange is a vile coward,
fear alone will throw him into confusion."  Again, a few months later,
renewing the subject, he observed, "'twould be well to offer a reward of
thirty or forty thousand crowns to any one who will deliver the Prince,
dead or alive; since from very fear of it--as he is pusillanimous--it
would not be unlikely that he should die of his own accord."

It was insulting even to Philip's intelligence to insinuate that the
Prince would shrink before danger, or die of fear.  Had Orange ever been
inclined to bombast, he might have answered the churchman's calumny, as
Caesar the soothsayer's warning:--

              "-----------------Danger knows full well
               That Caesar is more dangerous than he--"

and in truth, Philip had long trembled on his throne before the genius of
the man who had foiled Spain's boldest generals and wiliest statesmen.
The King, accepting the priest's advice, resolved to fulminate a ban
against the Prince, and to set a price upon his head.  "It will be well,"
wrote Philip to Parma, "to offer thirty thousand crowns or so to any one
who will deliver him dead or alive.  Thus the country may be rid of a man
so pernicious; or at any rate he will be held in perpetual fear, and
therefore prevented from executing leisurely his designs."

In accordance with these suggestions and these hopes, the famous ban was
accordingly drawn up, and dated on the 15th of March, 1580.  It was,
however, not formally published in the Netherlands until the month of
June of the same year.

This edict will remain the most lasting monument to the memory of
Cardinal Granvelle.  It will be read when all his other state-papers
and epistles--able as they incontestably are--shall have passed into
oblivion.  No panegyric of friend, no palliating magnanimity of foe,
can roll away this rock of infamy from his tomb.  It was by Cardinal
Granvelle and by Philip that a price was set upon the head of the
foremost man of his age, as if he had been a savage beast, and that
admission into the ranks of Spain's haughty nobility was made the
additional bribe to tempt the assassin.

The ban consisted of a preliminary narrative to justify the penalty with
which it was concluded.  It referred to the favors conferred by Philip
and his father upon the Prince; to his-signal ingratitude and
dissimulation.  It accused him of originating the Request, the image-
breaking, and the public preaching.  It censured his marriage with an
abbess--even during the lifetime of his wife; alluded to his campaigns
against Alva, to his rebellion in Holland, and to the horrible massacres
committed by Spaniards in that province--the necessary consequences of
his treason.  It accused him of introducing liberty of conscience, of
procuring his own appointment as Ruward, of violating the Ghent treaty,
of foiling the, efforts of Don John, and of frustrating the counsels of
the Cologne commissioners by his perpetual distrust.  It charged him with
a newly-organized conspiracy, in the erection of the Utrecht Union; and
for these and similar crimes--set forth, with involutions, slow, spiral,
and cautious as the head and front of the indictment was direct and
deadly--it denounced the chastisement due to the "wretched hypocrite"
who had committed such offences.

"For these causes," concluded the ban, "we declare him traitor and
miscreant, enemy of ourselves and of the country.  As such we banish him
perpetually from all our realms, forbidding all our subjects, of whatever
quality, to communicate with him openly or privately--to administer to
him victuals, drink, fire, or other necessaries.  We allow all to injure
him in property or life.  We expose the, said William Nassau, as an enemy
of the human-race--giving his property to all who may; seize it.  And if
anyone of our subjects or any stranger should be found sufficiently
generous of heart to rid us of this pest, delivering him to us, alive or
dead, or taking his life, we will cause to be furnished to him
immediately after the deed shall have been done, the sum of twenty-five
thousand crowns; in gold.  If he have committed any crime, however
heinous, we promise to pardon him; and if he be not already noble, we
will ennoble him for his valor."

Such was the celebrated ban against the Prince of Orange.  It was
answered before the end of the year by the memorable "Apology of the
Prince of Orange" one of the moat startling documents in history.  No
defiance was ever thundered forth in the face of a despot in more
terrible tones.  It had become sufficiently manifest to the royal party
that the Prince was not to be purchased by "millions of money," or by
unlimited family advancement--not to be cajoled by flattery or offers of
illustrious friendship.  It had been decided, therefore, to terrify him
into retreat, or to remove him by murder.  The Government had been
thoroughly convinced that the only way to finish the revolt, was to
"finish Orange," according to the ancient advice of Antonio Perez.  The
mask was thrown off.  It had been decided to forbid the Prince bread,
water, fire, and shelter; to give his wealth to the fisc, his heart to
the assassin, his soul, as it was hoped, to the Father of Evil.  The
rupture being thus complete, it was right that the "wretched hypocrite"
should answer ban with ban, royal denunciation with sublime scorn.  He
had ill-deserved, however, the title of hypocrite, he said.  When the
friend of government, he had warned them that by their complicated and
perpetual persecutions they were twisting the rope of their own ruin.
Was that hypocrisy?  Since becoming their enemy, there had likewise been
little hypocrisy found in him--unless it were hypocrisy to make open war
upon government, to take their cities, to expel their armies from the
country.

The proscribed rebel, towering to a moral and even social superiority
over the man who affected to be his master by right divine, swept down
upon his antagonist with crushing effect.  He repudiated the idea of a
king in the Netherlands.  The word might be legitimate in Castillo, or
Naples, or the Indies, but the provinces knew no such title.  Philip had
inherited in those countries only the power of Duke or Count--a power
closely limited by constitutions more ancient than his birthright.
Orange was no rebel then--Philip no legitimate monarch.  Even were the
Prince rebellious, it was no more than Philip's ancestor, Albert of
Austria, had been towards his anointed sovereign, Emperor Adolphus of
Nassau, ancestor of William.  The ties of allegiance and conventional
authority being, severed, it had become idle for the King to affect
superiority of lineage to the man whose family had occupied illustrious
stations when the Habsburgs were obscure squires in Switzerland, and had
ruled as sovereign in the Netherlands before that overshadowing house had
ever been named.

But whatever the hereditary claims of Philip in the country, he had
forfeited them by the violation of his oaths, by his tyrannical
suppression of the charters of the land; while by his personal crimes he
had lost all pretension to sit in judgment upon his fellow man.  Was a
people not justified in rising against authority when all their laws had
been trodden under foot, "not once only, but a million of times?"--and
was William of Orange, lawful husband of the virtuous Charlotte de
Bourbon, to be denounced for moral delinquency by a lascivious,
incestuous, adulterous, and murderous king?  With horrible distinctness
he laid before the monarch all the crimes of which he believed him
guilty, and having thus told Philip to his beard, "thus diddest thou,"
he had a withering word for the priest who stood at his back.  "Tell me,"
he cried, "by whose command Cardinal Granvelle administered poison to the
Emperor Maximilian?  I know what the Emperor told me, and how much fear
he felt afterwards for the King and for all Spaniards."

He ridiculed the effrontery of men like Philip and Granvelle; in charging
"distrust" upon others, when it was the very atmosphere of their own
existence.  He proclaimed that sentiment to be the only salvation for the
country.  He reminded Philip of the words which his namesake of Macedon--
a schoolboy in tyranny, compared to himself--had heard from the lips of
Demosthenes--that the strongest fortress of a free people against a
tyrant was distrust.  That sentiment, worthy of eternal memory, the
Prince declared that he had taken from the "divine philippic," to engrave
upon the heart, of the nation, and he prayed God that he might be more
readily believed than the great orator had been by his people.

He treated with scorn the price set upon his head, ridiculing this
project to terrify him, for its want of novelty, and asking the monarch
if he supposed the rebel ignorant of the various bargains which had
frequently been made before with cutthroats and poisoners to take away
his life.  "I am in the hand of God," said William of Orange; "my worldly
goods and my life have been long since dedicated to His service.  He will
dispose of them as seems best for His glory and my salvation."

On the contrary, however, if it could be demonstrated, or even hoped,
that his absence would benefit the cause of the country, he proclaimed
himself ready to go into exile.

Would to God," said he, in conclusion, that my perpetual banishment, or
even my death, could bring you a true deliverance from so many
calamities.  Oh, how consoling would be such banishment--how sweet such a
death!  For why have I exposed my property?  Was it that I might enrich
myself?  Why have I lost my brothers?  Was it that I might find new;
ones?  Why have I left my son so long a prisoner?  Can you give me
another?  Why have I put my life so often in, danger?  What reward, can
I hope after my long services, and the almost total wreck, of my earthly
fortunes, if not the prize, of having acquired, perhaps at the expense
of my life, your liberty?--If then, my masters, if you judge that my
absence or my death can serve you, behold me ready to obey.  Command me
--send me to the ends of the earth--I will obey.  Here is my head, over
which no prince, no monarch, has power but yourselves.  Dispose of it for
your good, for the preservation of your Republic, but if you judge that
the moderate amount of experience and industry which is in me, if you
judge that the remainder of my property and of my life can yet be of
service to you, I dedicate them afresh to you and to the country."

His motto--most appropriate to his life and character--"Je maintiendrai,"
was the concluding phrase of the document.  His arms and signature were
also formally appended, and the Apology, translated into most modern
languages, was sent, to nearly every potentate in Christendom.  It had
been previously, on the 13th of December, 1580, read before the assembly
of the united states at Delft, and approved as cordially as the ban was
indignantly denounced.

During the remainder of the year 1580, and the half of the following
year, the seat of hostilities was mainly in the northeast-Parma, while
waiting the arrival of fresh troops, being inactive.  The operations,
like the armies and the generals, were petty.  Hohenlo was opposed to
Renneberg.  After a few insignificant victories, the latter laid siege to
Steenwyk, a city in itself of no great importance, but the key to the
province of Drenthe.  The garrison consisted of six hundred soldiers, and
half as many trained burghers.  Renneberg, having six thousand foot and
twelve hundred horse, summoned the place to surrender, but was answered
with defiance.  Captain Cornput, who had escaped from Groningen, after
unsuccessfully warning the citizens of Renneberg's meditated treason,
commanded in Steenwyk, and his courage and cheerfulness sustained the
population of the city during a close winter siege.  Tumultuous mobs in
the streets demanding that the place should be given over ere it was too
late, he denounced to their faces as "flocks of gabbling geese," unworthy
the attention of brave men.  To a butcher who, with the instinct of his
craft, begged to be informed what the population were to eat when the
meat was all gone, he coolly observed, "We will eat you, villain, first
of all, when the time comes; so go home and rest assured that you, at
least, are not to die of starvation."

With such rough but cheerful admonitions did the honest soldier, at the
head of his little handful, sustain the courage of the beleaguered city.
Meantime Renneberg pressed it hard.  He bombarded it with red-hot balls,
a new invention introduced five years before by Stephen Bathor, King of
Poland, at the siege of Dantzig.  Many houses were consumed, but still
Cornput and the citizens held firm.  As the winter advanced, and the
succor which had been promised still remained in the distance, Renneberg
began to pelt the city with sarcasms, which, it was hoped, might prove
more effective than the red-hot balls.  He sent a herald to know if the
citizens had eaten all their horses yet; a question which was answered by
an ostentatious display of sixty starving hacks--all that could be
mustered-upon the heights.  He sent them on another occasion, a short
letter, which ran as follows:

"MOST HONORABLE, MOST STEADFAST,--As, during the present frost, you have
but little exercise in the trenches--as you cannot pass your time in
twirling your finger-rings, seeing that they have all been sold to pay
your soldiers' wages--as you have nothing to rub your teeth upon, nor to
scour your stomachs withal, and as, nevertheless, you require something
if only to occupy your minds, I send you the enclosed letter, in hope it
may yield amusement.--January 15, 1581."

The enclosure was a letter from the Prince of Orange to the Duke of
Anjou, which, as it was pretended, had been intercepted.  It was a clumsy
forgery, but it answered the purpose of more skilful counterfeiting, at a
period when political and religious enmity obscured men's judgment.  "As
to the point of religion," the Prince was made to observe, for example,
to his illustrious correspondent, "that is all plain and clear.  No
sovereign who hopes to come to any great advancement ought to consider
religion, or hold it in regard.  Your Highness, by means of the
garrisons, and fortresses, will be easily master of the principal cities
in Flanders and Brabant, even if the citizens were opposed to you.
Afterwards you will compel them without difficulty to any religion
which may seem most conducive to the interests of your Highness."

Odious and cynical as was the whole tone of the letter, it was
extensively circulated.  There were always natures base and brutal enough
to accept the calumny and to make it current among kindred souls.  It may
be doubted whether Renneberg attached faith to the document; but it was
natural that he should take a malicious satisfaction in spreading this
libel against the man whose perpetual scorn he had so recently earned.
Nothing was more common than such forgeries, and at that very moment a
letter, executed with equal grossness, was passing from hand to hand,
which purported to be from the Count himself to Parma.  History has less
interest in contradicting the calumnies against a man like Renneberg.
The fictitious epistle of Orange, however, was so often republished,
and the copies so carefully distributed, that the Prince had thought
it important to add an express repudiation of its authorship, by way of
appendix to his famous Apology.  He took the occasion to say, that if a
particle of proof could be brought that he had written the letter, or any
letter resembling it, he would forthwith leave the Netherlands, never to
show his face there again.

Notwithstanding this well known denial, however, Renneberg thought it
facetious to send the letter into Steenvayk, where it produced but small
effect upon the minds' of the burghers.  Meantime, they had received
intimation that succor was on its way.  Hollow balls containing letters
were shot into the town, bringing the welcome intelligence that the
English colonel, John Norris, with six thousand states' troops, would
soon make his appearance for their relief, and the brave Cornput added
his cheerful exhortations to heighten the satisfaction thus produced.
A day or two afterwards, three quails were caught in the public square,
and the commandant improved the circumstance by many quaint homilies.
The number three, he observed, was typical of the Holy Trinity, which had
thus come symbolically to their relief.  The Lord had sustained the
fainting Israelites with quails.  The number three indicated three weeks,
within which time the promised succor was sure to arrive.  Accordingly,
upon the 22nd of February, 1581, at the expiration of the third week,
Norris succeeded in victualling the town, the merry and steadfast Cornput
was established as a true prophet, and Count Renneberg abandoned the
siege in despair.

The subsequent career of that unhappy nobleman was brief.  On the 19th of
July his troops were signally defeated by Sonny--and Norris, the fugitive
royalists retreating into Groningen at the very moment when their
general, who had been prevented by illness from commanding them, was
receiving the last sacraments.  Remorse, shame, and disappointment had
literally brought Renneberg to his grave.

"His treason," says a contemporary, "was a nail in his coffin, and on
his deathbed he bitterly bemoaned his crime.  'Groningen!  Groningen!'
would that I had never seen thy walls!"  he cried repeatedly in his last
hours.  He refused to see his sister, whose insidious counsels had
combined with his own evil passions to make him a traitor; and he died on
the 23rd of July, 1581, repentant and submissive.  His heart, after his
decease, was found "shrivelled to the dimensions of a walnut," a
circumstance attributed to poison by some, to remorse by others.  His
regrets; his early death, and his many attractive qualities, combined to:
save his character from universal denunciation, and his name, although
indelibly stained by treason, was ever mentioned with pity rather than
with rancor.

Great changes, destined to be perpetual, were steadily preparing in the
internal condition of the provinces.  A preliminary measure of an
important character had been taken early this year by the assembly of the
united provinces held in the month of January at Delft.  This was the
establishment of a general executive council.  The constitution of the
board was arranged on the 13th of the month, and was embraced in eighteen
articles.  The number of councillors was fixed at thirty, all to be
native Netherlanders; a certain proportion to be appointed from each
province by its estates.  The advice and consent of this body as to
treaties with foreign powers were to be indispensable, but they were not
to interfere with the rights and duties of the states-general, nor to
interpose any obstacle to the arrangements with the Duke of Anjou.

While this additional machine for the self-government of the provinces
was in the course of creation; the Spanish monarch, on the other hand,
had made another effort to recover the authority which he felt slipping
from his grasp.  Philip was in Portugal, preparing for his coronation in,
that, new kingdom--an event to be nearly contemporaneous with his
deposition from the Netherland sovereignty, so solemnly conferred upon
him a quarter of a century before in Brussels; but although thus distant,
he was confident that he could more wisely govern the Netherlands than
the inhabitants could do, and unwilling as ever to confide in the
abilities of those to whom he had delegated his authority.  Provided;
as he unquestionably was at that moment, with a more energetic
representative than any who had before exercised the functions of royal
governor in the provinces, he was still disposed to harass, to doubt, and
to interfere.  With the additional cares of the Portuguese Conquest upon
his hands, he felt as irresistibly impelled as ever to superintend the
minute details of provincial administration.  To do this was impossible.
It was, however, not impossible, by attempting to do it, to produce much
mischief.  "It gives me pain," wrote Granvelle, "to see his Majesty
working as before--choosing to understand everything and to do
everything.  By this course, as I have often said before, he really
accomplishes much less."  The King had, moreover, recently committed
the profound error of sending the Duchess Margaret of Parma to the
Netherlands again.  He had the fatuity to believe her memory so tenderly
cherished in the provinces as to ensure a burst of loyalty at her
reappearance, while the irritation which he thus created in the breast
of her son he affected to disregard.  The event was what might have been
foreseen.  The Netherlanders were very moderately excited by the arrival
of their former regent, but the Prince of Parma was furious.  His mother
actually arrived at Namur in the month of August, 1580, to assume the
civil administration of the provinces,--and he was himself, according to
the King's request, to continue in the command of the army.  Any one who
had known human nature at all, would have recognized that Alexander
Farnese was not the man to be put into leading strings.  A sovereign who
was possessed of any administrative sagacity, would have seen the
absurdity of taking the reins of government at that crisis from the hands
of a most determined and energetic man, to confide them to the keeping of
a woman.  A king who was willing to reflect upon the consequences of his
own acts, must have foreseen the scandal likely to result from an open
quarrel for precedence between such a mother and son.  Margaret of Parma
was instantly informed, however, by Alexander, that a divided authority
like that proposed was entirely out of the question.  Both offered to
resign; but Alexander was unflinching in his determination to retain all
the power or none.  The Duchess, as docile to her son after her arrival
as she had been to the King on undertaking the journey, and feeling
herself unequal to the task imposed upon her, implored Philip's
permission to withdraw, almost as soon as she had reached her
destination.  Granvelle's opinion was likewise opposed to this
interference with the administration of Alexander, and the King at last
suffered himself to be overruled.  By the end of the year 1581, letters
arrived confirming the Prince of Parma in his government, but requesting
the Duchess of Parma to remain, privately in the Netherlands.  She
accordingly continued to reside there under an assumed name until the
autumn of 1583, when she was at last permitted to return to Italy.

During the summer of 1581, the same spirit of persecution which had
inspired the Catholics to inflict such infinite misery upon those of the
Reformed faith in the Netherlands, began to manifest itself in overt acts
against the Papists by those who had at last obtained political.
ascendency over them.  Edicts were published in Antwerp, in Utrecht, and
in different cities of Holland, suspending the exercise of the Roman
worship.  These statutes were certainly a long way removed in horror from
those memorable placards which sentenced the Reformers by thousands to
the axe; the cord, and the stake, but it was still melancholy to see the
persecuted becoming persecutors in their turn.  They were excited to
these stringent measures by the noisy zeal of certain Dominican monks in
Brussels, whose extravagant discourses were daily inflaming the passions
of the Catholics to a dangerous degree.  The authorities of the city
accordingly thought it necessary to suspend, by proclamation, the public
exercise of the ancient religion, assigning, as their principal reason
for this prohibition, the shocking jugglery by which simple-minded
persons were constantly deceived.  They alluded particularly to the
practice of working miracles by means of relics, pieces of the holy
cross, bones of saints, and the perspiration of statues.  They charged
that bits of lath were daily exhibited as fragments of the cross; that
the bones of dogs and monkeys were held up for adoration as those of
saints; and that oil was poured habitually into holes drilled in the
heads of statues, that the populace might believe in their miraculous
sweating.  For these reasons, and to avoid the tumult and possible
bloodshed to which the disgust excited by such charlatanry might give
rise, the Roman Catholic worship was suspended until the country should
be restored to greater tranquillity.  Similar causes led to similar
proclamations in other cities.  The Prince of Orange lamented the
intolerant spirit thus showing itself among those who had been its
martyrs, but it was not possible at that moment to keep it absolutely
under control.

A most important change was now to take place in his condition, a most
vital measure was to be consummated by the provinces.  The step, which
could never be retraced was, after long hesitation, finally taken upon
the 26th of July, 1581, upon which day the united provinces, assembled at
the Hague, solemnly declared their independence of Philip, and renounced
their allegiance for ever.

This act was accomplished with the deliberation due to its gravity.  At
the same time it left the country in a very divided condition.  This was
inevitable.  The Prince had done all that one man could do to hold the
Netherlands together and unite them perpetually into one body politic,
and perhaps, if he had been inspired by a keener personal ambition, this
task might have been accomplished.--The seventeen provinces might have
accepted his dominion, but they would agree to that of no other
sovereign.  Providence had not decreed that the country, after its long
agony, should give birth to a single and perfect commonwealth.  The
Walloon provinces had already fallen off from the cause, notwithstanding
the entreaties of the Prince.  The other Netherlands, after long and
tedious negotiation with Anjou, had at last consented to his supremacy,
but from this arrangement Holland and Zealand held themselves aloof.
By a somewhat anomalous proceeding, they sent deputies along with those
of the other provinces, to the conferences with the Duke, but it was
expressly understood that they would never accept him as sovereign.
They were willing to contract with him and with their sister provinces--
over which he was soon to exercise authority--a firm and perpetual
league, but as to their own chief, their hearts were fixed.  The Prince
of Orange should be their lord and master, and none other.  It lay only
in his self-denying character that he had not been clothed with this
dignity long before.  He had, however, persisted in the hope that all
the provinces might be brought to acknowledge the Duke of Anjou as their
sovereign, under conditions which constituted a free commonwealth with an
hereditary chief, and in this hope he had constantly refused concession
to the wishes of the northern provinces.  He in reality exercised
sovereign power over nearly the whole population, of the Netherlands.
Already in 1580, at the assembly held in April, the states of Holland had
formally requested him to assume the full sovereignty over them, with the
title of Count of Holland and Zealand forfeited by Philip.  He had not
consented, and the proceedings had been kept comparatively secret.  As
the negotiations with Anjou advanced, and as the corresponding abjuration
of Philip was more decisively indicated, the consent of the Prince to
this request was more warmly urged.  As it was evident that the provinces
thus bent upon placing him at their head, could by no possibility be
induced to accept the sovereignty of Anjou--as, moreover; the act of
renunciation of Philip could no longer be deferred, the Prince of Orange
reluctantly and provisionally accepted the supreme power over Holland and
Zealand.  This arrangement was finally accomplished upon the 24th of
July, 1581, and the act of abjuration took place two days afterwards.
The offer of the sovereignty over the other united provinces had been
accepted by Anjou six months before.

Thus, the Netherlands were divided into three portions--the reconciled
provinces, the united provinces under Anjou, and the northern provinces
under Orange; the last division forming the germ, already nearly
developed, of the coming republic.  The constitution, or catalogue of
conditions, by which the sovereignty accorded to Anjou was reduced to
such narrow limits as to be little more than a nominal authority, while
the power remained in the hands of the representative body of the
provinces, will be described, somewhat later, together with the
inauguration of the Duke.  For the present it is necessary that the
reader should fully understand the relative position of the Prince and of
the northern provinces.  The memorable act of renunciation--the
Netherland declaration of independence--will then be briefly explained.

On the 29th of March, 1580, a resolution passed the assembly of Holland
and Zealand never to make peace or enter into any negotiations with the
King of Spain on the basis of his sovereignty.  The same resolution
provided that his name--hitherto used in all public acts--should be for
ever discarded, that his seal should be broken, and that the name and
seal of the Prince of Orange should be substituted in all commissions and
public documents.  At almost the same time the states of Utrecht passed a
similar resolution.  These offers were, however, not accepted, and the
affair was preserved profoundly secret.  On the 5th of July, 1581, "the
knights, nobles, and cities of Holland and Zealand," again, in an urgent
and solemn manner, requested the Prince to accept the "entire authority
as sovereign and chief of the land, as long as the war should continue."
This limitation as to time was inserted most reluctantly by the states,
and because it was perfectly well understood that without it the Prince
would not accept the sovereignty at all.  The act by which this dignity
was offered, conferred full power to command all forces by land and sea,
to appoint all military officers, and to conduct all warlike operations,
without the control or advice of any person whatsoever.  It authorized
him, with consent of the states, to appoint all financial and judicial
officers, created him the supreme executive chief, and fountain of
justice and pardon, and directed him "to maintain the exercise only of
the Reformed evangelical religion, without, however, permitting that
inquiries should be made into any man's belief or conscience, or that any
injury or hindrance should be offered to any man on account of his
religion."

The sovereignty thus pressingly offered, and thus limited as to time, was
finally accepted by William of Orange, according to a formal act dated at
the Hague, 5th of July, 1581, but it will be perceived that no powers
were conferred by this new instrument beyond those already exercised by
the Prince.  It was, as it were, a formal continuance of the functions
which he had exercised since 1576 as the King's stadholder, according to
his old commission of 1555, although a vast, difference existed in
reality.  The King's name was now discarded and his sovereignty disowned,
while the proscribed rebel stood in his place, exercising supreme
functions, not vicariously, but in his own name.  The limitation as to
time was, moreover, soon afterwards secretly, and without the knowledge
of Orange, cancelled by the states.  They were determined that the Prince
should be their sovereign--if they could make him so--for the term of his
life.

The offer having thus been made and accepted upon the 5th of July, oaths
of allegiance and fidelity were exchanged between the Prince and the
estates upon the 24th of the same month.  In these solemnities, the
states, as representing the provinces, declared that because the King of
Spain, contrary to his oath as Count of Holland and Zealand, had not only
not protected these provinces, but had sought with all his might to
reduce them to eternal slavery, it had been found necessary to forsake
him.  They therefore proclaimed every inhabitant absolved from
allegiance, while at the same time, in the name of the population, they
swore fidelity to the Prince of Orange, as representing the supreme
authority.

Two days afterwards, upon the 26th of July, 1581, the memorable
declaration of independence was issued by the deputies of the united
provinces, then solemnly assembled at the Hague.  It was called the Act
of Abjuration.  It deposed Philip from his sovereignty, but was not the
proclamation of a new form of government, for the united provinces were
not ready to dispense with an hereditary chief.  Unluckily, they had
already provided themselves with a very bad one to succeed Philip in the
dominion over most of their territory, while the northern provinces were
fortunate enough and wise enough to take the Father of the country for
their supreme magistrate.

The document by which the provinces renounced their allegiance was not
the most felicitous of their state papers.  It was too prolix and
technical.  Its style had more of the formal phraseology of legal
documents than befitted this great appeal to the whole world and to all
time.  Nevertheless, this is but matter of taste.  The Netherlanders were
so eminently a law-abiding people, that, like the American patriots of
the eighteenth century, they on most occasions preferred punctilious
precision to florid declamation.  They chose to conduct their revolt
according to law.  At the same time, while thus decently wrapping herself
in conventional garments, the spirit of Liberty revealed none the less
her majestic proportions.

At the very outset of the Abjuration, these fathers of the Republic laid
down wholesome truths, which at that time seemed startling blasphemies in
the ears of Christendom.  "All mankind know," said the preamble, "that a
prince is appointed by God to cherish his subjects, even as a shepherd to
guard his sheep.  When, therefore, the prince--does not fulfil his duty
as protector; when he oppresses his subjects, destroys their ancient
liberties, and treats them as slaves, he is to be considered, not a
prince, but a tyrant.  As such, the estates of the land may lawfully and
reasonably depose him, and elect another in his room."

Having enunciated these maxims, the estates proceeded to apply them to
their own case, and certainly never was an ampler justification for
renouncing a prince since princes were first instituted.  The states ran
through the history of the past quarter of a century, patiently
accumulating a load of charges against the monarch, a tithe of which
would have furnished cause for his dethronement.  Without passion or
exaggeration, they told the world their wrongs.  The picture was not
highly colored.  On the contrary, it was rather a feeble than a striking
portrait of the monstrous iniquity which had so long been established
over them.  Nevertheless, they went through the narrative conscientiously
and earnestly.  They spoke of the King's early determination to govern
the Netherlands, not by natives but by Spaniards; to treat them not as
constitutional countries, but as conquered provinces; to regard the
inhabitants not as liege subjects, but as enemies; above all, to
supersede their ancient liberty by the Spanish Inquisition, and they
alluded to the first great step in this scheme--the creation of the new
bishoprics, each with its staff of inquisitors.

They noticed the memorable Petition, the mission of Berghen and Montigny,
their imprisonment and taking off, in violation of all national law, even
that which had ever been held sacred by the most cruel and tyrannical
princes.  They sketched the history of Alva's administration; his
entrapping the most eminent nobles by false promises, and delivering them
to the executioner; his countless sentences of death, outlawry, and
confiscation; his erection of citadels to curb, his imposition of the
tenth and twentieth penny to exhaust the land; his Blood Council and its
achievements; and the immeasurable, woe produced by hanging, burning,
banishing, and plundering, during his seven years of residence.  They
adverted to the Grand Commander, as having been sent, not to improve the
condition of the country, but to pursue the same course of tyranny by
more concealed ways.  They spoke of the horrible mutiny which broke forth
at his death; of the Antwerp Fury; of the express approbation rendered to
that great outrage by the King, who had not only praised the crime, but
promised to recompense the criminals.  They alluded to Don John of
Austria and his duplicity; to his pretended confirmation of the Ghent
treaty; to his attempts to divide the country against itself; to the
Escovedo policy; to the intrigues with the German regiments.  They
touched upon the Cologne negotiations, and the fruitless attempt of the
patriots upon that occasion to procure freedom of religion, while the
object of the royalists was only to distract and divide the nation.
Finally, they commented with sorrow and despair upon that last and
crowning measure of tyranny--the ban against the Prince of Orange.

They calmly observed, after this recital, that they were sufficiently
justified in forsaking a sovereign who for more than twenty years had
forsaken them.  Obeying the law of nature--desirous of maintaining the
rights, charters, and liberties of their fatherland--determined to escape
from slavery to Spaniards--and making known their decision to the world,
they declared the King of Spain deposed from his sovereignty, and
proclaimed that they should recognize thenceforth neither his title nor
jurisdiction.  Three days afterwards, on the 29th of July, the assembly
adopted a formula, by which all persons were to be required to signify
their abjuration.

Such were the forms by which the united provinces threw off their
allegiance to Spain, and ipso facto established a republic, which was to
flourish for two centuries.  This result, however, was not exactly
foreseen by the congress which deposed Philip.  The fathers of the
commonwealth did not baptize it by the name of Republic.  They did not
contemplate a change in their form of government.  They had neither an
aristocracy nor a democracy in their thoughts.  Like the actors in our
own great national drama, these Netherland patriots were struggling to
sustain, not to overthrow; unlike them, they claimed no theoretical
freedom for humanity--promulgated no doctrine of popular sovereignty:
they insisted merely on the fulfilment of actual contracts, signed
sealed, and sworn to by many successive sovereigns.  Acting, upon the
principle that government should be for the benefit of the governed, and
in conformity to the dictates of reason and justice, they examined the
facts by those divine lights, and discovered cause to discard their
ruler.  They did not object to being ruled.  They were satisfied with
their historical institutions, and preferred the mixture of hereditary
sovereignty with popular representation, to which they were accustomed.
They did not devise an a priori constitution.  Philip having violated the
law of reason and the statutes of the land, was deposed, and a new chief
magistrate was to be elected in his stead.  This was popular sovereignty
in fact, but not in words.  The deposition and election could be legally
justified only by the inherent right of the people to depose and to
elect; yet the provinces, in their Declaration of Independence, spoke of
the divine right of kings, even while dethroning, by popular right, their
own King!

So also, in the instructions given by the states to their envoys charged
to justify the abjuration before the Imperial diet held at Augsburg,
twelve months later, the highest ground was claimed for the popular right
to elect or depose the sovereign, while at the same time, kings were
spoken of as "appointed by God."  It is true that they were described, in
the same clause, as "chosen by the people"--which was, perhaps, as exact
a concurrence in the maxim of Vox populi, vox Dei, as the boldest
democrat of the day could demand.  In truth, a more democratic course
would have defeated its own ends.  The murderous and mischievous pranks
of Imbize, Ryhove, and such demagogues, at Ghent and elsewhere, with
their wild theories of what they called Grecian, Roman, and Helvetian
republicanism, had inflicted damage enough on the cause of freedom, and
had paved the road for the return of royal despotism.  The senators
assembled at the Hague gave more moderate instructions to their delegates
at Augsburg.  They were to place the King's tenure upon contract--not an
implied one, but a contract as literal as the lease of a farm.  The house
of Austria, they were to maintain, had come into the possession of the
seventeen Netherlands upon certain express conditions, and with the
understanding that its possession was to cease with the first condition
broken.  It was a question of law and fact, not of royal or popular
right.  They were to take the ground, not only that the contract had been
violated, but that the foundation of perpetual justice upon which it
rested; had likewise been undermined.  It was time to vindicate both
written charters and general principles.  "God has given absolute power
to no mortal man," said Saint Aldegonde, "to do his own will against all
laws and all reason."  "The contracts which the King has broken are no
pedantic fantasies," said the estates, "but laws planted by nature in the
universal heart of mankind, and expressly acquiesced in by prince and
people."  All men, at least, who speak the English tongue, will accept
the conclusion of the provinces, that when laws which protected the
citizen against arbitrary imprisonment and guaranteed him a trial in his
own province--which forbade the appointment of foreigners to high office
--which secured the property of the citizen from taxation, except by the
representative body--which forbade intermeddling on the part of the
sovereign with the conscience of the subject in religious matters--when
such laws had been subverted by blood tribunals, where drowsy judges
sentenced thousands to stake and scaffold without a hearing by
excommunication, confiscation, banishment-by hanging, beheading, burning,
to such enormous extent and with such terrible monotony that the
executioner's sword came to be looked upon as the only symbol of justice
--then surely it might be said, without exaggeration, that the complaints
of the Netherlanders were "no pedantic fantasies," and that the King had
ceased to perform his functions as dispenser of God's justice.

The Netherlanders dealt with facts.  They possessed a body of laws,
monuments of their national progress, by which as good a share of
individual liberty was secured to the citizen as was then enjoyed in any
country of the world.  Their institutions admitted of great improvement,
no doubt; but it was natural that a people so circumstanced should be
unwilling to exchange their condition for the vassalage of "Moors or
Indians."

At the same time it may be doubted whether the instinct for political
freedom only would have sustained them in the long contest, and whether
the bonds which united them to the Spanish Crown would have been broken,
had it not been for the stronger passion for religious liberty, by which
so large a portion of the people was animated.  Boldly as the united
states of the Netherlands laid down their political maxima, the quarrel
might perhaps have been healed if the religious question had admitted of
a peaceable solution.  Philip's bigotry amounting to frenzy, and the
Netherlanders of "the religion" being willing, in their own words, "to
die the death" rather than abandon the Reformed faith, there was upon
this point no longer room for hope.  In the act of abjuration, however,
it was thought necessary to give offence to no class of the inhabitants,
but to lay down such principles only as enlightened Catholics would not
oppose.  All parties abhorred the Inquisition, and hatred to that
institution is ever prominent among the causes assigned for the
deposition of the monarch.  "Under pretence of maintaining the Roman
religion," said the estates, "the King has sought by evil means to bring
into operation the whole strength of the placards and of the Inquisition
--the first and true cause of all our miseries."

Without making any assault upon the Roman Catholic faith, the authors of
the great act by which Philip was for ever expelled from the Netherlands
showed plainly enough that religious persecution had driven them at last
to extremity.  At the same time, they were willing--for the sake of
conciliating all classes of their countrymen--to bring the political
causes of discontent into the foreground, and to use discreet language
upon the religious question.

Such, then, being the spirit which prompted the provinces upon this great
occasion, it may be asked who were the men who signed a document of such
importance?  In whose-name and by what authority did they act against the
sovereign?  The signers of the declaration of independence acted in the
name and by the authority of the Netherlands people.  The estates were
the constitutional representatives of that people.  The statesmen of that
day discovering, upon cold analysis of facts, that Philip's sovereignty
was, legally forfeited; formally proclaimed that forfeiture.  Then
inquiring what had become of the sovereignty, they found it not in the
mass of the people, but in the representative body, which actually
personated the people.  The estates of the different provinces--
consisting of the knights, nobles, and burgesses of each--sent,
accordingly, their deputies to the general assembly at the Hague; and by
this congress the decree of abjuration was issued.  It did, not occur to
any one to summon the people in their primary assemblies, nor would the
people of that day, have comprehended the objects of such a summons.
They were accustomed to the action of the estates, and those bodies
represented as large a number of political capacities as could be
expected of assemblies chosen then upon general principles.  The hour had
not arrived for more profound analysis of the social compact.  Philip was
accordingly deposed justly, legally formally justly, because it had
become necessary to abjur a monarch who was determined not only to
oppress; but to exterminate his people; legally, because he had
habitually violated the constitutions which he had sworn to support;
formally, because the act was done in the name of the people, by the body
historically representing the people.

What, then, was the condition of the nation, after this great step had
been taken?  It stood, as it were, with its sovereignty in its hand,
dividing it into two portions, and offering it, thus separated, to two
distinct individuals.  The sovereignty of Holland and Zealand had been
reluctantly accepted by Orange.  The sovereignty of the united provinces
had been offered to Anjou, but the terms of agreement with that Duke had
not yet been ratified.  The movement was therefore triple, consisting of
an abjuration and of two separate elections of hereditary chiefs; these
two elections being accomplished in the same manner, by the
representative bodies respectively of the united provinces, and of
Holland and Zealand.  Neither the abjuration nor the elections were acted
upon beforehand by the communities, the train-bands, or the guilds of the
cities--all represented, in fact, by the magistrates and councils of
each; nor by the peasantry of the open country--all supposed to be
represented by the knights and nobles.  All classes of individuals,
however; arranged in various political or military combinations, gave
their acquiescence afterwards, together with their oaths of allegiance.
The people approved the important steps taken by their representatives.

Without a direct intention on the part of the people or its leaders to
establish a republic, the Republic established itself.  Providence did
not permit the whole country, so full of wealth intelligence, healthy
political action--so stocked with powerful cities and an energetic
population, to be combined into one free and prosperous commonwealth.
The factious ambition of a few grandees, the cynical venality of many
nobles, the frenzy of the Ghent democracy, the spirit of religious
intolerance, the consummate military and political genius of Alexander
Farnese, the exaggerated self-abnegation and the tragic fate of Orange,
all united to dissever this group of flourishing and kindred provinces.

The want of personal ambition on the part of William the Silent inflicted
perhaps a serious damage upon his country.  He believed a single chief
requisite for the united states; he might have been, but always refused
to become that chief; and yet he has been held up for centuries by many
writers as a conspirator and a self-seeking intriguer.  "It seems to me,"
said he, with equal pathos and truth, upon one occasion, "that I was born
in this bad planet that all which I do might be misinterpreted."  The
people worshipped him, and there was many an occasion when his election
would have been carried with enthusiasm.  "These provinces," said John of
Nassau, "are coming very unwillingly into the arrangement with the Duke
of Alencon, The majority feel much more inclined to elect the Prince, who
is daily, and without intermission, implored to give his consent.  His
Grace, however, will in no wise agree to this; not because he fears the
consequences, such as loss of property or increased danger, for therein
he is plunged as deeply as he ever could be;--on the contrary, if he
considered only the interests of his race and the grandeur of his house,
he could expect nothing but increase of honor, gold, and gear, with all
other prosperity.  He refuses only on this account that it may not be
thought that, instead of religious freedom for the country, he has been
seeking a kingdom for himself and his own private advancement.  Moreover,
he believes that the connexion with France will be of more benefit to the
country and to Christianity than if a peace should be made with Spain, or
than if he should himself accept the sovereignty, as he is desired to
do."

The unfortunate negotiations with Anjou, to which no man was more opposed
than Count John, proceeded therefore.  In the meantime, the sovereignty
over the united provinces was provisionally held by the national council,
and, at the urgent solicitation of the states-general, by the Prince.
The Archduke Matthias, whose functions were most unceremoniously brought
to an end by the transactions which we have been recording, took his
leave of the states, and departed in the month of October.  Brought to
the country a beardless boy, by the intrigues of a faction who wished to
use him as a tool against William of Orange, he had quietly submitted, on
the contrary, to serve as the instrument of that great statesman.  His
personality during his residence was null, and he had to expiate, by many
a petty mortification, by many a bitter tear, the boyish ambition which
brought him to the Netherlands.  He had certainly had ample leisure to
repent the haste with which he had got out of his warm bed in Vienna to
take his bootless journey to Brussels.  Nevertheless, in a country where
so much baseness, cruelty, and treachery was habitually practised by men
of high position, as was the case in the Netherlands; it is something in
favor of Matthias that he had not been base, or cruel, or treacherous.
The states voted him, on his departure, a pension of fifty thousand
guldens annually,  which was probably not paid with exemplary regularity.




CHAPTER V.

     Policy of electing Anjou as sovereign--Commode et incommode--Views
     of Orange--Opinions at the French Court,--Anjou relieves Cambray--
     Parma besieges Tourney--Brave defence by the Princess of Espinoy--
     Honorable capitulation--Anjou's courtship in England--The Duke's
     arrival in the Netherlands--Portrait of Anjou--Festivities in
     Flushing--Inauguration at Antwerp--The conditions or articles
     subscribed to by the Duke--Attempt upon the life of Orange--The
     assassin's papers--Confession of Venero--Gaspar Anastro--His escape
     --Execution of Venero and Zimmermann--Precarious condition of the
     Prince--His recovery--Death of the Princess--Premature letters of
     Parma--Further negotiations with Orange as to the sovereignty of
     Holland and Zealand--Character of the revised Constitution--
     Comparison of the positions of the Prince before and after his
     acceptance of the countship.

Thus it was arranged that, for the--present, at least, the Prince should
exercise sovereignty over Holland and Zealand; although he had himself
used his utmost exertions to induce those provinces to join the rest of
the United Netherlands in the proposed election of Anjou.  This, however,
they sternly refused to do.  There was also a great disinclination felt
by many in the other states to this hazardous offer of their allegiance,
and it was the personal influence of Orange that eventually carried the
measure through.  Looking at the position of affairs and at the character
of Anjou, as they appear to us now, it seems difficult to account for the
Prince's policy.  It is so natural to judge only by the result, that we
are ready to censure statesmen for consequences which beforehand might
seem utterly incredible, and for reading falsely human characters whose
entire development only a late posterity has had full opportunity to
appreciate.  Still, one would think that Anjou had been sufficiently
known to inspire distrust.

There was but little, too, in the aspect of the French court to encourage
hopes of valuable assistance from that quarter.  It was urged, not
without reason, that the French were as likely to become as dangerous as
the Spaniards; that they would prove nearer and more troublesome masters;
that France intended the incorporation of the Netherlands into her own
kingdom; that the provinces would therefore be dispersed for ever from
the German Empire; and that it was as well to hold to the tyrant under
whom they had been born, as to give themselves voluntarily to another of
their own making.  In short, it was maintained, in homely language, that
"France and Spain were both under one coverlid."  It might have been
added that only extreme misery could make the provinces take either
bedfellow.  Moreover, it was asserted, with reason, that Anjou would be
a very expensive master, for his luxurious and extravagant habits were
notorious--that he was a man in whom no confidence could be placed, and
one who would grasp at arbitrary power by any means which might present
themselves.  Above all, it was urged that he was not of the true
religion, that he hated the professors of that faith in his heart, and
that it was extremely unwise for men whose dearest interests were their
religious ones, to elect a sovereign of opposite creed to their own.  To
these plausible views the Prince of Orange and those who acted with him,
had, however; sufficient answers.  The Netherlands had waited long enough
for assistance from other quarters.  Germany would not lift a finger in
the cause; on the contrary, the whole of Germany, whether Protestant or
Catholic, was either openly or covertly hostile.  It was madness to wait
till assistance came to them from unseen sources.  It was time for them
to assist themselves, and to take the best they could get; for when men
were starving they could not afford to be dainty.  They might be bound,
hand and foot, they might be overwhelmed a thousand times before they
would receive succor from Germany, or from any land but France.  Under
the circumstances in which they found themselves, hope delayed was but a
cold and meagre consolation.

"To speak plainly," said Orange, "asking us to wait is very much as if
you should keep a man three days without any food in the expectation of a
magnificent banquet, should persuade him to refuse bread, and at the end
of three days should tell him that the banquet was not ready, but that a
still better one was in preparation.  Would it not be better, then, that
the poor man, to avoid starvation, should wait no longer, but accept
bread wherever he might find it?  Such is our case at present."

It was in this vein that he ever wrote and spoke: The Netherlands were to
rely upon their own exertions, and to procure the best alliance, together
with the most efficient protection possible.  They were not strong enough
to cope singlehanded with their powerful tyrant, but they were strong
enough if they used the instruments which Heaven offered.  It was not
trusting but tempting Providence to wait supinely, instead of grasping
boldly at the means of rescue within reach.  It became the character of
brave men to act, not to expect.  "Otherwise," said the Prince, "we may
climb to the top of trees, like the Anabaptists of Munster, and expect
God's assistance to drop from the clouds."  It is only by listening to
these arguments so often repeated, that we can comprehend the policy of
Orange at thin period.  "God has said that he would furnish the ravens
with food, and the lions with their prey," said he; "but the birds and
the lions do not, therefore, sit in their nests and their lairs waiting
for their food to descend from heaven, but they seek it where it is to be
found."  So also, at a later day, when events seemed to have justified
the distrust so, generally felt in Anjou, the Prince; nevertheless, held
similar language.  "I do not," said he,  calumniate those who tell us to
put our trust in God.  That is my opinion also.  But it is trusting God
to use the means which he places in our hands, and to ask that his
blessings may come upon them.

There was a feeling entertained by the more sanguine that the French King
would heartily assist the Netherlands, after his brother should be fairly
installed.  He had expressly written to that effect, assuring Anjou that
he would help him with all his strength, and would enter into close
alliance with those Netherlands which should accept him as prince and
sovereign.  In another and more private letter to the Duke, the King
promised to assist his brother, "even to his last shirt."  There is no
doubt that it was the policy of the statesmen of France to assist the
Netherlands, while the "mignons" of the worthless King were of a contrary
opinion.  Many of them were secret partizans of Spain; and found it more
agreeable to receive the secret pay of Philip than to assist his revolted
provinces.  They found it easy to excite the jealousy of the monarch
against his brother--a passion which proved more effective than the more
lofty ambition of annexing the Low Countries, according to the secret
promptings of many French politicians.  As for the Queen Mother, she was
fierce in her determination to see fulfilled in this way the famous
prediction of Nostradamus.  Three of her sons had successively worn the
crown of France.  That she might be "the mother of four kings," without
laying a third child in the tomb, she was greedy for this proffered
sovereignty to her youngest and favorite son.  This well-known desire of
Catherine de Medici was duly insisted upon by the advocates of the
election; for her influence, it was urged, would bring the whole power of
France to support the Netherlands.

At any rate, France could not be worse--could hardly be so bad--as their
present tyranny.  "Better the government of the Gaul, though suspect and
dangerous," said Everard Reyd, "than the truculent dominion of the
Spaniard.  Even thus will the partridge fly to the hand of man, to escape
the talons of the hawk."  As for the individual character of Anjou,
proper means would be taken, urged the advocates of his sovereignty, to
keep him in check, for it was intended so closely to limit the power
conferred upon him, that it would be only supreme in name.  The
Netherlands were to be, in reality, a republic, of which Anjou was to be
a kind of Italian or Frisian podesta.  "The Duke is not to act according
to his pleasure," said one of the negotiators, in a private letter to
Count John; "we shall take care to provide a good muzzle for him."  How
conscientiously the "muzzle" was prepared, will appear from the articles
by which the states soon afterwards accepted the new sovereign.  How
basely he contrived to slip the muzzle--in what cruel and cowardly
fashion he bathed his fangs in the blood of the flock committed to him,
will also but too soon appear.

As for the religious objection to Anjou, on which more stress was laid
than upon any other, the answer was equally ready.  Orange professed
himself "not theologian enough" to go into the subtleties brought
forward.  As it was intended to establish most firmly a religious peace,
with entire tolerance for all creeds, he did not think it absolutely
essential to require a prince of the Reformed faith.  It was bigotry to
dictate to the sovereign, when full liberty in religious matters was
claimed for the subject.  Orange was known to be a zealous professor of
the Reformed worship himself; but he did not therefore reject political
assistance, even though offered by a not very enthusiastic member of the
ancient Church.

"If the priest and the Levite pass us by when we are fallen among
thieves," said he, with much aptness and some bitterness, "shall we reject
the aid proffered by the Samaritan, because he is of a different faith
from the worthy fathers who have left us to perish?"  In short, it was
observed with perfect truth that Philip had been removed, not because he
was a Catholic, but because he was a tyrant; not because his faith was
different from that of his subjects, but because he was resolved to
exterminate all men whose religion differed from his own.  It was not,
therefore, inconsistent to choose another Catholic for a sovereign, if
proper guarantees could be obtained that he would protect and not oppress
the Reformed churches.  "If the Duke have the same designs as the King,"
said Saint Aldegonde, "it would be a great piece of folly to change one
tyrant and persecutor for another.  If, on the contrary, instead of
oppressing our liberties, he will maintain them, and in place of
extirpating the disciples of the true religion, he will protect them,
then are all the reasons of our opponents without vigor."

By midsummer the Duke of Anjou made his appearance in the western part of
the Netherlands.  The Prince of Parma had recently come before Cambray
with the intention of reducing that important city.  On the arrival of
Anjou, however, at the head of five thousand cavalry--nearly all of them
gentlemen of high degree, serving as volunteers--and of twelve thousand
infantry, Alexander raised the siege precipitately, and retired towards
Tournay.  Anjou victualled the city, strengthened the garrison, and then,
as his cavalry had only enlisted for a summer's amusement, and could no
longer be held together, he disbanded his forces.  The bulk of the
infantry took service for the states under the Prince of Espinoy,
governor of Tournay.  The Duke himself, finding that, notwithstanding the
treaty of Plessis les Tours and the present showy demonstration upon his
part, the states were not yet prepared to render him formal allegiance,
and being, moreover, in the heyday of what was universally considered his
prosperous courtship of Queen Elizabeth, soon afterwards took his
departure for England.

Parma; being thus relieved of his interference, soon afterwards laid
siege to the important city of Tournay.  The Prince of Espinoy was absent
with the army in the north, but the Princess commanded in his absence.
She fulfilled her duty in a manner worthy of the house from which she
sprang, for the blood of Count Horn was in her veins.  The daughter of
Mary, de Montmorency, the admiral's sister, answered the summons of Parma
to surrender at discretion with defiance.  The garrison was encouraged by
her steadfastness.  The Princess appeared daily among her troops,
superintending the defences, and personally directing the officers.
During one of the assaults, she is said, but perhaps erroneously; to have
been wounded in the arm, notwithstanding which she refused to retire.

The siege lasted two months.  Meantime, it became impossible for Orange
and the estates, notwithstanding their efforts, to raise a sufficient
force to drive Parma from his entrenchments.  The city was becoming
gradually and surely undermined from without, while at the same time the
insidious art of a Dominican friar, Father Gery by name, had been as
surely sapping the fidelity of the garrison from within.  An open revolt
of the Catholic population being on the point of taking place, it became
impossible any longer to hold the city.  Those of the Reformed faith
insisted that the place should be surrendered; and the Princess, being
thus deserted by all parties, made an honorable capitulation with Parma.
She herself, with all her garrison, was allowed to retire with personal
property, and with all the honors of war, while the sack of the city was
commuted for one hundred thousand crowns, levied upon the inhabitants:
The Princess, on leaving the gates, was received with such a shout of
applause from the royal army that she seemed less like a defeated
commander than a conqueror.  Upon the 30th November, Parma accordingly
entered the place which he had been besieging since the 1st of October.

By the end of the autumn, the Prince of Orange, more than ever
dissatisfied with the anarchical condition of affairs, and with the
obstinate jealousy and parsimony of the different provinces, again
summoned the country in the most earnest language to provide for the
general defence, and to take measures for the inauguration of Anjou.  He
painted in sombre colors the prospect which lay before them, if nothing
was done to arrest the progress of the internal disorders and of the
external foe, whose forces were steadily augmenting: Had the provinces
followed his advice, instead of quarreling among themselves, they would
have had a powerful army on foot to second the efforts of Anjou, and
subsequently to save Tournay.  They had remained supine and stolid, even
while the cannonading against these beautiful cities was in their very
ears.  No man seemed to think himself interested in public affair, save
when his own province or village was directly attacked.  The general
interests of the commonwealth were forgotten, in local jealousy.  Had it
been otherwise, the enemy would have long since been driven over the
Meuse.  "When money," continued the Prince, "is asked for to carry on the
war, men answer as if they were talking with the dead Emperor.  To say,
however, that they will pay no more, is as much as to declare that they
will give up their land and their religion both.  I say this, not because
I have any desire to put my hands into the common purse.  You well know
that I have never touched the public money, but it is important that you
should feel that there is no war in the country except the one which
concerns you all."

The states, thus shamed and stimulated, set themselves in earnest to obey
the mandates of the Prince, and sent a special mission to England, to
arrange with the Duke of Anjou for his formal installation as sovereign.
Saint Aldegonde and other commissioners were already there.  It was the
memorable epoch in the Anjou wooing, when the rings were exchanged
between Elizabeth and the Duke, and when the world thought that the
nuptials were on the point of being celebrated.  Saint Aldegonde wrote to
the Prince of Orange on the 22nd of November, that the marriage had been
finally settled upon that day.  Throughout the Netherlands, the
auspicious tidings were greeted with bonfires, illuminations, and
cannonading, and the measures for hailing the Prince, thus highly favored
by so great a Queen, as sovereign master of the provinces, were pushed
forward with great energy.

Nevertheless, the marriage ended in smoke.  There were plenty of
tournays, pageants, and banquets; a profusion of nuptial festivities,
in short, where nothing was omitted but the nuptials.  By the end of
January, 1582, the Duke was no nearer the goal than upon his arrival
three months before.  Acceding, therefore, to the wishes of the
Netherland envoys, he prepared for a visit to their country, where the
ceremony of his joyful entrance as Duke of Brabant and sovereign of the
other provinces was to take place.  No open rupture with Elizabeth
occurred.  On the contrary, the Queen accompanied the Duke, with a
numerous and stately retinue, as far as Canterbury, and sent a most
brilliant train of her greatest nobles and gentlemen to escort him to
the Netherlands, communicating at the same time, by special letter, her
wishes to the estates-general, that he should be treated with as much
honor "as if he were her second self."

On the 10th of February, fifteen large vessels cast anchor at Flushing.
The Duke of Anjou, attended by the Earl of Leicester, the Lords Hunsdon,
Willoughby, Sheffield, Howard, Sir Philip Sidney, and many other
personages of high rank and reputation, landed from this fleet.  He was
greeted on his arrival by the Prince of Orange, who, with the Prince of
Espinoy and a large deputation of the states-general, had been for some
days waiting to welcome him.  The man whom the Netherlands had chosen for
their new master stood on the shores of Zealand.  Francis Hercules, Son
of France, Duke of Alencon and Anjou, was at that time just twenty-eight
years of age; yet not even his flatterers, or his "minions," of whom he
had as regular a train as his royal brother, could claim for him the
external graces of youth or of princely dignity.  He was below the middle
height, puny and ill-shaped.  His hair and eyes were brown, his face was
seamed with the small-pox, his skin covered with blotches, his nose so
swollen and distorted that it seemed to be double.  This prominent
feature did not escape the sarcasms of his countrymen, who, among other
gibes, were wont to observe that the man who always wore two faces, might
be expected to have two noses also.  It was thought that his revolting
appearance was the principal reason for the rupture of the English
marriage, and it was in vain that his supporters maintained that if he
could forgive her age, she might, in return, excuse his ugliness.  It
seemed that there was a point of hideousness beyond which even royal
princes could not descend with impunity, and the only wonder seemed that
Elizabeth, with the handsome Robert Dudley ever at her feet, could even
tolerate the addresses of Francis Valois.

His intellect was by no means contemptible.  He was not without a certain
quickness of apprehension and vivacity of expression which passed
current, among his admirers for wit and wisdom.  Even the experienced.
Saint Aldegonde was deceived in his character, and described him after
an hour and half's interview, as a Prince overflowing with bounty,
intelligence, and sincerity.  That such men as Saint Aldegonde and the
Prince of Orange should be at fault in their judgment, is evidence not
so much of their want of discernment, as of the difference between the
general reputation of the Duke at that period, and that which has been
eventually established for him in history.  Moreover, subsequent events
were to exhibit the utter baseness of his character more signally than it
had been displayed during his previous career, however vacillating.  No
more ignoble yet more dangerous creature had yet been loosed upon the
devoted soil of the Netherlands.  Not one of the personages who had
hitherto figured in the long drama of the revolt had enacted so sorry a
part.  Ambitious but trivial, enterprising but cowardly, an intriguer and
a dupe, without religious convictions or political principles, save that
he was willing to accept any creed or any system which might advance his
own schemes, he was the most unfit protector for a people who, whether
wrong or right; were at least in earnest, and who were accustomed to
regard truth as one of the virtues.  He was certainly not deficient in
self-esteem.  With a figure which was insignificant, and a countenance
which was repulsive, he had hoped to efface the impression made upon
Elizabeth's imagination by the handsomest man in Europe.  With a
commonplace capacity, and with a narrow political education, he intended
to circumvent the most profound statesman of his age.  And there, upon
the pier at Flushing, he stood between them both; between the magnificent
Leicester, whom he had thought to outshine, and the silent Prince of
Orange, whom he was determined to outwit.  Posterity has long been aware
how far he succeeded in the one and the other attempt.

The Duke's arrival was greeted with the roar of artillery, the ringing of
bells, and the acclamations of a large concourse of the inhabitants;
suitable speeches were made by the magistrates of the town, the deputies
of Zealand, and other functionaries, and a stately banquet was provided,
so remarkable "for its sugar-work and other delicacies, as to entirely
astonish the French and English lords who partook thereof."  The Duke
visited Middelburg, where he was received with great state, and to the
authorities of which he expressed his gratification at finding two such
stately cities situate so close to each other on one little island.

On the 17th of February, he set sail for Antwerp.  A fleet of fifty-four
vessels, covered with flags and streamers, conveyed him and his retinue,
together with the large deputation which had welcomed him at Flushing, to
the great commercial metropolis.  He stepped on shore at Kiel within a
bowshot of the city--for, like other Dukes of Brabant, he was not to
enter Antwerp until he had taken the oaths to respect the constitution--
and the ceremony of inauguration was to take place outside the walls.
A large platform had been erected for this purpose, commanding a view
of the stately city, with its bristling fortifications and shady groves.
A throne, covered with velvet and gold, was prepared, and here the Duke
took his seat, surrounded by a brilliant throng, including many of the
most distinguished personages in Europe.

It was a bright winter's morning.  The gaily bannered fleet lay
conspicuous in the river, while an enormous concourse of people were
thronging from all sides to greet the new sovereign.  Twenty thousand
burgher troops, in bright uniforms, surrounded the platform, upon the
tapestried floor of which stood the magistrates of Antwerp, the leading
members of the Brabant estates, with the Prince of Orange at their head,
together with many other great functionaries.  The magnificence
everywhere displayed, and especially the splendid costumes of the
military companies, excited the profound astonishment of the French,
who exclaimed that every soldier seemed a captain, and who regarded
with vexation their own inferior equipments.

Andrew Hesaels, 'doctor utriusque juris', delivered a salutatory oration,
in which, among other flights of eloquence, he expressed the hope of the
provinces that the Duke, with the beams of his greatness, wisdom, and
magnanimity, would disipate all the mists, fogs, and other exhalations
which were pernicious to their national prosperity, and that he would
bring back the sunlight of their ancient glory.

Anjou answered these compliments with equal courtesy, and had much to say
of his willingness to shed every drop of his blood in defence of the
Brabant liberties; but it might have damped the enthusiasm of the moment
could the curtain of the not very distant future have been lifted.  The
audience, listening to these promises, might have seen that it was not so
much his blood as theirs which he was disposed to shed, and less, too, in
defence than in violation of those same liberties which he was swearing
to protect.

Orator Hessels then read aloud the articles of the Joyous Entry, in the
Flemish language, and the Duke was asked if he required any explanations
of that celebrated constitution.  He replied that he had thoroughly
studied its provisions, with the assistance of the Prince of Orange,
during his voyage from Flushing, and was quite prepared to swear to
maintain them.  The oaths, according to the antique custom, were then
administered.  Afterwards, the ducal hat and the velvet mantle, lined
with ermine, were brought, the Prince of Orange assisting his Highness to
assume this historical costume of the Brabant dukes, and saying to him,
as he fastened the button at the throat, "I must secure this robe so
firmly, my lord, that no man may ever tear it from your shoulders."

Thus arrayed in his garment of sovereignty, Anjou was compelled to listen
to another oration from, the pensionary of Antwerp, John Van der Werken.
He then exchanged oaths with the magistrates of the city, and received
the keys, which he returned for safe-keeping to the burgomaster.
Meanwhile the trumpets sounded, largess of gold and silver coins was
scattered among the people, and the heralds cried aloud, "Long live the
Duke of Brabant."

A procession was then formed to escort the new Duke to his commercial
capital.  A stately and striking procession it was.  The Hanseatic
merchants in ancient German attires the English merchants in long velvet
cassocks, the heralds is their quaint costume, the long train of civic
militia with full, bands of music, the chief functionaries of city and
province in their black mantles and gold chains, all marching under
emblematical standards or time-honored blazons, followed each other in
dignified order.  Then came the Duke himself on a white Barbary horse,
caparisoned with cloth of gold.  He was surrounded with English, French,
and Netherland grandees, many of them of world-wide reputation.  There
was the stately Leicester; Sir Philip Sidney, the mirror of chivalry; the
gaunt and imposing form of William the Silent; his son; Count Maurice of
Nassau, destined to be the first captain of his age, then a handsome,
dark-eyed lad of fifteen; the Dauphin of Auvergne; the Marechal de Biron
and his sons; the Prince of Espinoy; the Lords Sheffield; Willoughby,
Howard; Hunsdon, and many others of high degree and distinguished
reputation.  The ancient guilds of the crossbow-men; and archers of
Brabant, splendidly accoutred; formed the bodyguard of the Duke, while
his French cavaliers, the life-guardsmen of the Prince of Orange, and the
troops of they line; followed in great numbers, their glittering uniforms
all, gaily intermingled, "like the flowers de luce upon a royal mantle!"
The procession, thus gorgeous and gay, was terminated by, a dismal group
of three hundred malefactors, marching in fetters, and imploring pardon
of the Duke, a boon which was to be granted at evening.  Great torches,
although it was high noon were burning along the road, at intervals of
four or five feet, in a continuous line reaching from the platform at
Kiel to the portal of Saint Joris, through which the entrance to the city
was to be made.

Inside the gate a stupendous allegory was awaiting the approach of the
new sovereign.  A huge gilded car, crowded with those emblematical and
highly bedizened personages so dear to the Netherlanders, obstructed the
advance of the procession.  All the virtues seemed to have come out for
an airing in one chariot, and were now waiting to offer their homage to
Francis Hercules Valois.  Religion in "red satin," holding the gospel in
her hand, was supported by Justice, "in orange velvet," armed with blade
and beam.  Prudence and Fortitude embraced each other near a column
enwreathed by serpents "with their tails in their ears to typify deafness
to flattery," while Patriotism as a pelican, and Patience as a brooding
hen, looked benignantly upon the scene.  This greeting duly acknowledged,
the procession advanced into the city.  The streets were lined with
troops and with citizens; the balconies were filled with fair women; "the
very gables," says an enthusiastic contemporary, "seemed to laugh with
ladies' eyes."  The market-place was filled with waxen torches and with
blazing tar barrels, while in its centre stood the giant Antigonus--
founder of the city thirteen hundred years before the Christian era--the
fabulous personage who was accustomed to throw the right hands of all
smuggling merchants into the Scheld.  This colossal individual, attired
in a "surcoat of sky-blue," and holding a banner emblazoned with the arms
of Spain, turned its head as the Duke entered the square, saluted the new
sovereign, and then dropping the Spanish scutcheon upon the ground,
raised aloft another bearing the arms of Anjou.

And thus, amid exuberant outpouring of confidence, another lord and
master had made his triumphal entrance into the Netherlands.  Alas how
often had this sanguine people greeted with similar acclamations the
advent of their betrayers and their tyrants!  How soon were they to
discover that the man whom they were thus receiving with the warmest
enthusiasm was the most treacherous tyrant of all.

It was nightfall before the procession at last reached the palace of
Saint Michael, which had been fitted up for the temporary reception of
the Duke.  The next day was devoted to speech-making; various deputations
waiting upon the new Duke of Brabant with congratulatory addresses.  The
Grand Pensionary delivered a pompous oration upon a platform hung with
sky-blue silk, and carpeted with cloth of gold.  A committee of the
German and French Reformed Churches made a long harangue, in which they
expressed the hope that the Lord would make the Duke "as valiant as
David, as wise as Solomon, and as pious as Hezekiah."  A Roman Catholic
deputation informed his Highness that for eight months the members of the
Ancient Church had been forbidden all religious exercises, saving
baptism, marriage, visitation of the sick, and burials.  A promise was
therefore made that this prohibition, which had been the result of the
disturbances recorded in a preceding chapter, should be immediately
modified, and on the 15th of March, accordingly, it was arranged, by
command of the magistrates, that all Catholics should have permission to
attend public worship, according to the ancient ceremonial, in the church
of Saint Michael, which had been originally designated for the use of the
new Duke of Brabant.  It was, however, stipulated that all who desired to
partake of this privilege should take the oath of abjuration beforehand,
and go to the church without arms.

Here then had been oaths enough, orations enough, compliments enough, to
make any agreement steadfast, so far as windy suspirations could furnish
a solid foundation for the social compact.  Bells, trumpets, and the
brazen throats of men and of cannons had made a sufficient din, torches
and tar-barrels had made a sufficient glare, to confirm--so far as noise
and blazing pitch could confirm--the decorous proceedings of church and
town-house, but time was soon to show the value of such demonstrations.
Meantime, the "muzzle" had been fastened with solemnity and accepted with
docility.  The terms of the treaty concluded at Plessis lea Tours and
Bordeaux were made public.  The Duke had subscribed to twenty-seven
articles; which made as stringent and sensible a constitutional compact
as could be desired by any Netherland patriot.  These articles, taken in
connection with the ancient charters which they expressly upheld, left to
the new sovereign no vestige of arbitrary power.  He was merely the
hereditary president of a representative republic.  He was to be Duke,
Count, Margrave, or Seignior of the different provinces on the same terms
which his predecessors had accepted.  He was to transmit the dignities to
his children.  If there were more than one child, the provinces were to
select one of the number for their sovereign.  He was to maintain all the
ancient privileges, charters, statutes, and customs, and to forfeit his
sovereignty at the first violation.  He was to assemble the states-
general at least once a year.  He was always to reside in the
Netherlands.  He was to permit none but natives to hold office.  His
right of appointment to all important posts was limited to a selection
from three candidates, to be proposed by the estates of the province
concerned, at each vacancy.  He was to maintain "the Religion" and the
religious peace in the same state in which they then were, or as should
afterwards be ordained by the estates of each province, without making
any innovation on his own part.  Holland and Zealand were to remain as
they were, both in the matter of religion and otherwise.  His Highness
was not to permit that any one should be examined or molested in his
house, or otherwise, in the matter or under pretext of religion.  He was
to procure the assistance of the King of France for the Netherlands.
He was to maintain a perfect and a perpetual league, offensive and
defensive, between that kingdom and the provinces; without; however,
permitting any incorporation of territory.  He was to carry on the war
against Spain with his own means and those furnished by his royal
brother, in addition to a yearly, contribution by the estates of two
million four hundred thousand guldens.  He was to dismiss all troops at
command of the states-general.  He was to make no treaty with Spain
without their consent.

It would be superfluous to point out the great difference between the
notions entertained upon international law in the sixteenth century and
in our own.  A state of nominal peace existed between Spain, France and
England; yet here was the brother of the French monarch, at the head of
French troops, and attended by the grandees of England solemnly accepting
the sovereignty over the revolted provinces of Spain.  It is also curious
to observe that the constitutional compact, by which the new sovereign
of the Netherlands was admitted to the government, would have been
repudiated as revolutionary and republican by the monarchs of France or
England, if an attempt had been made to apply it to their own realms, for
the ancient charters--which in reality constituted a republican form of
government--had all been re-established by the agreement with Anjou.  The
first-fruits of the ban now began to display themselves.  Sunday, 18th of
March, 1582, was the birthday of the Duke of Anjou, and a great festival
had been arranged, accordingly, for the evening, at the palace of Saint
Michael, the Prince of Orange as well as all the great French lords being
of course invited.  The Prince dined, as usual, at his house in the
neighbourhood of the citadel, in company with the Counts Hohenlo and
Laval, and the two distinguished French commissioners, Bonnivet and Des
Pruneaux.  Young Maurice of Nassau, and two nephews of the Prince, sons
of his brother John, were also present at table.  During dinner the
conversation was animated, many stories being related of the cruelties
which had been practised by the Spaniards in the provinces.  On rising
from the table, Orange led the way from the dining room to his own
apartments, showing the noblemen in his company as he passed along,
a piece of tapestry upon which some Spanish soldiers were represented.
At this moment, as he stood upon the threshold of the ante-chamber, a
youth of small stature, vulgar mien, and pale dark complexion, appeared
from among the servants and offered him a petition. He took the paper,
and as he did so, the stranger suddenly drew a pistol and discharged it
at the head of the Prince.  The ball entered the neck under the right
ear, passed through the roof of the mouth, and came out under the left
jaw-bone, carrying with it two teeth.  The pistol had been held so near,
that the hair and beard of the Prince were set on fire by the discharge.
He remained standing, but blinded, stunned, and for a moment entirely
ignorant of what had occurred.  As he afterwards observed, he thought
perhaps that a part of the house had suddenly fallen.  Finding very soon
that his hair and beard were burning, he comprehended what had occurred;
and called out quickly, "Do not kill him--I forgive him my death!" and
turning to the French noblemen present, he added, "Alas! what a faithful
servant does his Highness lose in me!"

These were his first words, spoken when, as all believed, he had been
mortally wounded.  The, message of mercy came, however, too late; for two
of the gentlemen present, by an irresistible impulse, had run the
assassin through with their rapiers.  The halberdiers rushed upon him
immediately after wards, so that he fell pierced in thirty-two vital
places.  The Prince, supported by his friends, walked to his chamber,
where he was put to bed, while the surgeons examined and bandaged the
wound.  It was most dangerous in appearance, but a very strange
circumstance gave more hope than could otherwise have been entertained.
The flame from the pistol had been so close that it had actually
cauterized the wound inflicted by the ball.  But for this, it was
supposed that the flow of blood from the veins which had been shot
through would have proved fatal before the wound could be dressed.  The
Prince, after the first shock, had recovered full possession of his
senses, and believing himself to be dying, he expressed the most
unaffected sympathy for the condition in which the Duke of Anjou would be
placed by his death.  "Alas, poor Prince!" he cried frequently; "alas,
what troubles will now beset thee!"  The surgeons enjoined and implored
his silence, as speaking might cause the wound to prove immediately
fatal.  He complied, but wrote incessantly.  As long as his heart could
beat, it was impossible for him not to be occupied with his country.

Lion Petit, a trusty Captain of the city guard, forced his way to the
chamber, it being, absolutely necessary, said the honest burgher, for him
to see with his own eyes that the Prince was living, and report the fact
to the townspeople otherwise, so great was the excitement, it was
impossible to say what might be the result.  It was in fact believed that
the Prince was already dead, and it was whispered that he had been
assassinated by the order of Anjou.  This horrible suspicion was flying
through the city, and producing a fierce exasperation, as men talked of
the murder of Coligny, of Saint Bartholomew, of the murderous
propensities of the Valois race.  Had the attempt taken place in the
evening, at the birth-night banquet of Anjou, a horrible massacre would
have been the inevitable issue.  As it happened, however, circumstances
soon, occurred to remove, the suspicion from the French, and to indicate
the origin of the crime.  Meantime, Captain Petit was urged by the
Prince, in writing, to go forth instantly with the news that he yet
survived, but to implore the people, in case God should call him to
Himself, to hold him in kind remembrance, to make no tumult, and to serve
the Duke obediently and faithfully.

Meantime, the youthful Maurice of Nassau was giving proof of that cool
determination which already marked his character.  It was natural that a
boy of fifteen should be somewhat agitated at seeing such a father shot
through the head before his eyes.  His situation was rendered doubly
grave by the suspicions which were instantly engendered as to the
probable origin of the attempt.  It was already whispered in the hall
that the gentlemen who had been so officious in slaying the assassin,
were his accomplices, who--upon the principle that dead men would tell no
tales--were disposed, now that the deed was done, to preclude
inconvenient revelations as to their own share in the crime.  Maurice,
notwithstanding these causes for perturbation, and despite his grief at
his father's probable death, remained steadily by the body of the
murderer.  He was determined, if possible, to unravel the plot, and he
waited to possess himself of all papers and other articles which might
be found upon the person of the deceased.

A scrupulous search was at once made by the attendants, and everything
placed in the young Count's own hands.  This done, Maurice expressed a
doubt lest some of the villain's accomplices might attempt to take the
articles from him, whereupon a faithful old servant of his father came
forward, who with an emphatic expression of the importance of securing
such important documents, took his young master under his cloak, and led
him to a retired apartment of the house.  Here, after a rapid
examination, it was found that the papers were all in Spanish, written
by Spaniards to Spaniards, so that it was obvious that the conspiracy,
if one there were, was not a French conspiracy.  The servant, therefore,
advised Maurice to go to his father, while he would himself instantly
descend to the hall with this important intelligence.  Count Hohenlo had,
from the instant of the murder, ordered the doors to be fastened, and had
permitted no one to enter or to leave the apartment without his
permission.  The information now brought by the servant as to the
character of the papers caused great relief to the minds of all; for,
till that moment, suspicion had even lighted upon men who were the firm
friends of the Prince.

Saint Aldegonde, who had meantime arrived, now proceeded, in company of
the other gentlemen, to examine the papers and other articles taken from
the assassin.  The pistol with which he had done the deed was lying upon
the floor; a naked poniard, which he would probably have used also, had
his thumb not been blown off by the discharge of the pistol, was found in
his trunk hose.  In his pockets were an Agnus Dei, a taper of green wax,
two bits of hareskin, two dried toads--which were supposed to be
sorcerer's charms--a, crucifix, a Jesuit catechism, a prayer-book,
a pocket-book containing two Spanish bills of exchange--one for two
thousand, and one for eight hundred and seventy-seven crowns--and a
set of writing tablets.  These last were covered with vows and pious
invocations, in reference to the murderous affair which the writer had in
hand.  He had addressed fervent prayers to the Virgin Mary, to the Angel
Gabriel, to the Saviour, and to the Saviour's Son" as if, "says the
Antwerp chronicler, with simplicity, "the Lord Jesus had a son"--that
they might all use their intercession with the Almighty towards the
certain and safe accomplishment of the contemplated deed.  Should he come
off successful and unharmed, he solemnly vowed to fast a week on bread
and water.  Furthermore, he promised to Christ a "new coat of costly
pattern;" to the Mother of God, at Guadalupe, a new gown; to Our Lady of
Montserrat, a crown, a gown, and a lamp; and so on through along list of
similar presents thus contemplated for various Shrines.  The poor
fanatical fool had been taught by deeper villains than himself that his
pistol was to rid the world of a tyrant, and to open his own pathway to
Heaven, if his career should be cut short on earth.  To prevent so
undesirable a catastrophe to himself, however, his most natural
conception had been to bribe the whole heavenly host, from the Virgin
Mary downwards, for he had been taught that absolution for murder was to
be bought and sold like other merchandise.  He had also been persuaded
that, after accomplishing the deed, he would become invisible.

Saint Aldegonde hastened to lay the result of this examination before
the Duke of Anjou.  Information was likewise instantly conveyed to the
magistrates at the Town House, and these measures were successful in
restoring confidence throughout the city as to the intentions of the new
government.  Anjou immediately convened the State Council, issued a
summons for an early meeting of the states-general, and published a
proclamation that all persons having information to give concerning the
crime which had just been committed, should come instantly forward, upon
pain of death.  The body of the assassin was forthwith exposed upon the
public square, and was soon recognized as that of one Juan Jaureguy, a
servant in the employ of Gaspar d'Anastro, a Spanish merchant of Antwerp.
The letters and bills of exchange had also, on nearer examination at the
Town House, implicated Anastro in the affair.  His house was immediately
searched, but the merchant had taken his departure, upon the previous
Tuesday, under pretext of pressing affairs at Calais.  His cashier,
Venero, and a Dominican friar, named Antony Zimmermann, both inmates of
his family, were, however, arrested upon suspicion.  On the following day
the watch stationed at the gate carried the foreign post-bags, as soon as
they arrived, to the magistracy, when letters were found from Anastro to
Venero, which made the affair quite plain.  After they had been
thoroughly studied, they were shown to Venero, who, seeing himself thus
completely ruined, asked for pen and ink, and wrote a full confession.

It appeared that the crime was purely a commercial speculation on the
part of Anastro.  That merchant, being on the verge of bankruptcy, had
entered with Philip into a mutual contract, which the King had signed
with his hand and sealed with his seal, and according to which Anastro,
within a certain period, was to take the life of William of Orange, and
for so doing was to receive eighty thousand ducats, and the cross of
Santiago.  To be a knight companion of Spain's proudest order of chivalry
was the guerdon, over and above the eighty thousand pieces of silver,
which Spain's monarch promised the murderer, if he should succeed.  As
for Anastro himself, he was too frugal and too wary to risk his own life,
or to lose much of the premium.  With, tears streaming down his cheeks,
he painted to his faithful cashier the picture which his master would
present, when men should point at him and say, "Behold yon bankrupt!"
protesting, therefore, that he would murder Orange and secure the reward,
or perish in the attempt.  Saying this, he again shed many tears.
Venero, seeing his master thus disconsolate, wept bitterly likewise; and
begged him not to risk his own precious life.  After this pathetic
commingling of their grief, the merchant and his book-keeper became more
composed, and it was at last concerted between them that John Jaureguy
should be entrusted with the job.  Anastro had intended--as he said in a
letter afterwards intercepted--"to accomplish the deed with his own hand;
but, as God had probably reserved him for other things, and particularly
to be of service to his very affectionate friends, he had thought best to
entrust the execution of the design to his servant."  The price paid by
the master to the man, for the work, seems to have been but two thousand
eight hundred and seventy-seven crowns.  The cowardly and crafty
principal escaped.  He had gone post haste to Dunkirk, pretending that
the sudden death of his agent in Calais required his immediate presence
in that city.  Governor Sweveseel, of Dunkirk, sent an orderly to get a
passport for him from La Motte, commanding at Gravelingen.  Anastro being
on tenter-hooks lest the news should arrive that the projected murder had
been consummated before he had crossed the border, testified extravagant
joy on the arrival of the passport, and gave the messenger who brought it
thirty pistoles.  Such conduct naturally excited a vague suspicion in the
mind of the governor, but the merchant's character was good, and he had
brought pressing letters from Admiral Treslong.  Sweveseel did not dare
to arrest him without cause, and he neither knew that any crime had been
committed; nor that the man before him was the criminal.  Two hours after
the traveller's departure, the news arrived of the deed, together with
orders to arrest Anastro, but it was too late.  The merchant had found
refuge within the lines of Parma.

Meanwhile, the Prince lay in a most critical condition.  Believing that
his end was fast approaching; he dictated letters to the states-general,
entreating them to continue in their obedience to the Duke, than whom he
affirmed that he knew no better prince for the government of the
provinces.  These letters were despatched by Saint Aldegonde to the
assembly, from which body a deputation, in obedience to the wishes of
Orange, was sent to Anjou, with expressions of condolence and fidelity.

On Wednesday a solemn fast was held, according to proclamation, in
Antwerp, all work and all amusements being prohibited, and special
prayers commanded in all the churches for the recovery of the Prince.
"Never, within men's memory," says an account published at the moment,
in Antwerp, "had such crowds been seen in the churches, nor so many tears
been shed."

The process against Venero and Zimmermann was rapidly carried through,
for both had made a full confession of their share in the crime.  The
Prince had enjoined from his sick bed, however, that the case should be
conducted with strict regard to justice, and, when the execution could no
longer be deferred, he had sent a written request, by the hands of Saint
Aldegonde, that they should be put to death in the least painful manner.
The request was complied with, but there can be no doubt that the
criminals, had it not been made, would have expiated their offence by the
most lingering tortures.  Owing to the intercession of the man who was to
have been their victim, they were strangled, before being quartered, upon
a scaffold erected in the market-place, opposite the Town House.  This
execution took place on Wednesday, the 28th of March.

The Prince, meanwhile, was thought to be mending, and thanksgivings began
to be mingled with the prayers offered almost every hour in the churches;
but for eighteen days he lay in a most precarious state.  His wife hardly
left his bedside, and his sister, Catharine Countess of Schwartzburg, was
indefatigable in her attentions.  The Duke of Anjou visited him daily,
and expressed the most filial anxiety for his recovery, but the hopes,
which had been gradually growing stronger, were on the 5th of April
exchanged for the deepest apprehensions.  Upon that day the cicatrix by
which the flow of blood from the neck had been prevented, almost from the
first infliction of the wound, fell off.   The veins poured forth a vast
quantity of blood; it seemed impossible to check the haemorrhage, and all
hope appeared to vanish.  The Prince resigned himself to his fate, and
bade his children "good night for ever," saying calmly, "it is now all
over with me."

It was difficult, without suffocating the patient, to fasten a bandage
tightly enough to staunch the wound, but Leonardo Botalli, of Asti, body
physician of Anjou, was nevertheless fortunate enough to devise a simple
mechanical expedient, which proved successful.  By his advice; a
succession of attendants, relieving each other day and night, prevented
the flow of blood by keeping the orifice of the wound slightly but firmly
compressed with the thumb.  After a period of anxious expectation,
the wound again closed; and by the end of the month the Prince was
convalescent.  On the 2nd of May he went to offer thanksgiving in the
Great Cathedral, amid the joyful sobs of a vast and most earnest throng.

The Prince, was saved, but unhappily the murderer had yet found an
illustrious victim.  The Princess of Orange; Charlotte de Bourbon--the
devoted wife who for seven years, had so faithfully shared his joys and
sorrows--lay already on her death-bed.  Exhausted by anxiety, long
watching; and the alternations of hope and fear during the first eighteen
days, she had been prostrated by despair at the renewed haemorrhage.  A
violent fever seized her, under which she sank on the 5th of May, three
days after the solemn thanksgiving for her husband's recovery.  The
Prince, who loved her tenderly, was in great danger of relapse upon the
sad event, which, although not sudden, had not been anticipated.  She was
laid in her grave on the 9th of May, amid the lamentations of the whole
country, for her virtues were universally known and cherished.  She
was a woman of rare intelligence, accomplishment, and gentleness of
disposition; whose only offence had been to break, by her marriage, the
Church vows to which she had been forced in her childhood, but which had
been pronounced illegal by competent authority, both ecclesiastical and
lay.  For this, and for the contrast which her virtues afforded to the
vices of her predecessor, she was the mark of calumny and insult.  These
attacks, however, had cast no shadow upon the serenity of her married
life, and so long as she lived she was the trusted companion and consoler
of her husband.  "His Highness," wrote Count John in 1580, "is in
excellent health, and, in spite of adversity, incredible labor,
perplexity, and dangers, is in such good spirits that, it makes me happy
to witness it.  No doubt a chief reason is the consolation he derives
from the pious and highly-intelligent wife whom, the Lord has given him
--a woman who ever conforms to his wishes, and is inexpressibly dear to
him."

The Princess left six daughters--Louisa Juliana, Elizabeth, Catharina
Belgica, Flandrina, Charlotta Brabantica, and Emilia Secunda.

Parma received the first intelligence of the attempt from the mouth of
Anastro himself, who assured him that the deed had been entirely
successful, and claimed the promised reward.

Alexander, in consequence, addressed circular letters to the authorities
of Antwerp, Brussels, Bruges, and other cities, calling upon them, now
that they had been relieved of their tyrant and their betrayer, to return
again to the path of their duty and to the ever open arms of their lawful
monarch.  These letters were premature.  On the other hand, the states of
Holland and Zealand remained in permanent session, awaiting with extreme
anxiety the result of the Prince's wound.  "With the death of his
Excellency, if God should please to take him to himself," said the
magistracy of Leyden, "in the death of the Prince we all foresee our own
death."  It was, in truth, an anxious moment, and the revulsion of
feeling consequent on his recovery was proportionately intense.

In consequence of the excitement produced by this event, it was no longer
possible for the Prince to decline accepting the countship of Holland and
Zealand, which he had refused absolutely two years before, and which he
had again rejected, except for a limited period, in the year 1581.  It
was well understood, as appears by the treaty with Anjou, and afterwards
formally arranged, "that the Duke was never, to claim sovereignty over
Holland and Zealand," and the offer of the sovereign countship of Holland
was again made to the Prince of Orange in most urgent terms.  It will be
recollected that he had accepted the sovereignty on the 5th of July,
1581, only for the term of the war.  In a letter, dated Bruges, 14th of
August, 1582, he accepted the dignity without limitation.  This offer and
acceptance, however, constituted but the preliminaries, for it was
further necessary that the letters of "Renversal" should be drawn up,
that they should be formally delivered, and that a new constitution
should be laid down, and confirmed by mutual oaths.  After these steps
had been taken, the ceremonious inauguration or rendering of homage was
to be celebrated.

All these measures were duly arranged, except the last.  The installation
of the new Count of Holland was prevented by his death, and the northern
provinces remained a Republic, not only in fact but in name.

In political matters; the basis of the new constitution was the "Great
Privilege" of the Lady Mary, the Magna Charta of the country.  That
memorable monument in the history of the Netherlands and of municipal
progress had, been overthrown by Mary's son, with the forced acquiescence
of the states, and it was therefore stipulated by the new article, that
even such laws and privileges as had fallen into disuse should be
revived.  It was furthermore provided that the little state should be a
free Countship, and should thus silently sever its connexion with the
Empire.

With regard to the position of the Prince, as hereditary chief of the
little commonwealth, his actual power was rather diminished than
increased by his new dignity.  What was his position at the moment?
He was sovereign during the war, on the general basis of the authority
originally bestowed upon him by the King's commission of stadholder.
In 1581, his Majesty had been abjured and the stadholder had become
sovereign.  He held in his hands the supreme power, legislative,
judicial, executive.  The Counts of Holland--and Philip as their
successor--were the great fountains of that triple stream.  Concessions
and exceptions had become so extensive; no doubt, that the provincial
charters constituted a vast body of "liberties" by which the whole
country was reasonably well supplied.  At the same time, all the power
not expressly granted away remained in the breast of the Count.  If
ambition, then, had been William's ruling principle, he had exchanged
substance for shadow, for the new state now constituted was a free
commonwealth--a republic in all but name.

By the new constitution he ceased to be the source of governmental life,
or to derive his own authority from above by right divine.  The sacred
oil which had flowed from Charles the Simple's beard was dried up.
Orange's sovereignty was from the estates; as legal representatives of
the people; and, instead of exercising all the powers not otherwise
granted away, he was content with those especially conferred upon him.
He could neither declare war nor conclude peace without the co-operation
of the representative body.  The appointing power was scrupulously
limited.  Judges, magistrates, governors, sheriffs, provincial and
municipal officers, were to be nominated by the local authorities or by
the estates, on the triple principle.  From these triple nominations he
had only the right of selection by advice and consent of his council.
He was expressly enjoined to see that the law was carried to every man's
door, without any distinction of persons; to submit himself to its
behests, to watch against all impedimenta to the even flow of justice, to
prevent false imprisonments, and to secure trials for every accused
person by the local tribunals.  This was certainly little in accordance
with the arbitrary practice of the past quarter of a century.

With respect to the great principle of taxation, stricter bonds even were
provided than those which already existed.  Not only the right of
taxation remained with the states, but the Count was to see that, except
for war purposes, every impost was levied by a unanimous vote.  He was
expressly forbidden to tamper with the currency.  As executive head, save
in his capacity as Commander-in-chief by land or sea, the new sovereign
was, in short, strictly limited by self-imposed laws.  It had rested with
him to dictate or to accept a constitution.  He had in his memorable
letter of August, 1582, from Bruges, laid down generally the articles
prepared at Plessia and Bourdeaux, for Anjou-together with all applicable
provisions of the Joyous Entry of Brabant--as the outlines of the
constitution for the little commonwealth then forming in the north.  To
these provisions he was willing to add any others which, after ripe
deliberation, might be thought beneficial to the country.

Thus limited were his executive functions.  As to his judicial authority
it had ceased to exist.  The Count of Holland was now the guardian of the
laws, but the judges were to administer them.  He held the sword of
justice to protect and to execute, while the scales were left in the
hands which had learned to weigh and to measure.

As to the Count's legislative authority, it had become coordinate with,
if not subordinate to, that of the representative body.  He was strictly
prohibited from interfering with the right of the separate or the general
states to assemble as often as they should think proper; and he was also
forbidden to summon them outside their own territory.  This was one
immense step in the progress of representative liberty, and the next was
equally important.  It was now formally stipulated that the estates were
to deliberate upon all measures which "concerned justice and polity," and
that no change was to be made--that is to say, no new law was to pass
without their consent as well as that of the council.  Thus, the
principle was established of two legislative chambers, with the right,
but not the exclusive right, of initiation on the part of government, and
in the sixteenth century one would hardly look for broader views of civil
liberty and representative government.  The foundation of a free
commonwealth was thus securely laid, which had William lived, would have
been a representative monarchy, but which his death converted into a
federal republic.  It was necessary for the sake of unity to give a
connected outline of these proceedings with regard to the sovereignty of
Orange.  The formal inauguration, only remained, and this, as will be
seen, was for ever interrupted.




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