Produced by David Widger





MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1566, Complete

A History




JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D. Corresponding Member of the Institute
of France, Etc.
1855

[Etext Editor's Note: JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, born in Dorchester, Mass.
1814, died 1877. Other works: Morton's Hopes and Merry Mount, novels.
Motley was the United States Minister to Austria, 1861-67, and the United
States Minister to England, 1869-70. Mark Twain mentions his respect for
John Motley. Oliver Wendell Holmes said in 'An Oration delivered before
the City Authorities of Boston' on the 4th of July, 1863: "'It cannot be
denied,'--says another observer, placed on one of our national
watch-towers in a foreign capital,--'it cannot be denied that the
tendency of European public opinion, as delivered from high places, is
more and more unfriendly to our cause; but the people,' he adds,
'everywhere sympathize with us, for they know that our cause is that of
free institutions,--that our struggle is that of the people against an
oligarchy.' These are the words of the Minister to Austria, whose
generous sympathies with popular liberty no homage paid to his genius by
the class whose admiring welcome is most seductive to scholars has ever
spoiled; our fellow-citizen, the historian of a great Republic which
infused a portion of its life into our own,--John Lothrop Motley." (See
the biography of Motley, by Holmes) Ed.]




PREFACE

The rise of the Dutch Republic must ever be regarded as one of the
leading events of modern times. Without the birth of this great
commonwealth, the various historical phenomena of: the sixteenth and
following centuries must have either not existed; or have presented
themselves under essential modifications.--Itself an organized protest
against ecclesiastical tyranny and universal empire, the Republic guarded
with sagacity, at many critical periods in the world's history; that
balance of power which, among civilized states; ought always to be
identical with the scales of divine justice. The splendid empire of
Charles the Fifth was erected upon the grave of liberty. It is a
consolation to those who have hope in humanity to watch, under the reign
of his successor, the gradual but triumphant resurrection of the spirit
over which the sepulchre had so long been sealed. From the handbreadth of
territory called the province of Holland rises a power which wages eighty
years' warfare with the most potent empire upon earth, and which, during
the progress of the struggle, becoming itself a mighty state, and binding
about its own slender form a zone of the richest possessions of earth,
from pole to tropic, finally dictates its decrees to the empire of
Charles.

So much is each individual state but a member of one great international
commonwealth, and so close is the relationship between the whole human
family, that it is impossible for a nation, even while struggling for
itself, not to acquire something for all mankind. The maintenance of the
right by the little provinces of Holland and Zealand in the sixteenth, by
Holland and England united in the seventeenth, and by the United States
of America in the eighteenth centuries, forms but a single chapter in the
great volume of human fate; for the so-called revolutions of Holland,
England, and America, are all links of one chain.

To the Dutch Republic, even more than to Florence at an earlier day, is
the world indebted for practical instruction in that great science of
political equilibrium which must always become more and more important as
the various states of the civilized world are pressed more closely
together, and as the struggle for pre-eminence becomes more feverish and
fatal. Courage and skill in political and military combinations enabled
William the Silent to overcome the most powerful and unscrupulous monarch
of his age. The same hereditary audacity and fertility of genius placed
the destiny of Europe in the hands of William's great-grandson, and
enabled him to mould into an impregnable barrier the various elements of
opposition to the overshadowing monarchy of Louis XIV. As the schemes of
the Inquisition and the unparalleled tyranny of Philip, in one century,
led to the establishment of the Republic of the United Provinces, so, in
the next, the revocation of the Nantes Edict and the invasion of Holland
are avenged by the elevation of the Dutch stadholder upon the throne of
the stipendiary Stuarts.

To all who speak the English language; the history of the great agony
through which the Republic of Holland was ushered into life must have
peculiar interest, for it is a portion of the records of the Anglo-Saxon
race--essentially the same, whether in Friesland, England, or
Massachusetts.

A great naval and commercial commonwealth, occupying a small portion of
Europe but conquering a wide empire by the private enterprise of trading
companies, girdling the world with its innumerable dependencies in Asia,
America, Africa, Australia--exercising sovereignty in Brazil, Guiana, the
West Indies, New York, at the Cape of Good Hope, in Hindostan, Ceylon,
Java, Sumatra, New Holland--having first laid together, as it were, many
of the Cyclopean blocks, out of which the British realm, at a late:
period, has been constructed--must always be looked upon with interest by
Englishmen, as in a great measure the precursor in their own scheme of
empire.

For America the spectacle is one of still deeper import. The Dutch
Republic originated in the opposition of the rational elements of human
nature to sacerdotal dogmatism and persecution--in the courageous
resistance of historical and chartered liberty to foreign despotism.
Neither that liberty nor ours was born of the cloud-embraces of a false
Divinity with, a Humanity of impossible beauty, nor was the infant career
of either arrested in blood and tears by the madness of its worshippers.
"To maintain," not to overthrow, was the device of the Washington of the
sixteenth century, as it was the aim of our own hero and his great
contemporaries.

The great Western Republic, therefore--in whose Anglo-Saxon veins flows
much of that ancient and kindred blood received from the nation once
ruling a noble portion of its territory, and tracking its own political
existence to the same parent spring of temperate human liberty--must look
with affectionate interest upon the trials of the elder commonwealth.
These volumes recite the achievement of Dutch independence, for its
recognition was delayed till the acknowledgment was superfluous and
ridiculous. The existence of the Republic is properly to be dated from
the Union of Utrecht in 1581, while the final separation of territory
into independent and obedient provinces, into the Commonwealth of the
United States and the Belgian provinces of Spain, was in reality effected
by William the Silent, with whose death three years subsequently, the
heroic period of the history may be said to terminate. At this point
these volumes close. Another series, with less attention to minute
details, and carrying the story through a longer range of years, will
paint the progress of the Republic in its palmy days, and narrate the
establishment of, its external system of dependencies and its interior
combinations for self-government and European counterpoise. The lessons
of history and the fate of free states can never be sufficiently pondered
by those upon whom so large and heavy a responsibility for the
maintenance of rational human freedom rests.

I have only to add that this work is the result of conscientious
research, and of an earnest desire to arrive at the truth. I have
faithfully studied all the important contemporary chroniclers and later
historians--Dutch, Flemish, French, Italian, Spanish, or German. Catholic
and Protestant, Monarchist and Republican, have been consulted with the
same sincerity. The works of Bor (whose enormous but indispensable folios
form a complete magazine of contemporary state-papers, letters, and
pamphlets, blended together in mass, and connected by a chain of artless
but earnest narrative), of Meteren, De Thou, Burgundius, Heuterus;
Tassis, Viglius, Hoofd, Haraeus, Van der Haer, Grotius-of Van der Vynckt,
Wagenaer, Van Wyn, De Jonghe, Kluit, Van Kampen, Dewez, Kappelle,
Bakhuyzen, Groen van Prinsterer--of Ranke and Raumer, have been as
familiar to me as those of Mendoza, Carnero, Cabrera, Herrera, Ulloa,
Bentivoglio, Peres, Strada. The manuscript relations of those Argus-eyed
Venetian envoys who surprised so many courts and cabinets in their most
unguarded moments, and daguerreotyped their character and policy for the
instruction of the crafty Republic, and whose reports remain such an
inestimable source for the secret history of the sixteenth century, have
been carefully examined--especially the narratives of the caustic and
accomplished Badovaro, of Suriano, and Michele. It is unnecessary to add
that all the publications of M. Gachard--particularly the invaluable
correspondence of Philip II. and of William the Silent, as well as the
"Archives et Correspondence" of the Orange Nassau family, edited by the
learned and distinguished Groen van Prinsterer, have been my constant
guides through the tortuous labyrinth of Spanish and Netherland politics.
The large and most interesting series of pamphlets known as "The Duncan
Collection," in the Royal Library at the Hague, has also afforded a great
variety of details by which I have endeavoured to give color and interest
to the narrative. Besides these, and many other printed works, I have
also had the advantage of perusing many manuscript histories, among which
may be particularly mentioned the works of Pontua Payen, of Renom de
France, and of Pasquier de la Barre; while the vast collection of
unpublished documents in the Royal Archives of the Hague, of Brussels,
and of Dresden, has furnished me with much new matter of great
importance. I venture to hope that many years of labour, a portion of
them in the archives of those countries whose history forms the object of
my study, will not have been entirely in vain; and that the lovers of
human progress, the believers in the capacity of nations for
self-government and self-improvement, and the admirers of disinterested
human genius and virtue, may find encouragement for their views in the
detailed history of an heroic people in its most eventful period, and in
the life and death of the great man whose name and fame are identical
with those of his country.

No apology is offered for this somewhat personal statement. When an
unknown writer asks the attention of the public upon an important theme,
he is not only authorized, but required, to show, that by industry and
earnestness he has entitled himself to a hearing. The author too keenly
feels that he has no further claims than these, and he therefore most
diffidently asks for his work the indulgence of his readers.

I would take this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to Dr. Klemm,
Hofrath and Chief Librarian at Dresden, and to Mr. Von Weber,
Ministerial-rath and Head of the Royal Archives of Saxony, for the
courtesy and kindness extended to me so uniformly during the course of my
researches in that city. I would also speak a word of sincere thanks to
Mr. Campbell, Assistant Librarian at the Hague, for his numerous acts of
friendship during the absence of, his chief, M. Holtrop. To that most
distinguished critic and historian, M. Bakhuyzen van den Brinck, Chief
Archivist of the Netherlands, I am under deep obligations for advice,
instruction, and constant kindness, during my residence at the Hague; and
I would also signify my sense of the courtesy of Mr. Charter-Master de
Schwane, and of the accuracy with which copies of MSS. in the archives
were prepared for me by his care. Finally, I would allude in the
strongest language of gratitude and respect to M. Gachard,
Archivist-General of Belgium, for his unwearied courtesy and manifold
acts of kindness to me during my studies in the Royal Archives of
Brussels.




THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION.




Part 1.

I.

The north-western corner of the vast plain which extends from the German
ocean to the Ural mountains, is occupied by the countries called the
Netherlands. This small triangle, enclosed between France, Germany, and
the sea, is divided by the modern kingdoms of Belgium and Holland into
two nearly equal portions. Our earliest information concerning this
territory is derived from the Romans. The wars waged by that nation with
the northern barbarians have rescued the damp island of Batavia, with its
neighboring morasses, from the obscurity in which they might have
remained for ages, before any thing concerning land or people would have
been made known by the native inhabitants. Julius Caesar has saved from,
oblivion the heroic savages who fought against his legions in defence of
their dismal homes with ferocious but unfortunate patriotism; and the
great poet of England, learning from the conqueror's Commentaries the
name of the boldest tribe, has kept the Nervii, after almost twenty
centuries, still fresh and familiar in our ears.

Tacitus, too, has described with singular minuteness the struggle between
the people of these regions and the power of Rome, overwhelming, although
tottering to its fall; and has moreover, devoted several chapters of his
work upon Germany to a description of the most remarkable Teutonic tribes
of the Netherlands.

Geographically and ethnographically, the Low Countries belong both to
Gaul and to Germany. It is even doubtful to which of the two the Batavian
island, which is the core of the whole country, was reckoned by the
Romans. It is, however, most probable that all the land, with the
exception of Friesland, was considered a part of Gaul.

Three great rivers--the Rhine, the Meuse, and the Scheld--had deposited
their slime for ages among the dunes and sand banks heaved up by the
ocean around their mouths. A delta was thus formed, habitable at last for
man. It was by nature a wide morass, in which oozy islands and savage
forests were interspersed among lagoons and shallows; a district lying
partly below the level of the ocean at its higher tides, subject to
constant overflow from the rivers, and to frequent and terrible
inundations by the sea.

The Rhine, leaving at last the regions where its storied lapse, through
so many ages, has been consecrated alike by nature and art-by poetry and
eventful truth--flows reluctantly through the basalt portal of the
Seven Mountains into the open fields which extend to the German sea.
After entering this vast meadow, the stream divides itself into two
branches, becoming thus the two-horned Rhine of Virgil, and holds in
these two arms the island of Batavia.

The Meuse, taking its rise in the Vosges, pours itself through the
Ardennes wood, pierces the rocky ridges upon the southeastern frontier of
the Low Countries, receives the Sambre in the midst of that picturesque
anthracite basin where now stands the city of Namur, and then moves
toward the north, through nearly the whole length of the country, till it
mingles its waters with the Rhine.

The Scheld, almost exclusively a Belgian river, after leaving its
fountains in Picardy, flows through the present provinces of Flanders and
Hainault. In Caesar's time it was suffocated before reaching the sea in
quicksands and thickets, which long afforded protection to the savage
inhabitants against the Roman arms; and which the slow process of nature
and the untiring industry of man have since converted into the
archipelago of Zealand and South Holland. These islands were unknown to
the Romans.

Such were the rivers, which, with their numerous tributaries, coursed
through the spongy land. Their frequent overflow, when forced back upon
their currents by the stormy sea, rendered the country almost
uninhabitable. Here, within a half-submerged territory, a race of
wretched ichthyophagi dwelt upon terpen, or mounds, which they had
raised, like beavers, above the almost fluid soil. Here, at a later day,
the same race chained the tyrant Ocean and his mighty streams into
subserviency, forcing them to fertilize, to render commodious, to cover
with a beneficent network of veins and arteries, and to bind by watery
highways with the furthest ends of the world, a country disinherited by
nature of its rights. A region, outcast of ocean and earth, wrested at
last from both domains their richest treasures. A race, engaged for
generations in stubborn conflict with the angry elements, was
unconsciously educating itself for its great struggle with the still more
savage despotism of man.

The whole territory of the Netherlands was girt with forests. An
extensive belt of woodland skirted the sea-coast; reaching beyond the
mouths of the Rhine. Along the outer edge of this carrier, the dunes cast
up by the sea were prevented by the close tangle of thickets from
drifting further inward; and thus formed a breastwork which time and art
were to strengthen. The groves of Haarlem and the Hague are relics of
this ancient forest. The Badahuenna wood, horrid with Druidic sacrifices,
extended along the eastern line of the vanished lake of Flevo. The vast
Hercynian forest, nine days' journey in breadth, closed in the country on
the German side, stretching from the banks of the Rhine to the remote
regions of the Dacians, in such vague immensity (says the conqueror of
the whole country) that no German, after traveling sixty days, had ever
reached, or even heard of; its commencement. On the south, the famous
groves of Ardennes, haunted by faun and satyr, embowered the country, and
separated it from Celtic Gaul.

Thus inundated by mighty rivers, quaking beneath the level of the ocean,
belted about by hirsute forests, this low land, nether land, hollow land,
or Holland, seemed hardly deserving the arms of the all-accomplished
Roman. Yet foreign tyranny, from the earliest ages, has coveted this
meagre territory as lustfully as it has sought to wrest from their native
possessors those lands with the fatal gift of beauty for their dower;
while the genius of liberty has inspired as noble a resistance to
oppression here as it ever aroused in Grecian or Italian breasts.



II.

It can never be satisfactorily ascertained who were the aboriginal
inhabitants. The record does not reach beyond Caesar's epoch, and he
found the territory on the left of the Rhine mainly tenanted by tribes of
the Celtic family. That large division of the Indo-European group which
had already overspread many portions of Asia Minor, Greece, Germany, the
British Islands, France, and Spain, had been long settled in Belgic Gaul,
and constituted the bulk of its population. Checked in its westward
movement by the Atlantic, its current began to flow backwards towards its
fountains, so that the Gallic portion of the Netherland population was
derived from the original race in its earlier wanderings and from the
later and refluent tide coming out of Celtic Gaul. The modern appellation
of the Walloons points to the affinity of their ancestors with the
Gallic, Welsh, and Gaelic family. The Belgae were in many respects a
superior race to most of their blood-allies. They were, according to
Caesar's testimony, the bravest of all the Celts. This may be in part
attributed to the presence of several German tribes, who, at this period
had already forced their way across the Rhine, mingled their qualities
with the Belgic material, and lent an additional mettle to the Celtic
blood. The heart of the country was thus inhabited by a Gallic race, but
the frontiers had been taken possession of by Teutonic tribes.

When the Cimbri and their associates, about a century before our era,
made their memorable onslaught upon Rome, the early inhabitants of the
Rhine island of Batavia, who were probably Celts, joined in the
expedition. A recent and tremendous inundation had swept away their
miserable homes, and even the trees of the forests, and had thus rendered
them still more dissatisfied with their gloomy abodes. The island was
deserted of its population. At about the same period a civil dissension
among the Chatti--a powerful German race within the Hercynian
forest--resulted in the expatriation of a portion of the people. The
exiles sought a new home in the empty Rhine island, called it "Bet-auw,"
or "good-meadow," and were themselves called, thenceforward, Batavi, or
Batavians.

These Batavians, according to Tacitus, were the bravest of all the
Germans. The Chatti, of whom they formed a portion, were a pre-eminently
warlike race. "Others go to battle," says the historian, "these go to
war." Their bodies were more hardy, their minds more vigorous, than those
of other tribes. Their young men cut neither hair nor beard till they had
slain an enemy. On the field of battle, in the midst of carnage and
plunder, they, for the first time, bared their faces. The cowardly and
sluggish, only, remained unshorn. They wore an iron ring, too, or shackle
upon their necks until they had performed the same achievement, a symbol
which they then threw away, as the emblem of sloth. The Batavians were
ever spoken of by the Romans with entire respect. They conquered the
Belgians, they forced the free Frisians to pay tribute, but they called
the Batavians their friends. The tax-gatherer never invaded their island.
Honorable alliance united them with the Romans. It was, however, the
alliance of the giant and the dwarf. The Roman gained glory and empire,
the Batavian gained nothing but the hardest blows. The Batavian cavalry
became famous throughout the Republic and the Empire. They were the
favorite troops of Caesar, and with reason, for it was their valor which
turned the tide of battle at Pharsalia. From the death of Julius down to
the times of Vespasian, the Batavian legion was the imperial body guard,
the Batavian island the basis of operations in the Roman wars with Gaul,
Germany, and Britain.

Beyond the Batavians, upon the north, dwelt the great Frisian family,
occupying the regions between the Rhine and Ems, The Zuyder Zee and the
Dollart, both caused by the terrific inundations of the thirteenth
century and not existing at this period, did not then interpose
boundaries between kindred tribes. All formed a homogeneous nation of
pure German origin.

Thus, the population of the country was partly Celtic, partly German. Of
these two elements, dissimilar in their tendencies and always difficult
to blend, the Netherland people has ever been compounded. A certain
fatality of history has perpetually helped to separate still more widely
these constituents, instead of detecting and stimulating the elective
affinities which existed. Religion, too, upon all great historical
occasions, has acted as the most powerful of dissolvents. Otherwise, had
so many valuable and contrasted characteristics been early fused into a
whole, it would be difficult to show a race more richly endowed by Nature
for dominion and progress than the Belgo-Germanic people.

Physically the two races resembled each other. Both were of vast stature.
The gigantic Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies. The
German excited astonishment by his huge body and muscular limbs. Both
were fair, with fierce blue eyes, but the Celt had yellow hair floating
over his shoulders, and the German long locks of fiery red, which he even
dyed with woad to heighten the favorite color, and wore twisted into a
war-knot upon the top of his head. Here the German's love of finery
ceased. A simple tunic fastened at his throat with a thorn, while his
other garments defined and gave full play to his limbs, completed his
costume. The Gaul, on the contrary, was so fond of dress that the Romans
divided his race respectively into long-haired, breeched, and gowned
Gaul; (Gallia comata, braccata, togata). He was fond of brilliant and
parti-colored clothes, a taste which survives in the Highlander's
costume. He covered his neck and arms with golden chains. The simple and
ferocious German wore no decoration save his iron ring, from which his
first homicide relieved him. The Gaul was irascible, furious in his
wrath, but less formidable in a sustained conflict with a powerful foe.
"All the Gauls are of very high stature," says a soldier who fought under
Julian. (Amm. Marcel. xv. 12. 1). "They are white, golden-haired,
terrible in the fierceness of their eyes, greedy of quarrels, bragging
and insolent. A band of strangers could not resist one of them in a
brawl, assisted by his strong blue-eyed wife, especially when she begins,
gnashing her teeth, her neck swollen, brandishing her vast and snowy
arms, and kicking with her heels at the same time, to deliver her
fisticuffs, like bolts from the twisted strings of a catapult. The voices
of many are threatening and formidable. They are quick to anger, but
quickly appeased. All are clean in their persons; nor among them is ever
seen any man or woman, as elsewhere, squalid in ragged garments. At all
ages they are apt for military service. The old man goes forth to the
fight with equal strength of breast, with limbs as hardened by cold and
assiduous labor, and as contemptuous of all dangers, as the young. Not
one of them, as in Italy is often the case, was ever known to cut off his
thumbs to avoid the service of Mars."

The polity of each race differed widely from that of the other. The
government of both may be said to have been republican, but the Gallic
tribes were aristocracies, in which the influence of clanship was a
predominant feature; while the German system, although nominally regal,
was in reality democratic. In Gaul were two orders, the nobility and the
priesthood, while the people, says Caesar, were all slaves. The knights
or nobles were all trained to arms. Each went forth to battle, followed
by his dependents, while a chief of all the clans was appointed to take
command during the war. The prince or chief governor was elected
annually, but only by the nobles. The people had no rights at all, and
were glad to assign themselves as slaves to any noble who was strong
enough to protect them. In peace the Druids exercised the main functions
of government. They decided all controversies, civil and criminal. To
rebel against their decrees was punished by exclusion from the
sacrifices--a most terrible excommunication, through which the criminal
was cut off from all intercourse with his fellow-creatures.

With the Germans, the sovereignty resided in the great assembly of the
people. There were slaves, indeed, but in small number, consisting either
of prisoners of war or of those unfortunates who had gambled away their
liberty in games of chance. Their chieftains, although called by the
Romans princes and kings, were, in reality, generals, chosen by universal
suffrage. Elected in the great assembly to preside in war, they were
raised on the shoulders of martial freemen, amid wild battle cries and
the clash of spear and shield. The army consisted entirely of volunteers,
and the soldier was for life infamous who deserted the field while his
chief remained alive. The same great assembly elected the village
magistrates and decided upon all important matters both of peace and war.
At the full of the moon it was usually convoked. The nobles and the
popular delegates arrived at irregular intervals, for it was an
inconvenience arising from their liberty, that two or three days were
often lost in waiting for the delinquents. All state affairs were in the
hands of this fierce democracy. The elected chieftains had rather
authority to persuade than power to command.

The Gauls were an agricultural people. They were not without many arts of
life. They had extensive flocks and herds; and they even exported salted
provisions as far as Rome. The truculent German, Ger-mane, Heer-mann,
War-man, considered carnage the only useful occupation, and despised
agriculture as enervating and ignoble. It was base, in his opinion, to
gain by sweat what was more easily acquired by blood. The land was
divided annually by the magistrates, certain farms being assigned to
certain families, who were forced to leave them at the expiration of the
year. They cultivated as a common property the lands allotted by the
magistrates, but it was easier to summon them to the battle-field than to
the plough. Thus they were more fitted for the roaming and conquering
life which Providence was to assign to them for ages, than if they had
become more prone to root themselves in the soil. The Gauls built towns
and villages. The German built his solitary hut where inclination
prompted. Close neighborhood was not to his taste.

In their system of religion the two races were most widely contrasted.
The Gauls were a priest-ridden race. Their Druids were a dominant caste,
presiding even over civil affairs, while in religious matters their
authority was despotic. What were the principles of their wild Theology
will never be thoroughly ascertained, but we know too much of its
sanguinary rites. The imagination shudders to penetrate those shaggy
forests, ringing with the death-shrieks of ten thousand human victims,
and with the hideous hymns chanted by smoke-and-blood-stained priests to
the savage gods whom they served.

The German, in his simplicity, had raised himself to a purer belief than
that of the sensuous Roman or the superstitious Gaul. He believed in a
single, supreme, almighty God, All-Vater or All-father. This Divinity was
too sublime to be incarnated or imaged, too infinite to be enclosed in
temples built with hands. Such is the Roman's testimony to the lofty
conception of the German. Certain forests were consecrated to the unseen
God whom the eye of reverent faith could alone behold. Thither, at stated
times, the people repaired to worship. They entered the sacred grove with
feet bound together, in token of submission. Those who fell were
forbidden to rise, but dragged themselves backwards on the ground. Their
rules were few and simple. They had no caste of priests, nor were they,
when first known to the Romans, accustomed to offer sacrifice. It must be
confessed that in a later age, a single victim, a criminal or a prisoner,
was occasionally immolated. The purity of their religion was soon stained
by their Celtic neighborhood. In the course of the Roman dominion it
became contaminated, and at last profoundly depraved. The fantastic
intermixture of Roman mythology with the gloomy but modified superstition
of Romanized Celts was not favorable to the simple character of German
theology. The entire extirpation, thus brought about, of any conceivable
system of religion, prepared the way for a true revelation. Within that
little river territory, amid those obscure morasses of the Rhine and
Scheld, three great forms of religion--the sanguinary superstition of the
Druid, the sensuous polytheism of the Roman, the elevated but dimly
groping creed of the German, stood for centuries, face to face, until,
having mutually debased and destroyed each other, they all faded away in
the pure light of Christianity.

Thus contrasted were Gaul and German in religious and political systems.
The difference was no less remarkable in their social characteristics.
The Gaul was singularly unchaste. The marriage state was almost unknown.
Many tribes lived in most revolting and incestuous concubinage; brethren,
parents, and children, having wives in common. The German was loyal as
the Celt was dissolute. Alone among barbarians, he contented himself with
a single wife, save that a few dignitaries, from motives of policy, were
permitted a larger number. On the marriage day the German offered
presents to his bride--not the bracelets and golden necklaces with which
the Gaul adorned his fair-haired concubine, but oxen and a bridled horse,
a sword, a shield, and a spear-symbols that thenceforward she was to
share his labors and to become a portion of himself.

They differed, too, in the honors paid to the dead. The funerals of the
Gauls were pompous. Both burned the corpse, but the Celt cast into the
flames the favorite animals, and even the most cherished slaves and
dependents of the master. Vast monuments of stone or piles of earth were
raised above the ashes of the dead. Scattered relics of the Celtic age
are yet visible throughout Europe, in these huge but unsightly memorials.

The German was not ambitious at the grave. He threw neither garments nor
odors upon the funeral pyre, but the arms and the war-horse of the
departed were burned and buried with him.

The turf was his only sepulchre, the memory of his valor his only
monument. Even tears were forbidden to the men. "It was esteemed
honorable," says the historian, "for women to lament, for men to
remember."

The parallel need be pursued no further. Thus much it was necessary to
recall to the historical student concerning the prominent characteristics
by which the two great races of the land were distinguished:
characteristics which Time has rather hardened than effaced. In the
contrast and the separation lies the key to much of their history. Had
Providence permitted a fusion of the two races, it is, possible, from
their position, and from the geographical and historical link which they
would have afforded to the dominant tribes of Europe, that a world-empire
might have been the result, different in many respects from any which has
ever arisen. Speculations upon what might have been are idle. It is well,
however; to ponder the many misfortunes resulting from a mutual
repulsion, which, under other circumstances and in other spheres, has
been exchanged for mutual attraction and support.

It is now necessary to sketch rapidly the political transformations
undergone by the country, from the early period down to the middle of the
sixteenth century; the epoch when the long agony commenced, out of which
the Batavian republic was born.



III.

The earliest chapter in the history of the Netherlands was written by
their conqueror. Celtic Gaul is already in the power of Rome; the Belgic
tribes, alarmed at the approaching danger, arm against the universal,
tyrant. Inflammable, quick to strike, but too fickle to prevail against
so powerful a foe, they hastily form a league of almost every clan. At
the first blow of Caesar's sword, the frail confederacy falls asunder
like a rope of sand. The tribes scatter in all directions.

Nearly all are soon defeated, and sue for mercy. The Nervii, true to the
German blood in their veins, swear to die rather than surrender. They,
at least, are worthy of their cause. Caesar advances against them at the
head of eight legions. Drawn up on the banks of the Sambre, they await
the Roman's approach. In three days' march Caesar comes up with them,
pitches his camp upon a steep hill sloping down to the river, and sends
some cavalry across. Hardly have the Roman horsemen crossed the stream,
than the Nervii rush from the wooded hill-top, overthrow horse and rider,
plunge in one great mass into the current, and, directly afterwards, are
seen charging up the hill into the midst of the enemy's force. "At the
same moment," says the conqueror, "they seemed in the wood, in the river,
and within our lines." There is a panic among the Romans, but it is
brief. Eight veteran Roman legions, with the world's victor at their
head, are too much for the brave but undisciplined Nervii. Snatching a
shield from a soldier, and otherwise unarmed, Caesar throws himself into
the hottest of the fight. The battle rages foot to foot and hand to hand
but the hero's skill, with the cool valor of his troops, proves
invincible as ever. The Nervii, true to their vow, die, but not a man
surrenders. They fought upon that day till the ground was heaped with
their dead, while, as the foremost fell thick and fast, their comrades,
says the Roman, sprang upon their piled-up bodies, and hurled their
javelins at the enemy as from a hill. They fought like men to whom life
without liberty was a curse. They were not defeated, but exterminated. Of
many thousand fighting men went home but five hundred. Upon reaching the
place of refuge where they had bestowed their women and children, Caesar
found, after the battle, that there were but three of their senators left
alive. So perished the Nervii. Caesar commanded his legions to treat with
respect the little remnant of the tribe which had just fallen to swell
the empty echo of his glory, and then, with hardly a breathing pause, he
proceeded to annihilate the Aduatici, the Menapii, and the Morini.

Gaul being thus pacified, as, with sublime irony, he expresses himself
concerning a country some of whose tribes had been annihilated, some sold
as slaves, and others hunted to their lairs like beasts of prey, the
conqueror departed for Italy. Legations for peace from many German races
to Rome were the consequence of these great achievements. Among others
the Batavians formed an alliance with the masters of the world. Their
position was always an honorable one. They were justly proud of paying no
tribute, but it was, perhaps, because they had nothing to pay. They had
few cattle, they could give no hides and horns like the Frisians, and
they were therefore allowed to furnish only their blood. From this time
forth their cavalry, which was the best of Germany, became renowned in
the Roman army upon every battle-field of Europe.

It is melancholy, at a later moment, to find the brave Batavians
distinguished in the memorable expedition of Germanicus to crush the
liberties of their German kindred. They are forever associated with the
sublime but misty image of the great Hermann, the hero, educated in Rome,
and aware of the colossal power of the empire, who yet, by his genius,
valor, and political adroitness, preserved for Germany her nationality,
her purer religion, and perhaps even that noble language which her
late-flowering literature has rendered so illustrious--but they are
associated as enemies, not as friends.

Galba, succeeding to the purple upon the suicide of Nero, dismissed the
Batavian life-guards to whom he owed his elevation. He is murdered, Otho
and Vitellius contend for the succession, while all eyes are turned upon
the eight Batavian regiments. In their hands the scales of empire seem to
rest. They declare for Vitellius, and the civil war begins. Otho is
defeated; Vitellius acknowledged by Senate and people. Fearing, like his
predecessors, the imperious turbulence of the Batavian legions, he, too,
sends them into Germany. It was the signal for a long and extensive
revolt, which had well nigh overturned the Roman power in Gaul and Lower
Germany.



IV.

Claudius Civilis was a Batavian of noble race, who had served twenty-five
years in the Roman armies. His Teutonic name has perished, for, like most
savages who become denizens of a civilized state, he had assumed an
appellation in the tongue of his superiors. He was a soldier of fortune,
and had fought wherever the Roman eagles flew. After a quarter of a
century's service he was sent in chains to Rome, and his brother
executed, both falsely charged with conspiracy. Such were the triumphs
adjudged to Batavian auxiliaries. He escaped with life, and was disposed
to consecrate what remained of it to a nobler cause. Civilis was no
barbarian. Like the German hero Arminius, he had received a Roman
education, and had learned the degraded condition of Rome. He knew the
infamous vices of her rulers; he retained an unconquerable love for
liberty and for his own race. Desire to avenge his own wrongs was mingled
with loftier motives in his breast. He knew that the sceptre was in the
gift of the Batavian soldiery. Galba had been murdered, Otho had
destroyed himself, and Vitellius, whose weekly gluttony cost the empire
more gold than would have fed the whole Batavian population and converted
their whole island-morass into fertile pastures, was contending for the
purple with Vespasian, once an obscure adventurer like Civilis himself,
and even his friend and companion in arms. It seemed a time to strike a
blow for freedom.

By his courage, eloquence, and talent for political combinations, Civilis
effected a general confederation of all the Netherland tribes, both
Celtic and German. For a brief moment there was a united people, a
Batavian commonwealth. He found another source of strength in German
superstition. On the banks of the Lippe, near its confluence with the
Rhine, dwelt the Virgin Velleda, a Bructerian weird woman, who exercised
vast influence over the warriors of her nation. Dwelling alone in a lofty
tower, shrouded in a wild forest, she was revered as an oracle. Her
answers to the demands of her worshippers concerning future events were
delivered only to a chosen few. To Civilis, who had formed a close
friendship with her, she promised success, and the downfall of the Roman
world. Inspired by her prophecies, many tribes of Germany sent large
subsidies to the Batavian chief.

The details of the revolt have been carefully preserved by Tacitus, and
form one of his grandest and most elaborate pictures. The spectacle of a
brave nation, inspired by the soul of one great man and rising against an
overwhelming despotism, will always speak to the heart, from generation
to generation. The battles, the sieges, the defeats, the indomitable
spirit of Civilis, still flaming most brightly when the clouds were
darkest around him, have been described by the great historian in his
most powerful manner. The high-born Roman has thought the noble
barbarian's portrait a subject worthy his genius.

The struggle was an unsuccessful one. After many victories and many
overthrows, Civilis was left alone. The Gallic tribes fell off, and sued
for peace. Vespasian, victorious over Vitellius, proved too powerful for
his old comrade. Even the Batavians became weary of the hopeless contest,
while fortune, after much capricious hovering, settled at last upon the
Roman side. The imperial commander Cerialis seized the moment when the
cause of the Batavian hero was most desperate to send emissaries among
his tribe, and even to tamper with the mysterious woman whose prophecies
had so inflamed his imagination. These intrigues had their effect. The
fidelity of the people was sapped; the prophetess fell away from her
worshipper, and foretold ruin to his cause. The Batavians murmured that
their destruction was inevitable, that one nation could not arrest the
slavery which was destined for the whole world. How large a part of the
human race were the Batavians? What were they in a contest with the whole
Roman empire? Moreover, they were not oppressed with tribute. They were
only expected to furnish men and valor to their proud allies. It was the
next thing to liberty. If they were to have rulers, it was better to
serve a Roman emperor than a German witch.

Thus murmured the people. Had Civilis been successful, he would have been
deified; but his misfortunes, at last, made him odious in spite of his
heroism. But the Batavian was not a man to be crushed, nor had he lived
so long in the Roman service to be outmatched in politics by the
barbarous Germans. He was not to be sacrificed as a peace-offering to
revengeful Rome. Watching from beyond the Rhine the progress of defection
and the decay of national enthusiasm, he determined to be beforehand with
those who were now his enemies. He accepted the offer of negotiation from
Cerialis. The Roman general was eager to grant a full pardon, and to
re-enlist so brave a soldier in the service of the empire.

A colloquy was agreed upon. The bridge across the Nabalia was broken
asunder in the middle, and Cerialis and Civilis met upon the severed
sides. The placid stream by which Roman enterprise had connected the
waters of the Rhine with the lake of Flevo, flowed between the imperial
commander and the rebel chieftain.

     ***********************************************

Here the story abruptly terminates. The remainder of the Roman's
narrative is lost, and upon that broken bridge the form of the Batavian
hero disappears forever. His name fades from history: not a syllable is
known of his subsequent career; every thing is buried in the profound
oblivion which now steals over the scene where he was the most imposing
actor.

The soul of Civilis had proved insufficient to animate a whole people;
yet it was rather owing to position than to any personal inferiority,
that his name did not become as illustrious as that of Hermann. The
German patriot was neither braver nor wiser than the Batavian, but he had
the infinite forests of his fatherland to protect him. Every legion which
plunged into those unfathomable depths was forced to retreat
disastrously, or to perish miserably. Civilis was hemmed in by the ocean;
his country, long the basis of Roman military operations, was accessible
by river and canal, The patriotic spirit which he had for a moment
raised, had abandoned him; his allies had deserted him; he stood alone
and at bay, encompassed by the hunters, with death or surrender as his
only alternative. Under such circumstances, Hermann could not have shown
more courage or conduct, nor have terminated the impossible struggle with
greater dignity or adroitness.

The contest of Civilis with Rome contains a remarkable foreshadowing of
the future conflict with Spain, through which the Batavian republic,
fifteen centuries later, was to be founded. The characters, the events,
the amphibious battles, desperate sieges, slippery alliances, the traits
of generosity, audacity and cruelty, the generous confidence, the broken
faith seem so closely to repeat themselves, that History appears to
present the self-same drama played over and over again, with but a change
of actors and of costume. There is more than a fanciful resemblance
between Civilis and William the Silent, two heroes of ancient German
stock, who had learned the arts of war and peace in the service of a
foreign and haughty world-empire. Determination, concentration of
purpose, constancy in calamity, elasticity almost preternatural,
self-denial, consummate craft in political combinations, personal
fortitude, and passionate patriotism, were the heroic elements in both.
The ambition of each was subordinate to the cause which he served. Both
refused the crown, although each, perhaps, contemplated, in the sequel, a
Batavian realm of which he would have been the inevitable chief. Both
offered the throne to a Gallic prince, for Classicus was but the
prototype of Anjou, as Brinno of Brederode, and neither was destined, in
this world, to see his sacrifices crowned with success.

The characteristics of the two great races of the land portrayed
themselves in the Roman and the Spanish struggle with much the same
colors. The Southrons, inflammable, petulant, audacious, were the first
to assault and to defy the imperial power in both revolts, while the
inhabitants of the northern provinces, slower to be aroused, but of more
enduring wrath, were less ardent at the commencement, but; alone,
steadfast at the close of the contest. In both wars the southern Celts
fell away from the league, their courageous but corrupt chieftains having
been purchased with imperial gold to bring about the abject submission of
their followers; while the German Netherlands, although eventually
subjugated by Rome, after a desperate struggle, were successful in the
great conflict with Spain, and trampled out of existence every vestige of
her authority. The Batavian republic took its rank among the leading
powers of the earth; the Belgic provinces remained Roman, Spanish,
Austrian property.



V.

Obscure but important movements in the regions of eternal twilight,
revolutions, of which history has been silent, in the mysterious depths
of Asia, outpourings of human rivets along the sides of the Altai
mountains, convulsions up-heaving r mote realms and unknown dynasties,
shock after shock throb bing throughout the barbarian world and dying
upon the edge of civilization, vast throes which shake the earth as
precursory pangs to the birth of a new empire--as dying symptoms of the
proud but effete realm which called itself the world; scattered hordes of
sanguinary, grotesque savages pushed from their own homes, and hovering
with vague purposes upon the Roman frontier, constantly repelled and
perpetually reappearing in ever-increasing swarms, guided thither by a
fierce instinct, or by mysterious laws--such are the well known phenomena
which preceded the fall of western Rome. Stately, externally powerful,
although undermined and putrescent at the core, the death-stricken empire
still dashed back the assaults of its barbarous enemies.

During the long struggle intervening between the age of Vespasian and
that of Odoacer, during all the preliminary ethnographical revolutions
which preceded the great people's wandering, the Netherlands remained
subject provinces. Their country was upon the high road which led the
Goths to Rome. Those low and barren tracts were the outlying marches of
the empire. Upon that desolate beach broke the first surf from the rising
ocean of German freedom which was soon to overwhelm Rome. Yet, although
the ancient landmarks were soon well nigh obliterated, the Netherlands
still remained faithful to the Empire, Batavian blood was still poured
out for its defence.

By the middle of the fourth century, the Franks and Allemanians,
alle-mannez, all-men, a mass of united Germans are defeated by the
Emperor Julian at Strasburg, the Batavian cavalry, as upon many other
great occasions, saving the day for despotism. This achievement, one of
the last in which the name appears upon historic record, was therefore as
triumphant for the valor as it was humiliating to the true fame of the
nation. Their individuality soon afterwards disappears, the race having
been partly exhausted in the Roman service, partly merged in the Frank
and Frisian tribes who occupy the domains of their forefathers.

For a century longer, Rome still retains its outward form, but the
swarming nations are now in full career. The Netherlands are successively
or simultaneously trampled by Franks, Vandals, Alani, Suevi, Saxons,
Frisians, and even Sclavonians, as the great march of Germany to
universal empire, which her prophets and bards had foretold, went
majestically forward. The fountains of the frozen North were opened, the
waters prevailed, but the ark of Christianity floated upon the flood. As
the deluge assuaged, the earth had returned to chaos, the last pagan
empire had been washed out of existence, but the dimly, groping,
faltering, ignorant infancy of Christian Europe had begun.

After the wanderings had subsided, the Netherlands are found with much
the same ethnological character as before. The Frank dominion has
succeeded the Roman, the German stock preponderates over the Celtic, but
the national ingredients, although in somewhat altered proportions,
remain essentially the same. The old Belgae, having become Romanized in
tongue and customs, accept the new Empire of the Franks. That people,
however, pushed from their hold of the Rhine by thickly thronging hordes
of Gepidi, Quadi, Sarmati, Heruli, Saxons, Burgundians, move towards the
South and West. As the Empire falls before Odoacer, they occupy Celtic
Gaul with the Belgian portion of the Netherlands; while the Frisians,
into which ancient German tribe the old Batavian element has melted, not
to be extinguished, but to live a renovated existence, the "free
Frisians;" whose name is synonymous with liberty, nearest blood relations
of the Anglo-Saxon race, now occupy the northern portion, including the
whole future European territory of the Dutch republic.

The history of the Franks becomes, therefore, the history of the
Netherlands. The Frisians struggle, for several centuries, against their
dominion, until eventually subjugated by Charlemagne. They even encroach
upon the Franks in Belgic Gaul, who are determined not to yield their
possessions. Moreover, the pious Merovingian faineans desire to plant
Christianity among the still pagan Frisians. Dagobert, son of the second
Clotaire, advances against them as far as the Weser, takes possession of
Utrecht, founds there the first Christian church in Friesland, and
establishes a nominal dominion over the whole country.

Yet the feeble Merovingians would have been powerless against rugged
Friesland, had not their dynasty already merged in that puissant family
of Brabant, which long wielded their power before it assumed their crown.
It was Pepin of Heristal, grandson of the Netherlander, Pepin of Landen,
who conquered the Frisian Radbod (A.D. 692), and forced him to exchange
his royal for the ducal title.

It was Pepin's bastard, Charles the Hammer, whose tremendous blows
completed his father's work. The new mayor of the palace soon drove the
Frisian chief into submission, and even into Christianity. A bishop's
indiscretion, however, neutralized the apostolic blows of the mayor. The
pagan Radbod had already immersed one of his royal legs in the baptismal
font, when a thought struck him. "Where are my dead forefathers at
present?" he said, turning suddenly upon Bishop Wolfran. "In Hell, with
all other unbelievers," was the imprudent answer. "Mighty well," replied
Radbod, removing his leg, "then will I rather feast with my ancestors in
the halls of Woden, than dwell with your little starveling hand of
Christians in Heaven." Entreaties and threats were unavailing. The
Frisian declined positively a rite which was to cause an eternal
separation from his buried kindred, and he died as he had lived, a
heathen. His son, Poppa, succeeding to the nominal sovereignty, did not
actively oppose the introduction of Christianity among his people, but
himself refused to be converted. Rebelling against the Frank dominion, he
was totally routed by Charles Martell in a great battle (A.D.750) and
perished with a vast number of Frisians. The Christian dispensation, thus
enforced, was now accepted by these northern pagans. The commencement of
their conversion had been mainly the work of their brethren from Britain.
The monk Wilfred was followed in a few years by the Anglo-Saxon
Willibrod. It was he who destroyed the images of Woden in Walcheren,
abolished his worship, and founded churches in North Holland. Charles
Martell rewarded him with extensive domains about Utrecht, together with
many slaves and other chattels. Soon afterwards he was consecrated Bishop
of all the Frisians. Thus rose the famous episcopate of Utrecht. Another
Anglo-Saxon, Winfred, or Bonifacius, had been equally active among his
Frisian cousins. His crozier had gone hand in hand with the battle-axe.
Bonifacius followed close upon the track of his orthodox coadjutor
Charles. By the middle of the eighth century, some hundred thousand
Frisians had been slaughtered, and as many more converted. The hammer
which smote the Saracens at Tours was at last successful in beating the
Netherlanders into Christianity. The labors of Bonifacius through Upper
and Lower Germany were immense; but he, too, received great material
rewards. He was created Archbishop of Mayence, and, upon the death of
Willibrod, Bishop of Utrecht. Faithful to his mission, however, he met,
heroically, a martyr's death at the hands of the refractory pagans at
Dokkum. Thus was Christianity established in the Netherlands.

Under Charlemagne, the Frisians often rebelled, making common cause with
the Saxons. In 785, A.D., they were, however, completely subjugated, and
never rose again until the epoch of their entire separation from the
Frank empire. Charlemagne left them their name of free Frisians, and the
property in their own land. The feudal system never took root in their
soil. "The Frisians," says their statute book; "shall be free, as long as
the wind blows out of the clouds and the world stands." They agreed,
however, to obey the chiefs whom the Frank monarch should appoint to
govern them, according to their own laws. Those laws were collected, and
are still extant. The vernacular version of their Asega book contains
their ancient customs, together with the Frank additions. The general
statutes of Charlemagne were, of course, in vigor also; but that great
legislator knew too well the importance attached by all mankind to local
customs, to allow his imperial capitulara to interfere, unnecessarily,
with the Frisian laws.



VI.

Thus again the Netherlands, for the first time since the fall of Rome,
were united under one crown imperial. They had already been once united,
in their slavery to Rome. Eight centuries pass away, and they are again
united, in subjection to Charlemagne. Their union was but in forming a
single link in the chain of a new realm. The reign of Charlemagne had at
last accomplished the promise of the sorceress Velleda and other
soothsayers. A German race had re-established the empire of the world.
The Netherlands, like-the other provinces of the great monarch's
dominion, were governed by crown-appointed functionaries, military and
judicial. In the northeastern, or Frisian portion, however; the grants of
land were never in the form of revocable benefices or feuds. With this
important exception, the whole country shared the fate, and enjoyed the
general organization of the Empire.

But Charlemagne came an age too soon. The chaos which had brooded over
Europe since the dissolution of the Roman world, was still too absolute.
It was not to be fashioned into permanent forms, even by his bold and
constructive genius. A soil, exhausted by the long culture of Pagan
empires, was to lie fallow for a still longer period. The discordant
elements out of which the Emperor had compounded his realm, did not
coalesce during his life-time. They were only held together by the
vigorous grasp of the hand which had combined them. When the great
statesman died, his Empire necessarily fell to pieces. Society had need
of farther disintegration before it could begin to reconstruct itself
locally. A new civilization was not to be improvised by a single mind.
When did one man ever civilize a people? In the eighth and ninth
centuries there was not even a people to be civilized. The construction
of Charles was, of necessity, temporary. His Empire was supported by
artificial columns, resting upon the earth, which fell prostrate almost
as soon as the hand of their architect was cold. His institutions had not
struck down into the soil. There were no extensive and vigorous roots to
nourish, from below, a flourishing Empire through time and tempest.

Moreover, the Carlovingian race had been exhausted by producing a race of
heroes like the Pepins and the Charleses. The family became, soon, as
contemptible as the ox-drawn, long-haired "do-nothings" whom it had
expelled; but it is not our task to describe the fortunes of the
Emperor's ignoble descendants. The realm was divided, sub-divided, at
times partially reunited, like a family farm, among monarchs incompetent
alike to hold, to delegate, or--to resign the inheritance of the great
warrior and lawgiver. The meek, bald, fat, stammering, simple Charles, or
Louis, who successively sat upon his throne--princes, whose only historic
individuality consists in these insipid appellations--had not the sense
to comprehend, far less to develop, the plans of their ancestor.

Charles the Simple was the last Carlovingian who governed Lotharingia, in
which were comprised most of the Netherlands and Friesland. The German
monarch, Henry the Fowler, at that period called King of the East Franks,
as Charles of the West Franks, acquired Lotharingia by the treaty of
Bonn, Charles reserving the sovereignty over the kingdom during his
lifetime. In 925, A.D., however, the Simpleton having been imprisoned and
deposed by his own subjects, the Fowler was recognized King, of
Lotharingia. Thus the Netherlands passed out of France into Germany,
remaining, still, provinces of a loose, disjointed Empire.

This is the epoch in which the various dukedoms, earldoms, and other
petty sovereignties of the Netherlands became hereditary. It was in the
year 922 that Charles the Simple presented to Count Dirk the territory of
Holland, by letters patent. This narrow hook of land, destined, in future
ages, to be the cradle of a considerable empire, stretching through both
hemispheres, was, thenceforth, the inheritance of Dirk's descendants.
Historically, therefore, he is Dirk I., Count of Holland.

Of this small sovereign and his successors, the most powerful foe for
centuries was ever the Bishop of Utrecht, the origin of whose greatness
has been already indicated. Of the other Netherland provinces, now or
before become hereditary, the first in rank was Lotharingia, once the
kingdom of Lothaire, now the dukedom of Lorraine. In 965 it was divided
into Upper and Lower Lorraine, of which the lower duchy alone belonged to
the Netherlands. Two centuries later, the Counts of Louvain, then
occupying most of Brabant, obtained a permanent hold of Lower Lorraine,
and began to call themselves Dukes of Brabant. The same principle of
local independence and isolation which created these dukes, established
the hereditary power of the counts and barons who formerly exercised
jurisdiction under them and others. Thus arose sovereign Counts of Namur,
Hainault, Limburg, Zutphen, Dukes of Luxemburg and Gueldres, Barons of
Mechlin, Marquesses of Antwerp, and others; all petty autocrats. The most
important of all, after the house of Lorraine, were the Earls of
Flanders; for the bold foresters of Charles the Great had soon wrested
the sovereignty of their little territory from his feeble descendants as
easily as Baldwin, with the iron arm, had deprived the bald Charles of
his daughter. Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Overyssel, Groningen, Drenthe
and Friesland (all seven being portions of Friesland in a general sense),
were crowded together upon a little desolate corner of Europe; an obscure
fragment of Charlemagne's broken empire. They were afterwards to
constitute the United States of the Netherlands, one of the most powerful
republics of history. Meantime, for century after century, the Counts of
Holland and the Bishops of Utrecht were to exercise divided sway over the
territory.

Thus the whole country was broken into many shreds and patches of
sovereignty. The separate history of such half-organized morsels is
tedious and petty. Trifling dynasties, where a family or two were every
thing, the people nothing, leave little worth recording. Even the most
devout of genealogists might shudder to chronicle the long succession of
so many illustrious obscure.

A glance, however, at the general features of the governmental system now
established in the Netherlands, at this important epoch in the world's
history, will show the transformations which the country, in common with
other portions of the western world, had undergone.

In the tenth century the old Batavian and later Roman forms have faded
away. An entirely new polity has succeeded. No great popular assembly
asserts its sovereignty, as in the ancient German epoch; no generals and
temporary kings are chosen by the nation. The elective power had been
lost under the Romans, who, after conquest, had conferred the
administrative authority over their subject provinces upon officials
appointed by the metropolis. The Franks pursued the same course. In
Charlemagne's time, the revolution is complete. Popular assemblies and
popular election entirely vanish. Military, civil, and judicial
officers-dukes, earls, margraves, and others--are all king's creatures,
'knegton des konings, pueri regis', and so remain, till they abjure the
creative power, and set up their own. The principle of Charlemagne, that
his officers should govern according to local custom, helps them to
achieve their own independence, while it preserves all that is left of
national liberty and law.

The counts, assisted by inferior judges, hold diets from time to
time--thrice, perhaps, annually. They also summon assemblies in case of
war. Thither are called the great vassals, who, in turn, call their
lesser vassals; each armed with "a shield, a spear, a bow, twelve arrows,
and a cuirass." Such assemblies, convoked in the name of a distant
sovereign, whose face his subjects had never seen, whose language they
could hardly understand, were very different from those tumultuous
mass-meetings, where boisterous freemen, armed with the weapons they
loved the best, and arriving sooner or later, according to their
pleasure, had been accustomed to elect their generals and magistrates and
to raise them upon their shields. The people are now governed, their
rulers appointed by an invisible hand. Edicts, issued by a power, as it
were, supernatural, demand implicit obedience. The people, acquiescing in
their own annihilation, abdicate not only their political but their
personal rights. On the other hand, the great source of power diffuses
less and less of light and warmth. Losing its attractive and controlling
influence, it becomes gradually eclipsed, while its satellites fly from
their prescribed bounds and chaos and darkness return. The sceptre,
stretched over realms so wide, requires stronger hands than those of
degenerate Carlovingians. It breaks asunder. Functionaries become
sovereigns, with hereditary, not delegated, right to own the people, to
tax their roads and rivers, to take tithings of their blood and sweat, to
harass them in all the relations of life. There is no longer a metropolis
to protect them from official oppression. Power, the more sub-divided,
becomes the more tyrannical. The sword is the only symbol of law, the
cross is a weapon of offence, the bishop is a consecrated pirate, every
petty baron a burglar, while the people, alternately the prey of duke,
prelate, and seignor, shorn and butchered like sheep, esteem it happiness
to sell themselves into slavery, or to huddle beneath the castle walls of
some little potentate, for the sake of his wolfish protection. Here they
build hovels, which they surround from time to time with palisades and
muddy entrenchments; and here, in these squalid abodes of ignorance and
misery, the genius of Liberty, conducted by the spirit of Commerce,
descends at last to awaken mankind from its sloth and cowardly stupor. A
longer night was to intervene; however, before the dawn of day.

The crown-appointed functionaries had been, of course, financial
officers. They collected the revenue of the sovereign, one third of which
slipped through their fingers into their own coffers. Becoming sovereigns
themselves, they retain these funds for their private emolument. Four
principal sources yielded this revenue: royal domains, tolls and imposts,
direct levies and a pleasantry called voluntary contributions or
benevolences. In addition to these supplies were also the proceeds of
fines. Taxation upon sin was, in those rude ages, a considerable branch
of the revenue. The old Frisian laws consisted almost entirely of a
discriminating tariff upon crimes. Nearly all the misdeeds which man is
prone to commit, were punished by a money-bote only. Murder, larceny,
arson, rape--all offences against the person were commuted for a definite
price. There were a few exceptions, such as parricide, which was followed
by loss of inheritance; sacrilege and the murder of a master by a slave,
which were punished with death. It is a natural inference that, as the
royal treasury was enriched by these imposts, the sovereign would hardly
attempt to check the annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was
increased. Still, although the moral sense is shocked by a system which
makes the ruler's interest identical with the wickedness of his people,
and holds out a comparative immunity in evil-doing for the rich, it was
better that crime should be punished by money rather than not be punished
at all. A severe tax, which the noble reluctantly paid and which the
penniless culprit commuted by personal slavery, was sufficiently unjust
as well as absurd, yet it served to mitigate the horrors with which
tumult, rapine, and murder enveloped those early days. Gradually, as the
light of reason broke upon the dark ages, the most noxious features of
the system were removed, while the general sentiment of reverence for law
remained.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A country disinherited by nature of its rights
     A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
     Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
     Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
     Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
     Bishop is a consecrated pirate
     Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
     For women to lament, for men to remember
     Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
     Great science of political equilibrium
     Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
     Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
     Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
     Revocable benefices or feuds
     Taxation upon sin
     The Gaul was singularly unchaste




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 2.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION., Part 2.



VII.

Five centuries of isolation succeed. In the Netherlands, as throughout
Europe, a thousand obscure and slender rills are slowly preparing the
great stream of universal culture. Five dismal centuries of feudalism:
during which period there is little talk of human right, little obedience
to divine reason. Rights there are none, only forces; and, in brief,
three great forces, gradually arising, developing themselves, acting upon
each other, and upon the general movement of society.

The sword--the first, for a time the only force: the force of iron. The
"land's master," having acquired the property in the territory and in the
people who feed thereon, distributes to his subalterns, often but a shade
beneath him in power, portions of his estate, getting the use of their
faithful swords in return. Vavasours subdivide again to vassals,
exchanging land and cattle, human or otherwise, against fealty, and so
the iron chain of a military hierarchy, forged of mutually interdependent
links, is stretched over each little province. Impregnable castles, here
more numerous than in any other part of Christendom, dot the level
surface of the country. Mail-clad knights, with their followers, encamp
permanently upon the soil. The fortunate fable of divine right is
invented to sanction the system; superstition and ignorance give currency
to the delusion. Thus the grace of God, having conferred the property in
a vast portion of Europe upon a certain idiot in France, makes him
competent to sell large fragments of his estate, and to give a divine,
and, therefore, most satisfactory title along with them. A great
convenience to a man, who had neither power, wit, nor will to keep the
property in his own hands. So the Dirks of Holland get a deed from
Charles the Simple, and, although the grace of God does not prevent the
royal grantor himself from dying a miserable, discrowned captive, the
conveyance to Dirk is none the less hallowed by almighty fiat. So the
Roberts and Guys, the Johns and Baldwins, become sovereigns in Hainault,
Brabant, Flanders and other little districts, affecting supernatural
sanction for the authority which their good swords have won and are ever
ready to maintain. Thus organized, the force of iron asserts and exerts
itself. Duke, count, seignor and vassal, knight and squire, master and
man swarm and struggle amain. A wild, chaotic, sanguinary scene. Here,
bishop and baron contend, centuries long, murdering human creatures by
ten thousands for an acre or two of swampy pasture; there, doughty
families, hugging old musty quarrels to their heart, buffet each other
from generation to generation; thus they go on, raging and wrestling
among themselves, with all the world, shrieking insane war-cries which no
human soul ever understood--red caps and black, white hoods and grey,
Hooks and Kabbeljaws, dealing destruction, building castles and burning
them, tilting at tourneys, stealing bullocks, roasting Jews, robbing the
highways, crusading--now upon Syrian sands against Paynim dogs, now in
Frisian quagmires against Albigenses, Stedingers, and other
heretics--plunging about in blood and fire, repenting, at idle times, and
paying their passage through, purgatory with large slices of ill-gotten
gains placed in the ever-extended dead-hand of the Church; acting, on the
whole, according to their kind, and so getting themselves civilized or
exterminated, it matters little which. Thus they play their part, those
energetic men-at-arms; and thus one great force, the force of iron, spins
and expands itself, century after century, helping on, as it whirls, the
great progress of society towards its goal, wherever that may be.

Another force--the force clerical--the power of clerks, arises; the might
of educated mind measuring itself against brute violence; a force
embodied, as often before, as priestcraft--the strength of priests: craft
meaning, simply, strength, in our old mother-tongue. This great force,
too, develops itself variously, being sometimes beneficent, sometimes
malignant. Priesthood works out its task, age after age: now smoothing
penitent death-beds, consecrating graves! feeding the hungry, clothing
the naked, incarnating the Christian precepts, in an age of rapine and
homicide, doing a thousand deeds of love and charity among the obscure
and forsaken--deeds of which there shall never be human chronicle, but a
leaf or two, perhaps, in the recording angel's book; hiving precious
honey from the few flowers of gentle, art which bloom upon a howling
wilderness; holding up the light of science over a stormy sea; treasuring
in convents and crypts the few fossils of antique learning which become
visible, as the extinct Megatherium of an elder world reappears after the
gothic deluge; and now, careering in helm and hauberk with the other
ruffians, bandying blows in the thickest of the fight, blasting with
bell, book, and candle its trembling enemies, while sovereigns, at the
head of armies, grovel in the dust and offer abject submission for the
kiss of peace; exercising the same conjury over ignorant baron and
cowardly hind, making the fiction of apostolic authority to bind and
loose, as prolific in acres as the other divine right to have and hold;
thus the force of cultivated intellect, wielded by a chosen few and
sanctioned by supernatural authority, becomes as potent as the sword.

A third force, developing itself more slowly, becomes even more potent
than the rest: the power of gold. Even iron yields to the more ductile
metal. The importance of municipalities, enriched by trade, begins to be
felt. Commerce, the mother of Netherland freedom, and, eventually, its
destroyer--even as in all human history the vivifying becomes afterwards
the dissolving principle--commerce changes insensibly and miraculously
the aspect of society. Clusters of hovels become towered cities; the
green and gilded Hanse of commercial republicanism coils itself around
the decaying trunk of feudal despotism. Cities leagued with cities
throughout and beyond Christendom-empire within empire-bind themselves
closer and closer in the electric chain of human sympathy and grow
stronger and stronger by mutual support. Fishermen and river raftsmen
become ocean adventurers and merchant princes. Commerce plucks up
half-drowned Holland by the locks and pours gold into her lap. Gold
wrests power from iron. Needy Flemish weavers become mighty
manufacturers. Armies of workmen, fifty thousand strong, tramp through
the swarming streets. Silk-makers, clothiers, brewers become the gossips
of kings, lend their royal gossips vast sums and burn the royal notes of
hand in fires of cinnamon wood. Wealth brings strength, strength
confidence. Learning to handle cross-bow and dagger, the burghers fear
less the baronial sword, finding that their own will cut as well, seeing
that great armies--flowers of chivalry--can ride away before them fast
enough at battles of spurs and other encounters. Sudden riches beget
insolence, tumults, civic broils. Internecine quarrels, horrible tumults
stain the streets with blood, but education lifts the citizens more and
more out of the original slough. They learn to tremble as little at
priestcraft as at swordcraft, having acquired something of each. Gold in
the end, unsanctioned by right divine, weighs up the other forces,
supernatural as they are. And so, struggling along their appointed path,
making cloth, making money, making treaties with great kingdoms, making
war by land and sea, ringing great bells, waving great banners, they,
too--these insolent, boisterous burghers--accomplish their work. Thus,
the mighty power of the purse develops itself and municipal liberty
becomes a substantial fact. A fact, not a principle; for the old theorem
of sovereignty remains undisputed as ever. Neither the nation, in mass,
nor the citizens, in class, lay claim to human rights. All upper
attributes--legislative, judicial, administrative--remain in the
land-master's breast alone. It is an absurdity, therefore, to argue with
Grotius concerning the unknown antiquity of the Batavian republic. The
republic never existed at all till the sixteenth century, and was only
born after long years of agony. The democratic instincts of the ancient
German savages were to survive in the breasts of their cultivated
descendants, but an organized, civilized, republican polity had never
existed. The cities, as they grew in strength, never claimed the right to
make the laws or to share in the government. As a matter of fact, they
did make the laws, and shared, beside, in most important functions of
sovereignty, in the treaty-making power, especially. Sometimes by
bargains; sometimes by blood, by gold, threats, promises, or good hard
blows they extorted their charters. Their codes, statutes, joyful
entrances, and other constitutions were dictated by the burghers and
sworn to by the monarch. They were concessions from above; privileges
private laws; fragments indeed of a larger liberty, but vastly, better
than the slavery for which they had been substituted; solid facts instead
of empty abstractions, which, in those practical and violent days, would
have yielded little nutriment; but they still rather sought to reconcile
themselves, by a rough, clumsy fiction, with the hierarchy which they had
invaded, than to overturn the system. Thus the cities, not regarding
themselves as representatives or aggregations of the people, became
fabulous personages, bodies without souls, corporations which had
acquired vitality and strength enough to assert their existence. As
persons, therefore--gigantic individualities--they wheeled into the
feudal ranks and assumed feudal powers and responsibilities. The city of
Dort; of Middelburg, of Ghent, of Louvain, was a living being, doing
fealty, claiming service, bowing to its lord, struggling with its equals,
trampling upon its slaves.

Thus, in these obscure provinces, as throughout Europe, in a thousand
remote and isolated corners, civilization builds itself up, synthetically
and slowly; yet at last, a whole is likely to get itself constructed.
Thus, impelled by great and conflicting forces, now obliquely, now
backward, now upward, yet, upon the whole, onward, the new Society moves
along its predestined orbit, gathering consistency and strength as it
goes. Society, civilization, perhaps, but hardly humanity. The people has
hardly begun to extricate itself from the clods in which it lies buried.
There are only nobles, priests, and, latterly, cities. In the northern
Netherlands, the degraded condition of the mass continued longest. Even
in Friesland, liberty, the dearest blessing of the ancient Frisians, had
been forfeited in a variety of ways. Slavery was both voluntary and
compulsory. Paupers sold themselves that they might escape starvation.
The timid sold themselves that they might escape violence. These
voluntary sales, which were frequent, wore usually made to cloisters and
ecclesiastical establishments, for the condition of Church-slaves was
preferable to that of other serfs. Persons worsted in judicial duels,
shipwrecked sailors, vagrants, strangers, criminals unable to pay the
money-bote imposed upon them, were all deprived of freedom; but the
prolific source of slavery was war. Prisoners were almost universally
reduced to servitude. A free woman who intermarried with a slave
condemned herself and offspring to perpetual bondage. Among the Ripuarian
Franks, a free woman thus disgracing herself, was girt with a sword and a
distaff. Choosing the one, she was to strike her husband dead; choosing
the other, she adopted the symbol of slavery, and became a chattel for
life.

The ferocious inroads of the Normans scared many weak and timid persons
into servitude. They fled, by throngs, to church and monastery, and were
happy, by enslaving themselves, to escape the more terrible bondage of
the sea-kings. During the brief dominion of the Norman Godfrey, every
free Frisian was forced to wear a halter around his neck. The lot of a
Church-slave was freedom in comparison. To kill him was punishable by a
heavy fine. He could give testimony in court, could inherit, could make a
will, could even plead before the law, if law could be found. The number
of slaves throughout the Netherlands was very large; the number belonging
to the bishopric of Utrecht, enormous.

The condition of those belonging to laymen was much more painful. The
Lyf-eigene, or absolute slaves, were the most wretched. They were mere
brutes. They had none of the natural attributes of humanity, their life
and death were in the master's hands, they had no claim to a fraction of
their own labor or its fruits, they had no marriage, except under
condition of the infamous 'jus primoe noctis'. The villagers, or
villeins, were the second class and less forlorn. They could commute the
labor due to their owner by a fixed sum of money, after annual payment of
which, the villein worked for himself. His master, therefore, was not his
absolute proprietor. The chattel had a beneficial interest in a portion
of his own flesh and blood.

The crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs. He who
became a soldier of the cross was free upon his return, and many were
adventurous enough to purchase liberty at so honorable a price. Many
others were sold or mortgaged by the crusading knights, desirous of
converting their property into gold, before embarking upon their
enterprise. The purchasers or mortgagees were in general churches and
convents, so that the slaves, thus alienated, obtained at least a
preferable servitude. The place of the absent serfs was supplied by free
labor, so that agricultural and mechanical occupations, now devolving
upon a more elevated class, became less degrading, and, in process of
time, opened an ever-widening sphere for the industry and progress of
freemen. Thus a people began to exist. It was, however; a miserable
people, with personal, but no civil rights whatever. Their condition,
although better than servitude, was almost desperate. They were taxed
beyond their ability, while priest and noble were exempt. They had no
voice in the apportionment of the money thus contributed. There was no
redress against the lawless violence to which they were perpetually
exposed. In the manorial courts, the criminal sat in judgment upon his
victim. The functions of highwayman and magistrate were combined in one
individual.

By degrees, the class of freemen, artisans, traders, and the like,
becoming the more numerous, built stronger and better houses outside the
castle gates of the "land's master" or the burghs of the more powerful
nobles. The superiors, anxious to increase their own importance, favored
the progress of the little boroughs. The population, thus collected,
began to divide themselves into guilds. These were soon afterwards
erected by the community into bodies corporate; the establishment of the
community, of course, preceding, the incorporation of the guilds. Those
communities were created by charters or Keuren, granted by the sovereign.
Unless the earliest concessions of this nature have perished, the town
charters of Holland or Zeland are nearly a century later than those of
Flanders, France, and England.

The oldest Keur, or act of municipal incorporation, in the provinces
afterwards constituting the republic, was that granted by Count William
the First of Holland and Countess Joanna of Flanders, as joint
proprietors of Walcheren, to the town of Middelburg. It will be seen that
its main purport is to promise, as a special privilege to this community,
law, in place of the arbitrary violence by which mankind, in general,
were governed by their betters.

"The inhabitants," ran the Charter, "are taken into protection by both
counts. Upon fighting, maiming, wounding, striking, scolding; upon
peace-breaking, upon resistance to peace-makers and to the judgment of
Schepens; upon contemning the Ban, upon selling spoiled wine, and upon
other misdeeds fines are imposed for behoof of the Count, the city, and
sometimes of the Schepens.......To all Middelburgers one kind of law is
guaranteed. Every man must go to law before the Schepens. If any one
being summoned and present in Walcheren does not appear, or refuses
submission to sentence, he shall be banished with confiscation of
property. Schout or Schepen denying justice to a complainant, shall,
until reparation, hold no tribunal again.......A burgher having a dispute
with an outsider (buiten mann) must summon him before the Schepens. An
appeal lies from the Schepens to the Count. No one can testify but a
householder. All alienation of real estate must take place before the
Schepens. If an outsider has a complaint against a burgher, the Schepens
and Schout must arrange it. If either party refuses submission to them,
they must ring the town bell and summon an assembly of all the burghers
to compel him. Any one ringing the town bell, except by general consent,
and any one not appearing when it tolls, are liable to a fine. No
Middelburger can be arrested or held in durance within Flanders or
Holland, except for crime."

This document was signed, sealed, and sworn to by the two sovereigns in
the year 1217. It was the model upon which many other communities,
cradles of great cities, in Holland and Zeland, were afterwards created.

These charters are certainly not very extensive, even for the privileged
municipalities which obtained them, when viewed from an abstract
stand-point. They constituted, however, a very great advance from the
stand-point at which humanity actually found itself. They created, not
for all inhabitants, but for great numbers of them, the right, not to
govern them selves but to be governed by law: They furnished a local
administration of justice. They provided against arbitrary imprisonment.
They set up tribunals, where men of burgher class were to sit in
judgment. They held up a shield against arbitrary violence from above and
sedition from within. They encouraged peace-makers, punished
peace-breakers. They guarded the fundamental principle, 'ut sua
tanerent', to the verge of absurdity; forbidding a freeman, without a
freehold, from testifying--a capacity not denied even to a country slave.
Certainly all this was better than fist-law and courts manorial. For the
commencement of the thirteenth century, it was progress.

The Schout and Schepens, or chief magistrate and aldermen, were
originally appointed by the sovereign. In process of time, the election
of these municipal authorities was conceded to the communities. This
inestimable privilege, however, after having been exercised during a
certain period by the whole body of citizens, was eventually monopolized
by the municipal government itself, acting in common with the deans of
the various guilds.

Thus organized and inspired with the breath of civic life, the
communities of Flanders and Holland began to move rapidly forward. More
and more they assumed the appearance of prosperous little republics. For
this prosperity they were indebted to commerce, particularly with England
and the Baltic nations, and to manufactures, especially of wool.

The trade between England and the Netherlands had existed for ages, and
was still extending itself, to the great advantage of both countries. A
dispute, however, between the merchants of Holland and England, towards
the year 1215, caused a privateering warfare, and a ten years' suspension
of intercourse. A reconciliation afterwards led to the establishment of
the English wool staple, at Dort. A subsequent quarrel deprived Holland
of this great advantage. King Edward refused to assist Count Florence in
a war with the Flemings, and transferred the staple from Dort to Bruges
and Mechlin.

The trade of the Netherlands with the Mediterranean and the East was
mainly through this favored city of Bruges, which, already in the
thirteenth century, had risen to the first rank in the commercial world.
It was the resting-place for the Lombards and other Italians, the great
entrepot for their merchandise. It now became, in addition, the great
marketplace for English wool, and the woollen fabrics of all the
Netherlands, as well as for the drugs and spices of the East. It had,
however, by no means reached its apogee, but was to culminate with
Venice, and to sink with her decline. When the overland Indian trade fell
off with the discovery of the Cape passage, both cities withered. Grass
grew in the fair and pleasant streets of Bruges, and sea-weed clustered
about the marble halls of Venice. At this epoch, however, both were in a
state of rapid and insolent prosperity.

The cities, thus advancing in wealth and importance, were no longer
satisfied with being governed according to law, and began to participate,
not only in their own, but in the general government. Under Guy of
Flanders, the towns appeared regularly, as well as the nobles, in the
assembly of the provincial estates. (1386-1389, A.D.) In the course of
the following century, the six chief cities, or capitals, of Holland
(Dort, Harlem, Delft, Leyden, Goads, and Amsterdam) acquired the right of
sending their deputies regularly to the estates of the provinces. These
towns, therefore, with the nobles, constituted the parliamentary power of
the nation. They also acquired letters patent from the count, allowing
them to choose their burgomasters and a limited number of councillors or
senators (Vroedschappen).

Thus the liberties of Holland and Flanders waxed, daily, stronger. A
great physical convulsion in the course of the thirteenth century came to
add its influence to the slower process of political revolution. Hitherto
there had been but one Friesland, including Holland, and nearly all the
territory of the future republic. A slender stream alone separated the
two great districts. The low lands along the Vlie, often threatened, at
last sank in the waves. The German Ocean rolled in upon the inland Lake
of Flevo. The stormy Zuyder Zee began its existence by engulfing
thousands of Frisian villages, with all their population, and by
spreading a chasm between kindred peoples. The political, as well as the
geographical, continuity of the land was obliterated by this tremendous
deluge. The Hollanders were cut off from their relatives in the east by
as dangerous a sea as that which divided them from their Anglo-Saxon
brethren in Britain. The deputies to the general assemblies at Aurich
could no longer undertake a journey grown so perilous. West Friesland
became absorbed in Holland. East Friesland remained a federation of rude
but self-governed maritime provinces, until the brief and bloody dominion
of the Saxon dukes led to the establishment of Charles the Fifth's
authority. Whatever the nominal sovereignty over them, this most
republican tribe of Netherlanders, or of Europeans, had never accepted
feudalism. There was an annual congress of the whole confederacy. Each of
the seven little states, on the other hand, regulated its own internal
affairs. Each state was subdivided into districts, each district governed
by a Griet-mann (greatman, selectman) and assistants. Above all these
district officers was a Podesta, a magistrate identical, in name and
functions, with the chief officer of the Italian republics. There was
sometimes but one Podesta; sometimes one for each province. He was chosen
by the people, took oath of fidelity to the separate estates, or, if
Podesta-general, to the federal diet, and was generally elected for a
limited term, although sometimes for life. He was assisted by a board of
eighteen or twenty councillors. The deputies to the general congress were
chosen by popular suffrage in Easter-week. The clergy were not recognized
as a political estate.

Thus, in those lands which a niggard nature had apparently condemned to
perpetual poverty and obscurity, the principle of reasonable human
freedom, without which there is no national prosperity or glory worth
contending for, was taking deepest and strongest root. Already in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries Friesland was a republic, except in
name; Holland, Flanders, Brabant, had acquired a large share of
self-government. The powerful commonwealth, at a later period to be
evolved out of the great combat between centralized tyranny and the
spirit of civil and religious liberty, was already foreshadowed. The
elements, of which that important republic was to be compounded, were
germinating for centuries. Love of freedom, readiness to strike and bleed
at any moment in her cause, manly resistance to despotism, however
overshadowing, were the leading characteristics of the race in all
regions or periods, whether among Frisian swamps, Dutch dykes, the gentle
hills and dales of England, or the pathless forests of America.
Doubtless, the history of human liberty in Holland and Flanders, as every
where else upon earth where there has been such a history, unrolls many
scenes of turbulence and bloodshed; although these features have been
exaggerated by prejudiced historians. Still, if there were luxury and
insolence, sedition and uproar, at any rate there was life. Those violent
little commonwealths had blood in their veins. They were compact of
proud, self-helping, muscular vigor. The most sanguinary tumults which
they ever enacted in the face of day, were better than the order and
silence born of the midnight darkness of despotism. That very unruliness
was educating the people for their future work. Those merchants,
manufacturers, country squires, and hard-fighting barons, all pent up in
a narrow corner of the earth, quarrelling with each other and with all
the world for centuries, were keeping alive a national pugnacity of
character, for which there was to be a heavy demand in the sixteenth
century, and without which the fatherland had perhaps succumbed in the
most unequal conflict ever waged by man against oppression.

To sketch the special history of even the leading Netherland provinces,
during the five centuries which we have thus rapidly sought to
characterize, is foreign to our purpose. By holding the clue of Holland's
history, the general maze of dynastic transformations throughout the
country may, however, be swiftly threaded. From the time of the first
Dirk to the close of the thirteenth century there were nearly four
hundred years of unbroken male descent, a long line of Dirks and
Florences. This iron-handed, hot-headed, adventurous race, placed as
sovereign upon its little sandy hook, making ferocious exertions to swell
into larger consequence, conquering a mile or two of morass or barren
furze, after harder blows and bloodier encounters than might have
established an empire under more favorable circumstances, at last dies
out. The courtship falls to the house of Avennes, Counts of Hainault.
Holland, together with Zeland, which it had annexed, is thus joined to
the province of Hainault. At the end of another half century the Hainault
line expires. William the Fourth died childless in 1355. His death is the
signal for the outbreak of an almost interminable series of civil
commotions. Those two great, parties, known by the uncouth names of Hook
and Kabbeljaw, come into existence, dividing noble against noble, city
against city, father against son, for some hundred and fifty years,
without foundation upon any abstract or intelligible principle. It may be
observed, however, that, in the sequel, and as a general rule, the
Kabbeljaw, or cod-fish party, represented the city or municipal faction,
while the Hooks (fish-hooks), that were to catch and control them, were
the nobles; iron and audacity against brute number and weight.

Duke William of Bavaria, sister's son--of William the Fourth, gets
himself established in 1354. He is succeeded by his brother Albert;
Albert by his son William. William, who had married Margaret of Burgundy,
daughter of Philip the Bold, dies in 1417. The goodly heritage of these
three Netherland provinces descends to his daughter Jacqueline, a damsel
of seventeen. Little need to trace the career of the fair and ill-starred
Jacqueline. Few chapters of historical romance have drawn more frequent
tears. The favorite heroine of ballad and drama, to Netherlanders she is
endued with the palpable form and perpetual existence of the Iphigenias,
Mary Stuarts, Joans of Arc, or other consecrated individualities.
Exhausted and broken-hearted, after thirteen years of conflict with her
own kinsmen, consoled for the cowardice and brutality of three husbands
by the gentle and knightly spirit of the fourth, dispossessed of her
father's broad domains, degraded from the rank of sovereign to be lady
forester of her own provinces by her cousin, the bad Duke of Burgundy,
Philip surnamed "the Good," she dies at last, and the good cousin takes
undisputed dominion of the land. (1437.)

The five centuries of isolation are at end. The many obscure streams of
Netherland history are merged in one broad current. Burgundy has absorbed
all the provinces which, once more, are forced to recognize a single
master. A century and a few years more succeed, during which this house
and its heirs are undisputed sovereigns of the soil.

Philip the Good had already acquired the principal Netherlands, before
dispossessing Jacqueline. He had inherited, beside the two Burgundies,
the counties of Flanders and Artois. He had purchased the county of
Namur, and had usurped the duchy of Brabant, to which the duchy of
Limburg, the marquisate of Antwerp, and the barony of Mechlin, had
already been annexed. By his assumption of Jacqueline's dominions, he was
now lord of Holland, Zeland, and Hainault, and titular master of
Friesland. He acquired Luxemburg a few years later.

Lord of so many opulent cities and fruitful provinces, he felt himself
equal to the kings of Europe. Upon his marriage with Isabella of
Portugal, he founded, at Bruges, the celebrated order of the Golden
Fleece. What could be more practical or more devout than the conception?
Did not the Lamb of God, suspended at each knightly breast, symbolize at
once the woollen fabrics to which so much of Flemish wealth and
Burgundian power was owing, and the gentle humility of Christ, which was
ever to characterize the order? Twenty-five was the limited number,
including Philip himself, as grand master. The chevaliers were emperors,
kings, princes, and the most illustrious nobles of Christendom; while a
leading provision, at the outset, forbade the brethren, crowned heads
excepted, to accept or retain the companionship of any other order.

The accession of so potent and ambitious a prince as the good Philip
boded evil to the cause of freedom in the Netherlands. The spirit of
liberty seemed to have been typified in the fair form of the benignant
and unhappy Jacqueline, and to be buried in her grave. The usurper, who
had crushed her out of existence, now strode forward to trample upon all
the laws and privileges of the provinces which had formed her heritage.

At his advent, the municipal power had already reached an advanced stage
of development. The burgher class controlled the government, not only of
the cities, but often of the provinces, through its influence in the
estates. Industry and wealth had produced their natural results. The
supreme authority of the sovereign and the power of the nobles were
balanced by the municipal principle which had even begun to preponderate
over both. All three exercised a constant and salutary check upon each
other. Commerce had converted slaves into freemen, freemen into burghers,
and the burghers were acquiring daily, a larger practical hold upon the
government. The town councils were becoming almost omnipotent. Although
with an oligarchical tendency, which at a later period was to be more
fully developed, they were now composed of large numbers of individuals,
who had raised themselves, by industry and intelligence, out of the
popular masses. There was an unquestionably republican tone to the
institutions. Power, actually, if not nominally, was in the hands of many
who had achieved the greatness to which they had not been born.

The assemblies of the estates were rather diplomatic than representative.
They consisted, generally, of the nobles and of the deputations from the
cities. In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats in the
parliamentary body. Measures were proposed by the stadholder, who
represented the sovereign. A request, for example, of pecuniary,
accommodation, was made by that functionary or by the count himself in
person. The nobles then voted upon the demand, generally as one body, but
sometimes by heads. The measure was then laid before the burghers. If
they had been specially commissioned to act upon the matter; they voted,
each city as a city, not each deputy, individually. If they had received
no instructions, they took back the proposition to lay before the
councils of their respective cities, in order to return a decision at an
adjourned session, or at a subsequent diet. It will be seen, therefore,
that the principle of national, popular representation was but
imperfectly developed. The municipal deputies acted only under
instructions. Each city was a little independent state, suspicious not
only of the sovereign and nobles, but of its sister cities. This mutual
jealousy hastened the general humiliation now impending. The centre of
the system waging daily more powerful, it more easily unsphered these
feebler and mutually repulsive bodies.

Philip's first step, upon assuming the government, was to issue a
declaration, through the council of Holland, that the privileges and
constitutions, which he had sworn to as Ruward, or guardian, during the
period in which Jacqueline had still retained a nominal sovereignty, were
to be considered null and void, unless afterwards confirmed by him as
count. At a single blow he thus severed the whole knot of pledges, oaths
and other political complications, by which he had entangled himself
during his cautious advance to power. He was now untrammelled again. As
the conscience of the smooth usurper was, thenceforth, the measure of
provincial liberty, his subjects soon found it meted to them more
sparingly than they wished. From this point, then, through the Burgundian
period, and until the rise of the republic, the liberty of the
Netherlands, notwithstanding several brilliant but brief laminations,
occurring at irregular intervals, seemed to remain in almost perpetual
eclipse.

The material prosperity of the country had, however, vastly increased.
The fisheries of Holland had become of enormous importance. The invention
of the humble Beukelzoon of Biervliet, had expanded into a mine of
wealth. The fisheries, too, were most useful as a nursery of seamen, and
were already indicating Holland's future naval supremacy. The fishermen
were the militia of the ocean, their prowess attested in the war with the
Hanseatic cities, which the provinces of Holland and Zeland, in Philip's
name, but by their own unassisted exertions, carried on triumphantly at
this epoch. Then came into existence that race of cool and daring
mariners, who, in after times, were to make the Dutch name illustrious
throughout the world, the men, whose fierce descendants, the "beggars of
the sea," were to make the Spanish empire tremble, the men, whose later
successors swept the seas with brooms at the mast-head, and whose
ocean-battles with their equally fearless English brethren often lasted
four uninterrupted days and nights.

The main strength of Holland was derived from the ocean, from whose
destructive grasp she had wrested herself, but in whose friendly embrace
she remained. She was already placing securely the foundations of
commercial wealth and civil liberty upon those shifting quicksands which
the Roman doubted whether to call land or water. Her submerged deformity,
as she floated, mermaid-like, upon the waves was to be forgotten in her
material splendor. Enriched with the spoils of every clime, crowned with
the divine jewels of science and art, she was, one day, to sing a siren
song of freedom, luxury, and power.

As with Holland, so with Flanders, Brabant, and the other leading
provinces. Industry and wealth, agriculture, commerce, and manufactures,
were constantly augmenting. The natural sources of power were full to
overflowing, while the hand of despotism was deliberately sealing the
fountain.

For the house of Burgundy was rapidly culminating and as rapidly
curtailing the political privileges of the Netherlands. The contest was,
at first, favorable to the cause of arbitrary power; but little seeds
were silently germinating, which, in the progress of their gigantic
development, were, one day, to undermine the foundations of Tyranny and
to overshadow the world. The early progress of the religious reformation
in the Netherlands will be outlined in a separate chapter. Another great
principle was likewise at work at this period. At the very epoch when the
greatness of Burgundy was most swiftly ripening, another weapon was
secretly forging, more potent in the great struggle for freedom than any
which the wit or hand of man has ever devised or wielded. When Philip the
Good, in the full blaze of his power, and flushed with the triumphs of
territorial aggrandizement, was instituting at Bruges the order of the
Golden Fleece, "to the glory of God, of the blessed Virgin, and of the
holy Andrew, patron saint of the Burgundian family," and enrolling the
names of the kings and princes who were to be honored with its symbols,
at that very moment, an obscure citizen of Harlem, one Lorenz Coster, or
Lawrence the Sexton, succeeded in printing a little grammar, by means of
movable types. The invention of printing was accomplished, but it was not
ushered in with such a blaze of glory as heralded the contemporaneous
erection of the Golden Fleece. The humble setter of types did not deem
emperors and princes alone worthy his companionship. His invention sent
no thrill of admiration throughout Christendom; and yet, what was the
good Philip of Burgundy, with his Knights of the Golden Fleece, and all
their effulgent trumpery, in the eye of humanity and civilization,
compared with the poor sexton and his wooden types?

   [The question of the time and place to which the invention of
   printing should be referred, has been often discussed. It is not
   probable that it will ever be settled to the entire satisfaction of
   Holland and Germany. The Dutch claim that movable types were first
   used at Harlem, fixing the time variously between the years 1423 and
   1440. The first and very faulty editions of Lorenz are religiously
   preserved at Harlem.]

Philip died in February, 1467. The details of his life and career do not
belong to our purpose. The practical tendency of his government was to
repress the spirit of liberty, while especial privileges, extensive in
nature, but limited in time, were frequently granted to corporations.
Philip, in one day, conferred thirty charters upon as many different
bodies of citizens. These were, however, grants of monopoly not
concessions of rights. He also fixed the number of city councils or
Vroedschappen in many Netherland cities, giving them permission to
present a double list of candidates for burgomasters and judges, from
which he himself made the appointments. He was certainly neither a good
nor great prince, but he possessed much administrative ability. His
military talents were considerable, and he was successful in his wars. He
was an adroit dissembler, a practical politician. He had the sense to
comprehend that the power of a prince, however absolute, must depend upon
the prosperity of his subjects. He taxed severely the wealth, but he
protected the commerce and the manufactures of Holland and Flanders. He
encouraged art, science, and literature. The brothers, John and Hubert
Van Eyck, were attracted by his generosity to Bruges, where they painted
many pictures. John was even a member of the duke's council. The art of
oil-painting was carried to great perfection by Hubert's scholar, John of
Bruges. An incredible number of painters, of greater or less merit,
flourished at this epoch in the Netherlands, heralds of that great
school, which, at a subsequent period, was to astonish the world with
brilliant colors; profound science, startling effects, and vigorous
reproductions of Nature. Authors, too, like Olivier de la Marche and
Philippe de Comines, who, in the words of the latter, "wrote, not for the
amusement of brutes, and people of low degree, but for princes and other
persons of quality," these and other writers, with aims as lofty,
flourished at the court of Burgundy, and were rewarded by the Duke with
princely generosity. Philip remodelled and befriended the university of
Louvain. He founded at Brussels the Burgundian library, which became
celebrated throughout Europe. He levied largely, spent profusely, but was
yet so thrifty a housekeeper, as to leave four hundred thousand crowns of
gold, a vast amount in those days, besides three million marks' worth of
plate and furniture, to be wasted like water in the insane career of his
son.

The exploits of that son require but few words of illustration. Hardly a
chapter of European history or romance is more familiar to the world than
the one which records the meteoric course of Charles the Bold. The
propriety of his title was never doubtful. No prince was ever bolder, but
it is certain that no quality could be less desirable, at that particular
moment in the history of his house. It was not the quality to confirm a
usurping family in its ill-gotten possessions. Renewed aggressions upon
the rights of others justified retaliation and invited attack. Justice,
prudence, firmness, wisdom of internal administration were desirable in
the son of Philip and the rival of Louis. These attributes the gladiator
lacked entirely. His career might have been a brilliant one in the old
days of chivalry. His image might have appeared as imposing as the
romantic forms of Baldwin Bras de Fer or Godfrey of Bouillon, had he not
been misplaced in history. Nevertheless, he imagined himself governed by
a profound policy. He had one dominant idea, to make Burgundy a kingdom.
From the moment when, with almost the first standing army known to
history, and with coffers well filled by his cautious father's economy,
he threw himself into the lists against the crafty Louis, down to the day
when he was found dead, naked, deserted, and with his face frozen into a
pool of blood and water, he faithfully pursued this thought. His ducal
cap was to be exchanged for a kingly crown, while all the provinces which
lay beneath the Mediterranean and the North Sea, and between France and
Germany, were to be united under his sceptre. The Netherlands, with their
wealth, had been already appropriated, and their freedom crushed. Another
land of liberty remained; physically, the reverse of Holland, but stamped
with the same courageous nationality, the same ardent love of human
rights. Switzerland was to be conquered. Her eternal battlements of ice
and granite were to constitute the great bulwark of his realm. The world
knows well the result of the struggle between the lord of so many duchies
and earldoms, and the Alpine mountaineers. With all his boldness, Charles
was but an indifferent soldier. His only merit was physical courage. He
imagined himself a consummate commander, and, in conversation with his
jester, was fond of comparing himself to Hannibal. "We are getting well
Hannibalized to-day, my lord," said the bitter fool, as they rode off
together from the disastrous defeat of Gransen. Well "Hannibalized" he
was, too, at Gransen, at Murten, and at Nancy. He followed in the track
of his prototype only to the base of the mountains.

As a conqueror, he was signally unsuccessful; as a politician, he could
out-wit none but himself; it was only as a tyrant within his own ground,
that he could sustain the character which he chose to enact. He lost the
crown, which he might have secured, because he thought the emperor's son
unworthy the heiress of Burgundy; and yet, after his father's death, her
marriage with that very Maximilian alone secured the possession of her
paternal inheritance. Unsuccessful in schemes of conquest, and in
political intrigue, as an oppressor of the Netherlands, he nearly carried
out his plans. Those provinces he regarded merely as a bank to draw upon.
His immediate intercourse with the country was confined to the extortion
of vast requests. These were granted with ever-increasing reluctance, by
the estates. The new taxes and excises, which the sanguinary extravagance
of the duke rendered necessary, could seldom be collected in the various
cities without tumults, sedition, and bloodshed. Few princes were ever a
greater curse to the people whom they were allowed to hold as property.
He nearly succeeded in establishing a centralized despotism upon the
ruins of the provincial institutions. His sudden death alone deferred the
catastrophe. His removal of the supreme court of Holland from the Hague
to Mechlin, and his maintenance of a standing army, were the two great
measures by which he prostrated the Netherlands. The tribunal had been
remodelled by his father; the expanded authority which Philip had given
to a bench of judges dependent upon himself, was an infraction of the
rights of Holland. The court, however, still held its sessions in the
country; and the sacred privilege--de non evocando--the right of every
Hollander to be tried in his own land, was, at least, retained. Charles
threw off the mask; he proclaimed that this council--composed of his
creatures, holding office at his pleasure--should have supreme
jurisdiction over all the charters of the provinces; that it was to
follow his person, and derive all authority from his will. The usual seat
of the court he transferred to Mechlin. It will be seen, in the sequel,
that the attempt, under Philip the Second, to enforce its supreme
authority was a collateral cause of the great revolution of the
Netherlands.

Charles, like his father, administered the country by stadholders. From
the condition of flourishing self-ruled little republics, which they had,
for a moment, almost attained, they became departments of an
ill-assorted, ill-conditioned, ill-governed realm, which was neither
commonwealth nor empire, neither kingdom nor duchy; and which had no
homogeneousness of population, no affection between ruler and people,
small sympathies of lineage or of language.

His triumphs were but few, his fall ignominious. His father's treasure
was squandered, the curse of a standing army fixed upon his people, the
trade and manufactures of the country paralyzed by his extortions, and he
accomplished nothing. He lost his life in the forty-fourth year of his
age (1477), leaving all the provinces, duchies, and lordships, which
formed the miscellaneous realm of Burgundy, to his only child, the Lady
Mary. Thus already the countries which Philip had wrested from the feeble
hand of Jacqueline, had fallen to another female. Philip's own
granddaughter, as young, fair, and unprotected as Jacqueline, was now
sole mistress of those broad domains.



VIII.

A crisis, both for Burgundy and the Netherlands, succeeds. Within the
provinces there is an elastic rebound, as soon as the pressure is removed
from them by the tyrant's death. A sudden spasm of liberty gives the
whole people gigantic strength. In an instant they recover all, and more
than all, the rights which they had lost. The cities of Holland,
Flanders, and other provinces call a convention at Ghent. Laying aside
their musty feuds, men of all parties-Hooks and Kabbeljaws, patricians
and people, move forward in phalanx to recover their national
constitutions. On the other hand, Louis the Eleventh seizes Burgundy,
claiming the territory for his crown, the heiress for his son. The
situation is critical for the Lady Mary. As usual in such cases, appeals
are made to the faithful commons. A prodigality of oaths and pledges is
showered upon the people, that their loyalty may be refreshed and grow
green. The congress meets at Ghent. The Lady Mary professes much, but she
will keep her vow. The deputies are called upon to rally the country
around the duchess, and to resist the fraud and force of Louis. The
congress is willing to maintain the cause of its young mistress. The
members declare, at the same time, very roundly, "that the provinces have
been much impoverished and oppressed by the enormous taxation imposed
upon them by the ruinous wars waged by Duke Charles from the beginning to
the end of his life." They rather require "to be relieved than
additionally encumbered." They add that, "for many years past, there has
been a constant violation of the provincial and municipal charters, and
that they should be happy to see them restored."

The result of the deliberations is the formal grant by Duchess Mary of
the "Groot Privilegie," or Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland.
Although this instrument was afterwards violated, and indeed abolished,
it became the foundation of the republic. It was a recapitulation and
recognition of ancient rights, not an acquisition of new privileges. It
was a restoration, not a revolution. Its principal points deserve
attention from those interested in the political progress of mankind.

"The duchess shall not marry without consent of the estates of her
provinces. All offices in her gift shall be conferred on natives only. No
man shall fill two offices. No office shall be farmed. The 'Great Council
and Supreme Court of Holland' is re-established. Causes shall be brought
before it on appeal from the ordinary courts. It shall have no original
jurisdiction of matters within the cognizance of the provincial and
municipal tribunals. The estates and cities are guaranteed in their right
not to be summoned to justice beyond the limits of their territory. The
cities, in common with all the provinces of the Netherlands, may hold
diets as often ten and at such places as they choose. No new taxes shall
be imposed but by consent of the provincial estates. Neither the duchess
nor her descendants shall begin either an offensive or defensive war
without consent of the estates. In case a war be illegally undertaken,
the estates are not bound to contribute to its maintenance. In all public
and legal documents, the Netherland language shall be employed. The
commands of the duchess shall be invalid, if conflicting with the
privileges of a city.

"The seat of the Supreme Council is transferred from Mechlin to the
Hague. No money shall be coined, nor its value raised or lowered, but by
consent of the estates. Cities are not to be compelled to contribute to
requests which they have not voted. The sovereign shall come in person
before the estates, to make his request for supplies."

Here was good work. The land was rescued at a blow from the helpless
condition to which it had been reduced. This summary annihilation of all
the despotic arrangements of Charles was enough to raise him from his
tomb. The law, the sword, the purse, were all taken from the hand of the
sovereign and placed within the control of parliament. Such sweeping
reforms, if maintained, would restore health to the body politic. They
gave, moreover, an earnest of what was one day to arrive. Certainly, for
the fifteenth century, the "Great Privilege" was a reasonably liberal
constitution. Where else upon earth, at that day, was there half so much
liberty as was thus guaranteed? The congress of the Netherlands,
according to their Magna Charta, had power to levy all taxes, to regulate
commerce and manufactures, to declare war, to coin money, to raise armies
and navies. The executive was required to ask for money in person, could
appoint only natives to office, recognized the right of disobedience in
his subjects, if his commands should conflict with law, and acknowledged
himself bound by decisions of courts of justice. The cities appointed
their own magistrates, held diets at their own pleasure, made their local
by-laws and saw to their execution. Original cognizance of legal matters
belonged to the municipal courts, appellate jurisdiction to the supreme
tribunal, in which the judges were appointed by the sovereign. The
liberty of the citizen against arbitrary imprisonment was amply provided
for. The 'jus de non evocando', the habeas corpus of Holland, was
re-established.

Truly, here was a fundamental law which largely, roundly, and reasonably
recognized the existence of a people with hearts, heads, and hands of
their own. It was a vast step in advance of natural servitude, the dogma
of the dark ages. It was a noble and temperate vindication of natural
liberty, the doctrine of more enlightened days. To no people in the world
more than to the stout burghers of Flanders and Holland belongs the honor
of having battled audaciously and perennially in behalf of human rights.

Similar privileges to the great charter of Holland are granted to many
other provinces; especially to Flanders, ever ready to stand forward in
fierce vindication of freedom. For a season all is peace and joy; but the
duchess is young, weak, and a woman. There is no lack of intriguing
politicians, reactionary councillors. There is a cunning old king in the
distance, lying in wait; seeking what he can devour. A mission goes from
the estates to France. The well-known tragedy of Imbrecourt and Hugonet
occurs. Envoys from the states, they dare to accept secret instructions
from the duchess to enter into private negotiations with the French
monarch, against their colleagues--against the great charter--against
their country. Sly Louis betrays them, thinking that policy the more
expedient. They are seized in Ghent, rapidly tried, and as rapidly
beheaded by the enraged burghers. All the entreaties of the Lady Mary,
who, dressed in mourning garments, with dishevelled hair, unloosed
girdle, and streaming eyes; appears at the town-house and afterwards in
the market place, humbly to intercede for her servants, are fruitless
There is no help for the juggling diplomatists. The punishment was sharp.
Was it more severe and sudden than that which betrayed monarchs usually
inflict? Would the Flemings, at that critical moment, have deserved their
freedom had they not taken swift and signal vengeance for this first
infraction of their newly recognized rights? Had it not been weakness to
spare the traitors who had thus stained the childhood of the national joy
at liberty regained?



IX.

Another step, and a wide one, into the great stream of European history.
The Lady Mary espouses the Archduke Maximilian. The Netherlands are about
to become Habsburg property. The Ghenters reject the pretensions of the
dauphin, and select for husband of their duchess the very man whom her
father had so stupidly rejected. It had been a wiser choice for Charles
the Bold than for the Netherlanders. The marriage takes place on the 18th
of August, 1477. Mary of Burgundy passes from the guardianship of Ghent
burghers into that of the emperor's son. The crafty husband allies
himself with the city party, feeling where the strength lies. He knows
that the voracious Kabbeljaws have at last swallowed the Hooks, and run
away with them. Promising himself future rights of reconsideration, he is
liberal in promises to the municipal party. In the mean time he is
governor and guardian of his wife and her provinces. His children are to
inherit the Netherlands and all that therein is. What can be more
consistent than laws of descent, regulated by right divine? At the
beginning of the century, good Philip dispossesses Jacqueline, because
females can not inherit. At its close, his granddaughter succeeds to the
property, and transmits it to her children. Pope and emperor maintain
both positions with equal logic. The policy and promptness of Maximilian
are as effective as the force and fraud of Philip. The Lady Mary falls
from her horse and dies. Her son, Philip, four years of age, is
recognized as successor. Thus the house of Burgundy is followed by that
of Austria, the fifth and last family which governed Holland, previously
to the erection of the republic. Maximilian is recognized by the
provinces as governor and guardian, during the minority of his children.
Flanders alone refuses. The burghers, ever prompt in action, take
personal possession of the child Philip, and carry on the government in
his name. A commission of citizens and nobles thus maintain their
authority against Maximilian for several years. In 1488, the archduke,
now King of the Romans, with a small force of cavalry, attempts to take
the city of Bruges, but the result is a mortifying one to the Roman king.
The citizens of Bruges take him. Maximilian, with several councillors, is
kept a prisoner in a house on the market-place. The magistrates are all
changed, the affairs of government conducted in the name of the young
Philip alone. Meantime, the estates of the other Netherlands assemble at
Ghent; anxious, unfortunately, not for the national liberty, but for that
of the Roman king. Already Holland, torn again by civil feuds, and
blinded by the artifices of Maximilian, has deserted, for a season, the
great cause to which Flanders has remained so true. At last, a treaty is
made between the archduke and the Flemings. Maximilian is to be regent of
the other provinces; Philip, under guardianship of a council, is to
govern Flanders. Moreover, a congress of all the provinces is to be
summoned annually, to provide for the general welfare. Maximilian signs
and swears to the treaty on the 16th May, 1488. He swears, also, to
dismiss all foreign troops within four days. Giving hostages for his
fidelity, he is set at liberty. What are oaths and hostages when
prerogative, and the people are contending? Emperor Frederic sends to his
son an army under the Duke of Saxony. The oaths are broken, the hostages
left to their fate. The struggle lasts a year, but, at the end of it, the
Flemings are subdued. What could a single province effect, when its
sister states, even liberty-loving Holland, had basely abandoned the
common cause? A new treaty is made, (Oct.1489). Maximilian obtains
uncontrolled guardianship of his son, absolute dominion over Flanders and
the other provinces. The insolent burghers are severely punished for
remembering that they had been freemen. The magistrates of Ghent, Bruges,
and Ypres, in black garments, ungirdled, bare-headed, and kneeling, are
compelled to implore the despot's forgiveness, and to pay three hundred
thousand crowns of gold as its price. After this, for a brief season,
order reigns in Flanders.

The course of Maximilian had been stealthy, but decided. Allying himself
with the city party, he had crushed the nobles. The power thus obtained,
he then turned against the burghers. Step by step he had trampled out the
liberties which his wife and himself had sworn to protect. He had spurned
the authority of the "Great Privilege," and all other charters.
Burgomasters and other citizens had been beheaded in great numbers for
appealing to their statutes against the edicts of the regent, for voting
in favor of a general congress according to the unquestionable law. He
had proclaimed that all landed estates should, in lack of heirs male,
escheat to his own exchequer. He had debased the coin of the country, and
thereby authorized unlimited swindling on the part of all his agents,
from stadholders down to the meanest official. If such oppression and
knavery did not justify the resistance of the Flemings to the
guardianship of Maximilian, it would be difficult to find any reasonable
course in political affairs save abject submission to authority.

In 1493, Maximilian succeeds to the imperial throne, at the death of his
father. In the following year his son, Philip the Fair, now seventeen
years of age, receives the homage of the different states of the
Netherlands. He swears to maintain only the privileges granted by Philip
and Charles of Burgundy, or their ancestors, proclaiming null and void
all those which might have been acquired since the death of Charles.
Holland, Zeland, and the other provinces accept him upon these
conditions, thus ignominiously, and without a struggle, relinquishing the
Great Privilege, and all similar charters.

Friesland is, for a brief season, politically separated from the rest of
the country. Harassed and exhausted by centuries of warfare, foreign, and
domestic, the free Frisians, at the suggestion or command of Emperor
Maximilian, elect the Duke of Saxony as their Podesta. The sovereign
prince, naturally proving a chief magistrate far from democratic, gets
himself acknowledged, or submitted to, soon afterwards, as legitimate
sovereign of Friesland. Seventeen years afterward Saxony sells the
sovereignty to the Austrian house for 350,000 crowns. This little
country, whose statutes proclaimed her to be "free as the wind, as long
as it blew," whose institutions Charlemagne had honored and left
unmolested, who had freed herself with ready poniard from Norman tyranny,
who never bowed her neck to feudal chieftain, nor to the papal yoke, now
driven to madness and suicide by the dissensions of her wild children,
forfeits at last her independent existence. All the provinces are thus
united in a common servitude, and regret, too late, their supineness at a
moment when their liberties might yet have been vindicated. Their ancient
and cherished charters, which their bold ancestors had earned with the
sweat of their brows and the blood of their hearts, are at the mercy of
an autocrat, and liable to be superseded by his edicts.

In 1496, the momentous marriage of Philip the Fair with Joanna, daughter
of Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile and Aragon, is solemnized. Of this
union, in the first year of the century, is born the second Charlemagne,
who is to unite Spain and the Netherlands, together with so many vast and
distant realms, under a single sceptre. Six years afterwards (Sept. 25,
1506), Philip dies at Burgos. A handsome profligate, devoted to his
pleasures, and leaving the cares of state to his ministers, Philip,
"croit-conseil," is the bridge over which the house of Habsburg passes to
almost universal monarchy, but, in himself, is nothing.



X.

Two prudent marriages, made by Austrian archdukes within twenty years,
have altered the face of the earth. The stream, which we have been
tracing from its source, empties itself at last into the ocean of a
world-empire. Count Dirk the First, lord of a half-submerged corner of
Europe, is succeeded by Count Charles the Second of Holland, better known
as Charles the Fifth, King of Spain, Sicily, and Jerusalem, Duke of
Milan, Emperor of Germany, Dominator in Asia and Africa, autocrat of half
the world. The leading events of his brilliant reign are familiar to
every child. The Netherlands now share the fate of so large a group of
nations, a fate, to these provinces, most miserable. The weddings of
Austria Felix were not so prolific of happiness to her subjects as to
herself. It can never seem just or reasonable that the destiny of many
millions of human beings should depend upon the marriage-settlements of
one man with one woman, and a permanent, prosperous empire can never be
reared upon so frail a foundation. The leading thought of the first
Charlemagne was a noble and a useful one, nor did his imperial scheme
seem chimerical, even although time, wiser than monarchs or lawgivers,
was to prove it impracticable. To weld into one great whole the various
tribes of Franks, Frisians, Saxons, Lombards, Burgundians, and others,
still in their turbulent youth, and still composing one great Teutonic
family; to enforce the mutual adhesion of naturally coherent masses, all
of one lineage, one language, one history, and which were only beginning
to exhibit their tendencies to insulation, to acquiesce in a variety of
local laws and customs, while an iron will was to concentrate a vast, but
homogeneous, people into a single nation; to raise up from the grave of
corrupt and buried Rome a fresh, vigorous, German, Christian empire; this
was a reasonable and manly thought. Far different the conception of the
second Charlemagne. To force into discordant union, tribes which, for
seven centuries, had developed themselves into hostile nations, separated
by geography and history, customs and laws, to combine many millions
under one sceptre, not because of natural identity, but for the sake of
composing one splendid family property, to establish unity by
annihilating local institutions, to supersede popular and liberal
charters by the edicts of a central despotism, to do battle with the
whole spirit of an age, to regard the souls as well as the bodies of vast
multitudes as the personal property of one individual, to strive for the
perpetuation in a single house of many crowns, which accident had
blended, and to imagine the consecration of the whole system by placing
the pope's triple diadem forever upon the imperial head of the
Habsburgs;--all this was not the effort of a great, constructive genius,
but the selfish scheme of an autocrat.

The union of no two countries could be less likely to prove advantageous
or agreeable than that of the Netherlands and Spain. They were widely
separated geographically, while in history, manners, and politics, they
were utterly opposed to each other. Spain, which had but just assumed the
form of a single state by the combination of all its kingdoms, with its
haughty nobles descended from petty kings, and arrogating almost
sovereign power within their domains, with its fierce enthusiasm for the
Catholic religion, which, in the course of long warfare with the
Saracens, had become the absorbing characteristic of a whole nation, with
its sparse population scattered over a wide and stern country, with a
military spirit which led nearly all classes to prefer poverty to the
wealth attendant upon degrading pursuits of trade;--Spain, with her
gloomy, martial, and exaggerated character, was the absolute contrast of
the Netherlands.

These provinces had been rarely combined into a whole, but there was
natural affinity in their character, history, and position. There was
life, movement, bustling activity every where. An energetic population
swarmed in all the flourishing cities which dotted the surface of a
contracted and highly cultivated country. Their ships were the carriers
for the world;--their merchants, if invaded in their rights, engaged in
vigorous warfare with their own funds and their own frigates; their
fabrics were prized over the whole earth; their burghers possessed the
wealth of princes, lived with royal luxury, and exercised vast political
influence; their love of liberty was their predominant passion. Their
religious ardor had not been fully awakened; but the events of the next
generation were to prove that in no respect more than in the religious
sentiment, were the two races opposed to each other. It was as certain
that the Netherlanders would be fierce reformers as that the Spaniards
would be uncompromising persecutors. Unhallowed was the union between
nations thus utterly contrasted.

Philip the Fair and Ferdinand had detested and quarrelled with each other
from the beginning. The Spaniards and Flemings participated in the mutual
antipathy, and hated each other cordially at first sight. The
unscrupulous avarice of the Netherland nobles in Spain, their grasping
and venal ambition, enraged and disgusted the haughty Spaniards. This
international malignity furnishes one of the keys to a proper
understanding of the great revolt in the next reign.

The provinces, now all united again under an emperor, were treated,
opulent and powerful as they were, as obscure dependencies. The regency
over them was entrusted by Charles to his near relatives, who governed in
the interest of his house, not of the country. His course towards them
upon the religious question will be hereafter indicated. The political
character of his administration was typified, and, as it were,
dramatized, on the occasion of the memorable insurrection at Ghent. For
this reason, a few interior details concerning that remarkable event,
seem requisite.



XI.

Ghent was, in all respects, one of the most important cities in Europe.
Erasmus, who, as a Hollander and a courtier, was not likely to be partial
to the turbulent Flemings, asserted that there was no town in all
Christendom to be compared to it for size, power, political constitution,
or the culture of its inhabitants. It was, said one of its inhabitants at
the epoch of the insurrection, rather a country than a city. The activity
and wealth of its burghers were proverbial. The bells were rung daily,
and the drawbridges over the many arms of the river intersecting the
streets were raised, in order that all business might be suspended, while
the armies of workmen were going to or returning from their labors. As
early as the fourteenth century, the age of the Arteveldes, Froissart
estimated the number of fighting men whom Ghent could bring into the
field at eighty thousand. The city, by its jurisdiction over many large
but subordinate towns, disposed of more than its own immediate
population, which has been reckoned as high as two hundred thousand.

Placed in the midst of well cultivated plains, Ghent was surrounded by
strong walls, the external circuit of which measured nine miles. Its
streets and squares were spacious and elegant, its churches and other
public buildings numerous and splendid. The sumptuous church of Saint
John or Saint Bavon, where Charles the Fifth had been baptized, the
ancient castle whither Baldwin Bras de Fer had brought the daughter of
Charles the Bald, the city hall with its graceful Moorish front, the
well-known belfry, where for three centuries had perched the dragon sent
by the Emperor Baldwin of Flanders from Constantinople, and where swung
the famous Roland, whose iron tongue had called the citizens, generation
after generation, to arms, whether to win battles over foreign kings at
the head of their chivalry, or to plunge their swords in each others'
breasts, were all conspicuous in the city and celebrated in the land.
Especially the great bell was the object of the burghers' affection, and,
generally, of the sovereign's hatred; while to all it seemed, as it were,
a living historical personage, endowed with the human powers and passions
which it had so long directed and inflamed.

The constitution of the city was very free. It was a little republic in
all but name. Its population was divided into fifty-two guilds of
manufacturers and into thirty-two tribes of weavers; each fraternity
electing annually or biennally its own deans and subordinate officers.
The senate, which exercised functions legislative, judicial, and
administrative, subject of course to the grand council of Mechlin and to
the sovereign authority, consisted of twenty-six members. These were
appointed partly from the upper class, or the men who lived upon their
means, partly from the manufacturers in general, and partly from the
weavers. They were chosen by a college of eight electors, who were
appointed by the sovereign on nomination by the citizens. The whole city,
in its collective capacity, constituted one of the four estates (Membra)
of the province of Flanders. It is obvious that so much liberty of form
and of fact, added to the stormy character by which its citizens were
distinguished, would be most offensive in the eyes of Charles, and that
the delinquencies of the little commonwealth would be represented in the
most glaring colors by all those quiet souls, who preferred the
tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom. The city claimed,
moreover, the general provisions of the "Great Privilege" of the Lady
Mary, the Magna Charta, which, according to the monarchical party, had
been legally abrogated by Maximilian. The liberties of the town had also
been nominally curtailed by the "calf-skin" (Kalf Vel). By this
celebrated document, Charles the Fifth, then fifteen years of age, had
been made to threaten with condign punishment all persons who should
maintain that he had sworn at his inauguration to observe any privileges
or charters claimed by the Ghenters before the peace of Cadsand.

The immediate cause of the discontent, the attempt to force from Flanders
a subsidy of four hundred thousand caroli, as the third part of the
twelve hundred thousand granted by the states of the Netherlands, and the
resistance of Ghent in opposition to the other three members of the
province, will, of course, be judged differently, according as the
sympathies are stronger with popular rights or with prerogative. The
citizens claimed that the subsidy could only be granted by the unanimous
consent of the four estates of the province. Among other proofs of this
their unquestionable right, they appealed to a muniment, which had never
existed, save in the imagination of the credulous populace. At a certain
remote epoch, one of the Counts of Flanders, it was contended, had
gambled away his countship to the Earl of Holland, but had been
extricated from his dilemma by the generosity of Ghent. The burghers of
the town had paid the debts and redeemed the sovereignty of their lord,
and had thereby gained, in return, a charter, called the Bargain of
Flanders (Koop van Flandern). Among the privileges granted by this
document, was an express stipulation that no subsidy should ever be
granted by the province without the consent of Ghent. This charter would
have been conclusive in the present emergency, had it not labored under
the disadvantage of never having existed. It was supposed by many that
the magistrates, some of whom were favorable to government, had hidden
the document. Lieven Pyl, an ex-senator, was supposed to be privy to its
concealment. He was also, with more justice, charged with an act of great
baseness and effrontery. Reputed by the citizens to carry to the Queen
Regent their positive refusal to grant the subsidy, he had, on the
contrary, given an answer, in their name, in the affirmative. For these
delinquencies, the imaginary and the real, he was inhumanly tortured and
afterwards beheaded. "I know, my children," said he upon the scaffold,
"that you will be grieved when you have seen my blood flow, and that you
will regret me when it is too late." It does not appear, however, that
there was any especial reason to regret him, however sanguinary the
punishment which had requited his broken faith.

The mischief being thus afoot, the tongue of Roland, and the
easily-excited spirits of the citizens, soon did the rest. Ghent broke
forth into open insurrection. They had been willing to enlist and pay
troops under their own banners, but they had felt outraged at the
enormous contribution demanded of them for a foreign war, undertaken in
the family interests of their distant master. They could not find the
"Bargain of Flanders," but they got possession of the odious "calf skin,"
which was solemnly cut in two by the dean of the weavers. It was then
torn in shreds by the angry citizens, many of whom paraded the streets
with pieces of the hated document stuck in their caps, like plumes. From
these demonstrations they proceeded to intrigues with Francis the First.
He rejected them, and gave notice of their overtures to Charles, who now
resolved to quell the insurrection, at once. Francis wrote, begging that
the Emperor would honor him by coming through France; "wishing to assure
you," said he, "my lord and good brother, by this letter, written and
signed by my hand, upon my honor, and on the faith of a prince, and of
the best brother you have, that in passing through my kingdom every
possible honor and hospitality will be offered you, even as they could be
to myself." Certainly, the French king, after such profuse and voluntary
pledges, to confirm which he, moreover, offered his two sons and other
great individuals as hostages, could not, without utterly disgracing
himself, have taken any unhandsome advantage of the Emperor's presence in
his dominions. The reflections often made concerning the high-minded
chivalry of Francis, and the subtle knowledge of human nature displayed
by Charles upon the occasion, seem, therefore, entirely superfluous. The
Emperor came to Paris. "Here," says a citizen of Ghent, at the time, who
has left a minute account of the transaction upon record, but whose
sympathies were ludicrously with the despot and against his own
townspeople, "here the Emperor was received as if the God of Paradise had
descended." On the 9th of February, 1540, he left Brussels; on the 14th
he came to Ghent. His entrance into the city lasted more than six hours.
Four thousand lancers, one thousand archers, five thousand halberdmen and
musqueteers composed his bodyguard, all armed to the teeth and ready for
combat. The Emperor rode in their midst, surrounded by "cardinals,
archbishops, bishops, and other great ecclesiastical lords," so that the
terrors of the Church were combined with the panoply of war to affright
the souls of the turbulent burghers. A brilliant train of "dukes,
princes, earls, barons, grand masters, and seignors, together with most
of the Knights of the Fleece," were, according to the testimony of the
same eyewitness, in attendance upon his Majesty. This unworthy son of
Ghent was in ecstasies with the magnificence displayed upon the occasion.
There was such a number of "grand lords, members of sovereign houses,
bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries going about the streets,
that," as the poor soul protested with delight, "there was nobody else to
be met with." Especially the fine clothes of these distinguished guests
excited his warmest admiration. It was wonderful to behold, he said, "the
nobility and great richness of the princes and seignors, displayed as
well in their beautiful furs, martins and sables, as in the great chains
of fine gold which they wore twisted round their necks, and the pearls
and precious stones in their bonnets and otherwise, which they displayed
in great abundance. It was a very triumphant thing to see them so richly
dressed and accoutred."

An idea may be formed of the size and wealth of the city at this period,
from the fact that it received and accommodated sixty thousand strangers,
with their fifteen thousand horses, upon the occasion of the Emperor's
visit. Charles allowed a month of awful suspense to intervene between his
arrival and his vengeance. Despair and hope alternated during the
interval. On the 17th of March, the spell was broken by the execution of
nineteen persons, who were beheaded as ringleaders. On the 29th of April,
he pronounced sentence upon the city. The hall where it was rendered was
open to all comers, and graced by the presence of the Emperor, the Queen
Regent, and the great functionaries of Court, Church, and State. The
decree, now matured, was read at length. It annulled all the charters,
privileges, and laws of Ghent. It confiscated all its public property,
rents, revenues, houses, artillery, munitions of war, and in general
every thing which the corporation, or the traders, each and all,
possessed in common. In particular, the great bell--Roland was condemned
and sentenced to immediate removal. It was decreed that the four hundred
thousand florins, which had caused the revolt, should forthwith be paid,
together with an additional fine by Ghent of one hundred and fifty
thousand, besides six thousand a year, forever after. In place of their
ancient and beloved constitution, thus annihilated at a blow, was
promulgated a new form of municipal government of the simplest kind,
according to which all officers were in future to be appointed by himself
and the guilds, to be reduced to half their number; shorn of all
political power, and deprived entirely of self-government. It was,
moreover, decreed, that the senators, their pensionaries, clerks and
secretaries, thirty notable burghers, to be named by the Emperor, with
the great dean and second dean of the weavers, all dressed in black
robes, without their chains, and bareheaded, should appear upon an
appointed day, in company with fifty persons from the guilds, and fifty
others, to be arbitrarily named, in their shirts, with halters upon their
necks. This large number of deputies, as representatives of the city,
were then to fall upon their knees before the Emperor, say in a loud and
intelligible voice, by the mouth of one of their clerks, that they were
extremely sorry for the disloyalty, disobedience, infraction of laws,
commotions, rebellion, and high treason, of which they had been guilty,
promise that they would never do the like again, and humbly implore him,
for the sake of the Passion of Jesus Christ, to grant them mercy and
forgiveness.

The third day of May was appointed for the execution of the sentence.
Charles, who was fond of imposing exhibitions and prided himself upon
arranging them with skill, was determined that this occasion should be
long remembered by all burghers throughout his dominions who might be
disposed to insist strongly upon their municipal rights. The streets were
alive with troops: cavalry and infantry in great numbers keeping strict
guard at every point throughout the whole extent of the city; for it was
known that the hatred produced by the sentence was most deadly, and that
nothing but an array of invincible force could keep those hostile
sentiments in check. The senators in their black mourning robes, the
other deputies in linen shirts, bareheaded, with halters on their necks,
proceeded, at the appointed hour, from the senate house to the imperial
residence. High on his throne, with the Queen Regent at his side,
surrounded by princes, prelates and nobles, guarded by his archers and
halberdiers, his crown on his head and his sceptre in his hand, the
Emperor, exalted, sat. The senators and burghers, in their robes cf
humiliation, knelt in the dust at his feet. The prescribed words of
contrition and of supplication for mercy were then read by the
pensionary, all the deputies remaining upon their knees, and many of them
crying bitterly with rage and shame. "What principally distressed them,"
said the honest citizen, whose admiration for the brilliant accoutrement
of the princes and prelates has been recorded, "was to have the halter on
their necks, which they found hard to bear, and, if they had not been
compelled, they would rather have died than submit to it."

As soon as the words had been all spoken by the pensionary, the Emperor,
whose cue was now to appear struggling with mingled emotions of
reasonable wrath and of natural benignity, performed his part with much
dramatic effect. "He held himself coyly for a little time," says the
eye-witness, "without saying a word; deporting himself as though he were
considering whether or not he would grant the pardon for which the
culprits had prayed." Then the Queen Regent enacted her share in the
show. Turning to his Majesty "with all reverence, honor and humility, she
begged that he would concede forgiveness, in honor of his nativity, which
had occurred in that city."

Upon this the Emperor "made a fine show of benignity," and replied "very
sweetly" that in consequence of his "fraternal love for her, by reason of
his being a gentle and virtuous prince, who preferred mercy to the rigor
of justice, and in view of their repentance, he would accord his pardon
to the citizens."

The Netherlands, after this issue to the struggle of Ghent, were reduced,
practically, to a very degraded condition. The form of local
self-government remained, but its spirit, when invoked, only arose to be
derided. The supreme court of Mechlin, as in the days of Charles the
Bold, was again placed in despotic authority above the ancient charters.
Was it probable that the lethargy of provinces, which had reached so high
a point of freedom only to be deprived of it at last, could endure
forever? Was it to be hoped that the stern spirit of religious
enthusiasm, allying itself with the--keen instinct of civil liberty,
would endue the provinces with strength to throw off the Spanish yoke?



XII.

It is impossible to comprehend the character of the great Netherland
revolt in the sixteenth century without taking a rapid retrospective
survey of the religious phenomena exhibited in the provinces. The
introduction of Christianity has been already indicated. From the
earliest times, neither prince, people, nor even prelates were very
dutiful to the pope. As the papal authority made progress, strong
resistance was often made to its decrees. The bishops of Utrecht were
dependent for their wealth and territory upon the good will of the
Emperor. They were the determined opponents of Hildebrand, warm adherents
of the Hohenstaufers-Ghibelline rather than Guelph. Heresy was a plant of
early growth in the Netherlands. As early as the beginning of the 12th
century, the notorious Tanchelyn preached at Antwerp, attacking the
authority of the pope and of all other ecclesiastics; scoffing at the
ceremonies and sacraments of the Church. Unless his character and career
have been grossly misrepresented, he was the most infamous of the many
impostors who have so often disgraced the cause of religious reformation.
By more than four centuries, he anticipated the licentiousness and
greediness manifested by a series of false prophets, and was the first to
turn both the stupidity of a populace and the viciousness of a priesthood
to his own advancement; an ambition which afterwards reached its most
signal expression in the celebrated John of Leyden.

The impudence of Tanchelyn and the superstition of his followers seem
alike incredible. All Antwerp was his harem. He levied, likewise, vast
sums upon his converts, and whenever he appeared in public, his apparel
and pomp were befitting an emperor. Three thousand armed satellites
escorted his steps and put to death all who resisted his commands. So
groveling became the superstition of his followers that they drank of the
water in which, he had washed, and treasured it as a divine elixir.
Advancing still further in his experiments upon human credulity, he
announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary, bade all his
disciples to the wedding, and exhibited himself before an immense crowd
in company with an image of his holy bride. He then ordered the people to
provide for the expenses of the nuptials and the dowry of his wife,
placing a coffer upon each side of the image, to receive the
contributions of either sex. Which is the most wonderful manifestation in
the history of this personage--the audacity of the impostor, or the
bestiality of his victims? His career was so successful in the
Netherlands that he had the effrontery to proceed to Rome, promulgating
what he called his doctrines as he went. He seems to have been
assassinated by a priest in an obscure brawl, about the year 1115.

By the middle of the 12th century, other and purer heresiarchs had
arisen. Many Netherlanders became converts to the doctrines of Waldo.
From that period until the appearance of Luther, a succession of
sects--Waldenses, Albigenses, Perfectists, Lollards, Poplicans,
Arnaldists, Bohemian Brothers--waged perpetual but unequal warfare with
the power and depravity of the Church, fertilizing with their blood the
future field of the Reformation. Nowhere was the persecution of heretics
more relentless than in the Netherlands. Suspected persons were subjected
to various torturing but ridiculous ordeals. After such trial, death by
fire was the usual but, perhaps, not the most severe form of execution.
In Flanders, monastic ingenuity had invented another most painful
punishment for Waldenses and similar malefactors. A criminal whose guilt
had been established by the hot iron, hot ploughshare, boiling kettle, or
other logical proof, was stripped and bound to the stake:--he was then
flayed, from the neck to the navel, while swarms of bees were let loose
to fasten upon his bleeding flesh and torture him to a death of exquisite
agony.

Nevertheless heresy increased in the face of oppression The Scriptures,
translated by Waldo into French, were rendered into Netherland rhyme, and
the converts to the Vaudois doctrine increased in numbers and boldness.
At the same time the power and luxury of the clergy was waxing daily. The
bishops of Utrecht, no longer the defenders of the people against
arbitrary power, conducted themselves like little popes. Yielding in
dignity neither to king nor kaiser, they exacted homage from the most
powerful princes of the Netherlands. The clerical order became the most
privileged of all. The accused priest refused to acknowledge the temporal
tribunals. The protection of ecclesiastical edifices was extended over
all criminals and fugitives from justice--a beneficent result in those
sanguinary ages, even if its roots were sacerdotal pride. To establish an
accusation against a bishop, seventy-two witnesses were necessary;
against a deacon, twenty-seven; against an inferior dignitary, seven;
while two were sufficient to convict a layman. The power to read and
write helped the clergy to much wealth. Privileges and charters from
petty princes, gifts and devises from private persons, were documents
which few, save ecclesiastics, could draw or dispute. Not content,
moreover, with their territories and their tithings, the churchmen
perpetually devised new burthens upon the peasantry. Ploughs, sickles,
horses, oxen, all implements of husbandry, were taxed for the benefit of
those who toiled not, but who gathered into barns. In the course of the
twelfth century, many religious houses, richly endowed with lands and
other property, were founded in the Netherlands. Was hand or voice raised
against clerical encroachment--the priests held ever in readiness a
deadly weapon of defence: a blasting anathema was thundered against their
antagonist, and smote him into submission. The disciples of Him who
ordered his followers to bless their persecutors, and to love their
enemies, invented such Christian formulas as these:--"In the name of the
Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the blessed Virgin Mary, John the
Baptist, Peter and Paul, and all other Saints in Heaven, do we curse and
cut off from our Communion him who has thus rebelled against us. May the
curse strike him in his house, barn, bed, field, path, city, castle. May
he be cursed in battle, accursed in praying, in speaking, in silence, in
eating, in drinking, in sleeping. May he be accursed in his taste,
hearing, smell, and all his senses. May the curse blast his eyes, head,
and his body, from his crown to the soles of his feet. I conjure you,
Devil, and all your imps, that you take no rest till you have brought him
to eternal shame; till he is destroyed by drowning or hanging, till he is
torn to pieces by wild beasts, or consumed by fire. Let his children
become orphans, his wife a widow. I command you, Devil, and all your
imps, that even as I now blow out these torches, you do immediately
extinguish the light from his eyes. So be it--so be it. Amen. Amen." So
speaking, the curser was wont to blow out two waxen torches which he held
in his hands, and, with this practical illustration, the anathema was
complete.

Such insane ravings, even in the mouth of some impotent beldame, were
enough to excite a shudder, but in that dreary epoch, these curses from
the lips of clergymen were deemed sufficient to draw down celestial
lightning upon the head, not of the blasphemer, but of his victim. Men,
who trembled neither at sword nor fire, cowered like slaves before such
horrid imprecations, uttered by tongues gifted, as it seemed, with
superhuman power. Their fellow-men shrank from the wretches thus blasted,
and refused communication with them as unclean and abhorred.

By the end of the thirteenth century, however, the clerical power was
already beginning to decline. It was not the corruption of the Church,
but its enormous wealth which engendered the hatred, with which it was by
many regarded. Temporal princes and haughty barons began to dispute the
right of ecclesiastics to enjoy vast estates, while refusing the burthen
of taxation, and unable to draw a sword for the common defence. At this
period, the Counts of Flanders, of Holland, and other Netherland
sovereigns, issued decrees, forbidding clerical institutions from
acquiring property, by devise, gift, purchase, or any other mode. The
downfall of the rapacious and licentious knights-templar in the provinces
and throughout Europe, was another severe blow administered at the same
time. The attacks upon Church abuses redoubled in boldness, as its
authority declined. Towards the end of the fourteenth century, the
doctrines of Wicklif had made great progress in the land. Early in the
fifteenth, the executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague, produce the
Bohemian rebellion. The Pope proclaims a crusade against the Hussites.
Knights and prelates, esquires and citizens, enlist in the sacred cause,
throughout Holland and its sister provinces; but many Netherlanders, who
had felt the might of Ziska's arm, come back, feeling more sympathy with
the heresy which they had attacked, than with the Church for which they
had battled.

Meantime, the restrictions imposed by Netherland sovereigns upon clerical
rights to hold or acquire property, become more stern and more general.
On the other hand, with the invention of printing, the cause of
Reformation takes a colossal stride in advance. A Bible, which, before,
had cost five hundred crowns, now costs but five. The people acquire the
power of reading God's Word, or of hearing it read, for themselves. The
light of truth dispels the clouds of superstition, as by a new
revelation. The Pope and his monks are found to bear, very often, but
faint resemblance to Jesus and his apostles. Moreover, the instinct of
self-interest sharpens the eye of the public. Many greedy priests, of
lower rank, had turned shop-keepers in the Netherlands, and were growing
rich by selling their wares, exempt from taxation, at a lower rate than
lay hucksters could afford. The benefit of clergy, thus taking the bread
from the mouths of many, excites jealousy; the more so, as, besides their
miscellaneous business, the reverend traders have a most lucrative branch
of commerce from which other merchants are excluded. The sale of
absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests. The enormous
impudence of this traffic almost exceeds belief. Throughout the
Netherlands, the price current of the wares thus offered for sale, was
published in every town and village. God's pardon for crimes already
committed, or about to be committed, was advertised according to a
graduated tariff. Thus, poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven
ducats, six livres tournois. Absolution for incest was afforded at
thirty-six livres, three ducats. Perjury came to seven livres and three
carlines. Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper. Even a
parricide could buy forgiveness at God's tribunal at one ducat; four
livres, eight carlines. Henry de Montfort, in the year 1448, purchased
absolution for that crime at that price. Was it strange that a century or
so of this kind of work should produce a Luther? Was it unnatural that
plain people, who loved the ancient Church, should rather desire to see
her purged of such blasphemous abuses, than to hear of St. Peter's dome
rising a little nearer to the clouds on these proceeds of commuted crime?

At the same time, while ecclesiastical abuses are thus augmenting,
ecclesiastical power is diminishing in the Netherlands. The Church is no
longer able to protect itself against the secular aim. The halcyon days
of ban, book and candle, are gone. In 1459, Duke Philip of Burgundy
prohibits the churches from affording protection to fugitives. Charles
the Bold, in whose eyes nothing is sacred save war and the means of
making it, lays a heavy impost upon all clerical property. Upon being
resisted, he enforces collection with the armed hand. The sword and the
pen, strength and intellect, no longer the exclusive servants or
instruments of priestcraft, are both in open revolt. Charles the Bold
storms one fortress, Doctor Grandfort, of Groningen, batters another.
This learned Frisian, called "the light of the world," friend and
compatriot of the great Rudolph Agricola, preaches throughout the
provinces, uttering bold denunciations of ecclesiastical error. He even
disputes the infallibility of the Pope, denies the utility of prayers for
the dead, and inveighs against the whole doctrine of purgatory and
absolution.

With the beginning of the 16th century, the great Reformation was
actually alive. The name of Erasmus of Rotterdam was already celebrated;
the man, who, according to Grotius, "so well showed the road to a
reasonable reformation." But if Erasmus showed the road, he certainly did
not travel far upon it himself. Perpetual type of the quietist, the
moderate man, he censured the errors of the Church with discrimination
and gentleness, as if Borgianism had not been too long rampant at Rome,
as if men's minds throughout Christendom were not too deeply stirred to
be satisfied with mild rebukes against sin, especially when the mild
rebuker was in receipt of livings and salaries from the sinner. Instead
of rebukes, the age wanted reforms. The Sage of Rotterdam was a keen
observer, a shrewd satirist, but a moderate moralist. He loved ease, good
company, the soft repose of princely palaces, better than a life of
martyrdom and a death at the stake. He was not of the stuff of which
martyrs are made, as he handsomely confessed on more than one occasion.
"Let others affect martyrdom," he said, "for myself I am unworthy of the
honor;" and, at another time, "I am not of a mind," he observed "to
venture my life for the truth's sake; all men have not strength to endure
the martyr's death. For myself, if it came to the point, I should do no
better than Simon Peter." Moderate in all things, he would have liked, he
said, to live without eating and drinking, although he never found it
convenient to do so, and he rejoiced when advancing age diminished his
tendency to other carnal pleasures in which he had moderately indulged.
Although awake to the abuses of the Church, he thought Luther going too
fast and too far. He began by applauding ended by censuring the monk of
Wittemberg. The Reformation might have been delayed for centuries had
Erasmus and other moderate men been the only reformers. He will long be
honored for his elegant, Latinity. In the republic of letters, his
efforts to infuse a pure taste, a sound criticism, a love for the
beautiful and the classic, in place of the owlish pedantry which had so
long flapped and hooted through mediveval cloisters, will always be held
in grateful reverence. In the history of the religious Reformation, his
name seems hardly to deserve the commendations of Grotius.

As the schism yawns, more and more ominously, throughout Christendom, the
Emperor naturally trembles. Anxious to save the state, but being no
antique Roman, he wishes to close the gulf, but with more convenience to
himself: He conceives the highly original plan of combining Church and
Empire under one crown. This is Maximilian's scheme for Church
reformation. An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor, the
Charlemagne and Hildebrand systems united and simplified--thus the world
may yet be saved. "Nothing more honorable, nobler, better, could happen
to us," writes Maximilian to Paul Lichtenstein (16th Sept. 1511), "than
to re-annex the said popedom--which properly belongs to us--to our
Empire. Cardinal Adrian approves our reasons and encourages us to
proceed, being of opinion that we should not have much trouble with the
cardinals. It is much to be feared that the Pope may die of his present
sickness. He has lost his appetite, and fills himself with so much drink
that his health is destroyed. As such matters can not be arranged without
money, we have promised the cardinals, whom we expect to bring over,
300,000 ducats, [Recall that the fine for redemption and pardon for the
sin of murder was at that time one ducat. D.W.] which we shall raise from
the Fuggers, and make payable in Rome upon the appointed day."

These business-like arrangements he communicates, two days afterwards, in
a secret letter to his daughter Margaret, and already exults at his
future eminence, both in this world and the next. "We are sending
Monsieur de Gurce," he says; "to make an agreement with the Pope, that we
may be taken as coadjutor, in order that, upon his death, we may be sure
of the papacy, and, afterwards, of becoming a saint. After my decease,
therefore, you will be constrained to adore me, of which I shall be very
proud. I am beginning to work upon the cardinals, in which affair two or
three hundred thousand ducats will be of great service." The letter was
signed, "From the hand of your good father, Maximilian, future Pope."

These intrigues are not destined, however, to be successful. Pope Julius
lives two years longer; Leo the Tenth succeeds; and, as Medici are not
much prone to Church reformation some other scheme, and perhaps some
other reformer, may be wanted. Meantime, the traffic in bulls of
absolution becomes more horrible than ever. Money must be raised to
supply the magnificent extravagance of Rome. Accordingly, Christians,
throughout Europe, are offered by papal authority, guarantees of
forgiveness for every imaginable sin, "even for the rape of God's mother,
if that were possible," together with a promise of life eternal in
Paradise, all upon payment of the price affixed to each crime. The
Netherlands, like other countries, are districted and farmed for the
collection of this papal revenue. Much of the money thus raised, remains
in the hands of the vile collectors. Sincere Catholics, who love and
honor the ancient religion, shrink with horror at the spectacle offered
on every side. Criminals buying Paradise for money, monks spending the
money thus paid in gaming houses, taverns, and brothels; this seems, to
those who have studied their Testaments, a different scheme of salvation
from the one promulgated by Christ. There has evidently been a departure
from the system of earlier apostles. Innocent conservative souls are much
perplexed; but, at last, all these infamies arouse a giant to do battle
with the giant wrong. Martin Luther enters the lists, all alone, armed
only with a quiver filled with ninety-five propositions, and a bow which
can send them all over Christendom with incredible swiftness. Within a
few weeks the ninety-five propositions have flown through Germany, the
Netherlands, Spain, and are found in Jerusalem.

At the beginning, Erasmus encourages the bold friar. So long as the axe
is not laid at the foot of the tree, which bears the poisonous but golden
fruit, the moderate man applauds the blows. "Luther's cause is considered
odious," writes Erasmus to the Elector of Saxony, "because he has, at the
same time, attacked the bellies of the monks and the bulls of the Pope."
He complains that the zealous man had been attacked with roiling, but not
with arguments. He foresees that the work will have a bloody and
turbulent result, but imputes the principal blame to the clergy. "The
priests talk," said he, "of absolution in such terms, that laymen can not
stomach it. Luther has been for nothing more censured than for making
little of Thomas Aquinas; for wishing to diminish the absolution traffic;
for having a low opinion of mendicant orders, and for respecting
scholastic opinions less than the gospels. All this is considered
intolerable heresy."

Erasmus, however, was offending both parties. A swarm of monks were
already buzzing about him for the bold language of his Commentaries and
Dialogues. He was called Erasmus for his errors--Arasmus because he would
plough up sacred things--Erasinus because he had written himself an
ass--Behemoth, Antichrist, and many other names of similar import. Luther
was said to have bought the deadly seed in his barn. The egg had been
laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther. On the other hand, he was reviled for
not taking side manfully with the reformer. The moderate man received
much denunciation from zealots on either side. He soon clears himself,
however, from all suspicions of Lutheranism. He is appalled at the fierce
conflict which rages far and wide. He becomes querulous as the mighty
besom sweeps away sacred dust and consecrated cobwebs. "Men should not
attempt every thing at once," he writes, "but rather step by step. That
which men can not improve they must look at through the fingers. If the
godlessness of mankind requires such fierce physicians as Luther, if man
can not be healed with soothing ointments and cooling drinks, let us hope
that God will comfort, as repentant, those whom he has punished as
rebellious. If the dove of Christ--not the owl of Minerva--would only fly
to us, some measure might be put to the madness of mankind."

Meantime the man, whose talk is not of doves and owls, the fierce
physician, who deals not with ointments and cooling draughts, strides
past the crowd of gentle quacks to smite the foul disease. Devils,
thicker than tiles on house-tops, scare him not from his work. Bans and
bulls, excommunications and decrees, are rained upon his head. The
paternal Emperor sends down dire edicts, thicker than hail upon the
earth. The Holy Father blasts and raves from Rome. Louvain doctors
denounce, Louvain hangmen burn, the bitter, blasphemous books. The
immoderate man stands firm in the storm, demanding argument instead of
illogical thunder; shows the hangmen and the people too, outside the
Elster gate at Wittenberg, that papal bulls will blaze as merrily as
heretic scrolls. What need of allusion to events which changed the
world--which every child has learned--to the war of Titans, uprooting of
hoary trees and rock-ribbed hills, to the Worms diet, Peasant wars, the
Patmos of Eisenach, and huge wrestlings with the Devil?

Imperial edicts are soon employed to suppress the Reformation in the
Netherlands by force. The provinces, unfortunately; are the private
property of Charles, his paternal inheritance; and most paternally,
according to his view of the matter, does he deal with them. Germany can
not be treated thus summarily, not being his heritage. "As it appears,"
says the edict of 1521, "that the aforesaid Martin is not a man, but a
devil under the form of a man, and clothed in the dress of a priest, the
better to bring the human race to hell and damnation, therefore all his
disciples and converts are to be punished with death and forfeiture of
all their goods." This was succinct and intelligible. The bloody edict,
issued at Worms, without even a pretence of sanction by the estates, was
carried into immediate effect. The papal inquisition was introduced into
the provinces to assist its operations. The bloody work, for which the
reign of Charles is mainly distinguished in the Netherlands, now began.
In 1523, July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels, the first
victims to Lutheranism in the provinces. Erasmus observed, with a sigh,
that "two had been burned at Brussels, and that the city now began
strenuously to favor Lutheranism."

Pope Adrian the Sixth, the Netherland boat-maker's son and the Emperor's
ancient tutor, was sufficiently alive to the sins of churchmen. The
humble scholar of Utrecht was, at least, no Borgia. At the diet of
Nuremberg, summoned to put down Luther, the honest Pope declared roundly,
through the Bishop of Fabriane, that "these disorders had sprung from the
Sins of men, more especially from the sins of priests and prelates. Even
in the holy chair," said he, "many horrible crimes have been committed.
Many abuses have grown up in the ecclesiastical state. The contagious
disease, spreading from the head to the members--from the Pope to lesser
prelates--has spread far and wide, so that scarcely any one is to be
found who does right, and who is free from infection. Nevertheless, the
evils have become so ancient and manifold, that it will be necessary to
go step by step."

In those passionate days, the ardent reformers were as much outraged by
this pregnant confession as the ecclesiastics. It would indeed be a slow
process, they thought, to move step by step in the Reformation, if
between each step, a whole century was to intervene. In vain did the
gentle pontiff call upon Erasmus to assuage the stormy sea with his
smooth rhetoric. The Sage of Rotterdam was old and sickly; his day was
over. Adrian's head; too; languishes beneath the triple crown but twenty
months. He dies 13th Sept., 1523, having arrived at the conviction,
according to his epitaph, that the greatest misfortune of his life was to
have reigned.

Another edict, published in the Netherlands, forbids all private
assemblies for devotion; all reading of the scriptures; all discussions
within one's own doors concerning faith, the sacraments, the papal
authority, or other religious matter, under penalty of death. The edicts
were no dead letter. The fires were kept constantly supplied with human
fuel by monks, who knew the art of burning reformers better than that of
arguing with them. The scaffold was the most conclusive of syllogisms,
and used upon all occasions. Still the people remained unconvinced.
Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert.

A fresh edict renewed and sharpened the punishment for reading the
scriptures in private or public. At the same time, the violent personal
altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination, together
with the bitter dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real
presence, did more to impede the progress of the Reformation than ban or
edict, sword or fire. The spirit of humanity hung her head, finding that
the bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones, seeing
that dissenters, in their turn, were sometimes as ready as papists, with
age, fagot, and excommunication. In 1526, Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is
drowned at Zurich, in obedience to Zwingli's pithy formula--'Qui iterum
mergit mergatur'. Thus the anabaptists, upon their first appearance, were
exposed to the fires of the Church and the water of the Zwinglians.

There is no doubt that the anabaptist delusion was so ridiculous and so
loathsome, as to palliate or at least render intelligible the wrath with
which they were regarded by all parties. The turbulence of the sect was
alarming to constituted authorities, its bestiality disgraceful to the
cause of religious reformation. The leaders were among the most depraved
of human creatures, as much distinguished for licentiousness, blasphemy
and cruelty as their followers for grovelling superstition. The evil
spirit, driven out of Luther, seemed, in orthodox eyes, to have taken
possession of a herd of swine. The Germans, Muncer and Hoffmann, had been
succeeded, as chief prophets, by a Dutch baker, named Matthiszoon, of
Harlem; who announced himself as Enoch. Chief of this man's disciples was
the notorious John Boccold, of Leyden. Under the government of this
prophet, the anabaptists mastered the city of Munster. Here they
confiscated property, plundered churches, violated females, murdered men
who refused to join the gang, and, in briefs practised all the enormities
which humanity alone can conceive or perpetrate. The prophet proclaimed
himself King of Sion, and sent out apostles to preach his doctrines in
Germany and the Netherlands. Polygamy being a leading article of the
system, he exemplified the principle by marrying fourteen wives. Of
these, the beautiful widow of Matthiszoon was chief, was called the Queen
of Sion, and wore a golden crown. The prophet made many fruitless efforts
to seize Amsterdam and Leyden. The armed invasion of the anabaptists was
repelled, but their contagious madness spread. The plague broke forth in
Amsterdam. On a cold winter's night, (February, 1535), seven men and five
women, inspired by the Holy Ghost, threw off their clothes and rushed
naked and raving through the streets, shrieking "Wo, wo, wo! the wrath of
God, the wrath of God!" When arrested, they obstinately refused to put on
clothing. "We are," they observed, "the naked truth." In a day or two,
these furious lunatics, who certainly deserved a madhouse rather than the
scaffold, were all executed. The numbers of the sect increased with the
martyrdom to which they were exposed, and the disorder spread to every
part of the Netherlands. Many were put to death in lingering torments,
but no perceptible effect was produced by the chastisement. Meantime the
great chief of the sect, the prophet John, was defeated by the forces of
the Bishop of Munster, who recovered his city and caused the "King of
Zion" to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs.

Unfortunately the severity of government was not wreaked alone upon the
prophet and his mischievous crew. Thousands and ten-thousands of
virtuous, well-disposed men and women, who had as little sympathy with
anabaptistical as with Roman depravity; were butchered in cold blood,
under the sanguinary rule of Charles, in the Netherlands. In 1533, Queen
Dowager Mary of Hungary, sister of the Emperor, Regent of the provinces,
the "Christian widow" admired by Erasmus, wrote to her brother that "in
her opinion all heretics, whether repentant or not, should be prosecuted
with such severity as that error might be, at once, extinguished, care
being only taken that the provinces were not entirely depopulated." With
this humane limitation, the "Christian Widow" cheerfully set herself to
superintend as foul and wholesale a system of murder as was ever
organized. In 1535, an imperial edict was issued at Brussels, condemning
all heretics to death; repentant males to be executed with the sword,
repentant females to be buried alive, the obstinate, of both sexes, to be
burned. This and similar edicts were the law of the land for twenty
years, and rigidly enforced. Imperial and papal persecution continued its
daily deadly work with such diligence as to make it doubtful whether the
limits set by the Regent Mary might not be overstepped. In the midst of
the carnage, the Emperor sent for his son Philip, that he might receive
the fealty of the Netherlands as their future lord and master.
Contemporaneously, a new edict was published at Brussels (29th April,
1549), confirming and reenacting all previous decrees in their most
severe provisions. Thus stood religious matters in the Netherlands at the
epoch of the imperial abdication.



XIII.

The civil institutions of the country had assumed their last provincial
form, in the Burgundo-Austrian epoch. As already stated, their tendency,
at a later period a vicious one, was to substitute fictitious personages
for men. A chain of corporations was wound about the liberty of the
Netherlands; yet that liberty had been originally sustained by the system
in which it, one day, might be strangled. The spirit of local
self-government, always the life-blood of liberty, was often excessive in
its manifestations. The centrifugal force had been too much developed,
and, combining with the mutual jealousy of corporations, had often made
the nation weak against a common foe. Instead of popular rights there
were state rights, for the large cities, with extensive districts and
villages under their government, were rather petty states than
municipalities. Although the supreme legislative and executive functions
belonged to the sovereign, yet each city made its by-laws, and possessed,
beside, a body of statutes and regulations, made from time to time by its
own authority and confirmed by the prince. Thus a large portion, at
least, of the nation shared practically in the legislative functions,
which, technically, it did not claim; nor had the requirements of society
made constant legislation so necessary, as that to exclude the people
from the work was to enslave the country. There was popular power enough
to effect much good, but it was widely scattered, and, at the same time,
confined in artificial forms. The guilds were vassals of the towns, the
towns, vassals of the feudal lord. The guild voted in the "broad council"
of the city as one person; the city voted in the estates as one person.
The people of the United Netherlands was the personage yet to be
invented, It was a privilege, not a right, to exercise a handiwork, or to
participate in the action of government. Yet the mass of privileges was
so large, the shareholders so numerous, that practically the towns were
republics. The government was in the hands of a large number of the
people. Industry and intelligence led to wealth and power. This was great
progress from the general servitude of the 11th and 12th centuries, an
immense barrier against arbitrary rule. Loftier ideas of human rights,
larger conceptions of commerce, have taught mankind, in later days, the
difference between liberties and liberty, between guilds and free
competition. At the same time it was the principle of mercantile
association, in the middle ages, which protected the infant steps of
human freedom and human industry against violence and wrong. Moreover, at
this period, the tree of municipal life was still green and vigorous. The
healthful flow of sap from the humblest roots to the most verdurous
branches indicated the internal soundness of the core, and provided for
the constant development of exterior strength. The road to political
influence was open to all, not by right of birth, but through honorable
exertion of heads and hands.

The chief city of the Netherlands, the commercial capital of the world,
was Antwerp. In the North and East of Europe, the Hanseatic league had
withered with the revolution in commerce. At the South, the splendid
marble channels, through which the overland India trade had been
conducted from the Mediterranean by a few stately cities, were now dry,
the great aqueducts ruinous and deserted. Verona, Venice, Nuremberg,
Augsburg, Bruges, were sinking, but Antwerp, with its deep and convenient
river, stretched its arm to the ocean and caught the golden prize, as it
fell from its sister cities' grasp. The city was so ancient that its
genealogists, with ridiculous gravity, ascended to a period two centuries
before the Trojan war, and discovered a giant, rejoicing in the classic
name of Antigonus, established on the Scheld. This patriarch exacted one
half the merchandise of all navigators who passed his castle, and was
accustomed to amputate and cast into the river the right hands of those
who infringed this simple tariff. Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became
Antwerp, and hence, two hands, in the escutcheon of the city, were ever
held up in heraldic attestation of the truth. The giant was, in his turn,
thrown into the Scheld by a hero, named Brabo, from whose exploits
Brabant derived its name; "de quo Brabonica tellus." But for these
antiquarian researches, a simpler derivation of the name would seem
an t' werf, "on the wharf." It had now become the principal entrepot and
exchange of Europe. The Huggers, Velsens, Ostetts, of Germany, the
Gualterotti and Bonvisi of Italy, and many other great mercantile houses
were there established. No city, except Paris, surpassed it in
population, none approached it in commercial splendor. Its government was
very free. The sovereign, as Marquis of Antwerp, was solemnly sworn to
govern according to the ancient charters and laws. The stadholder, as his
representative, shared his authority with the four estates of the city.
The Senate of eighteen members was appointed by the stadholder out of a
quadruple number nominated by the Senate itself and by the fourth body,
called the Borgery. Half the board was thus renewed annually. It
exercised executive and appellate judicial functions, appointed two
burgomasters, and two pensionaries or legal councillors, and also
selected the lesser magistrates and officials of the city. The board of
ancients or ex-senators, held their seats ex officio. The twenty-six
ward-masters, appointed, two from each ward, by the Senate on nomination
by the wards, formed the third estate. Their especial business was to
enrol the militia and to attend to its mustering and training. The deans
of the guilds, fifty-four in number, two from each guild, selected by the
Senate, from a triple list of candidates presented by the guilds,
composed the fourth estate. This influential body was always assembled in
the broad-council of the city. Their duty was likewise to conduct the
examination of candidates claiming admittance to any guild and offering
specimens of art or handiwork, to superintend the general affairs of the
guilds and to regulate disputes.

There were also two important functionaries, representing the king in
criminal and civil matters. The Vicarius capitalis, Scultetus, Schout,
Sheriff, or Margrave, took precedence of all magistrates. His business
was to superintend criminal arrests, trials, and executions. The Vicarius
civilis was called the Amman, and his office corresponded with that of
the Podesta in the Frisian and Italian republics. His duties were nearly
similar, in civil, to those of his colleague, in criminal matters.

These four branches, with their functionaries and dependents, composed
the commonwealth of Antwerp. Assembled together in council, they
constituted the great and general court. No tax could be imposed by the
sovereign, except with consent of the four branches, all voting
separately.

The personal and domiciliary rights of the citizen were scrupulously
guarded. The Schout could only make arrests with the Burgomaster's
warrant, and was obliged to bring the accused, within three days, before
the judges, whose courts were open to the public.

The condition of the population was prosperous. There were but few poor,
and those did not seek but were sought by the almoners: The schools were
excellent and cheap. It was difficult to find a child of sufficient age
who could not read, write, and speak, at least, two languages. The sons
of the wealthier citizens completed their education at Louvain, Douay,
Paris, or Padua.

The city itself was one of the most beautiful in Europe. Placed upon a
plain along the banks of the Scheld, shaped like a bent bow with the
river for its string, it enclosed within it walls some of the most
splendid edifices in Christendom. The world-renowned church of Notre
Dame, the stately Exchange where five thousand merchants daily
congregated, prototype of all similar establishments throughout the
world, the capacious mole and port where twenty-five hundred vessels were
often seen at once, and where five hundred made their daily entrance or
departure, were all establishments which it would have been difficult to
rival in any other part of the world.

From what has already been said of the municipal institutions of the
country, it may be inferred that the powers of the Estates-general were
limited. The members of that congress were not representatives chosen by
the people, but merely a few ambassadors from individual provinces. This
individuality was not always composed of the same ingredients. Thus,
Holland consisted of two members, or branches--the nobles and the six
chief cities; Flanders of four branches--the cities, namely, of Ghent,
Bruges, Ypres, and the "freedom of Bruges;" Brabant of Louvain, Brussels,
Bois le Due, and Antwerp, four great cities, without representation of
nobility or clergy; Zeland, of one clerical person, the abbot of
Middelburg, one noble, the Marquis of Veer and Vliessingen, and six chief
cities; Utrecht, of three branches--the nobility, the clergy, and five
cities. These, and other provinces, constituted in similar manner, were
supposed to be actually present at the diet when assembled. The chief
business of the states-general was financial; the sovereign, or his
stadholder, only obtaining supplies by making a request in person, while
any single city, as branch of a province, had a right to refuse the
grant.

Education had felt the onward movement of the country and the times. The
whole system was, however, pervaded by the monastic spirit, which had
originally preserved all learning from annihilation, but which now kept
it wrapped in the ancient cerecloths, and stiffening in the stony
sarcophagus of a bygone age. The university of Louvain was the chief
literary institution in the provinces. It had been established in 1423 by
Duke John IV. of Brabant. Its government consisted of a President and
Senate, forming a close corporation, which had received from the founder
all his own authority, and the right to supply their own vacancies. The
five faculties of law, canon law, medicine, theology, and the arts, were
cultivated at the institution. There was, besides, a high school for
under graduates, divided into four classes. The place reeked with
pedantry, and the character of the university naturally diffused itself
through other scholastic establishments. Nevertheless, it had done and
was doing much to preserve the love for profound learning, while the
rapidly advancing spirit of commerce was attended by an ever increasing
train of humanizing arts.

The standard of culture in those flourishing cities was elevated,
compared with that observed in many parts of Europe. The children of the
wealthier classes enjoyed great facilities for education in all the great
capitals. The classics, music, and the modern languages, particularly the
French, were universally cultivated. Nor was intellectual cultivation
confined to the higher orders. On the contrary, it was diffused to a
remarkable degree among the hard-working artisans and handicraftsmen of
the great cities.

For the principle of association had not confined itself exclusively to
politics and trade. Besides the numerous guilds by which citizenship was
acquired in the various cities, were many other societies for mutual
improvement, support, or recreation. The great secret, architectural or
masonic brotherhood of Germany, that league to which the artistic and
patient completion of the magnificent works of Gothic architecture in the
middle ages is mainly to be attributed, had its branches in nether
Germany, and explains the presence of so many splendid and elaborately
finished churches in the provinces. There were also military sodalities
of musketeers, cross-bowmen, archers, swordsmen in every town. Once a
year these clubs kept holiday, choosing a king, who was selected for his
prowess and skill in the use of various weapons. These festivals, always
held with great solemnity and rejoicing, were accompanied bye many
exhibitions of archery and swordsmanship. The people were not likely,
therefore, voluntarily to abandon that privilege and duty of freemen, the
right to bear arms, and the power to handle them.

Another and most important collection of brotherhoods were the so-called
guilds of Rhetoric, which existed, in greater or less number, in all the
principal cities. These were associations of mechanics, for the purpose
of amusing their leisure with poetical effusions, dramatic and musical
exhibitions, theatrical processions, and other harmless and not inelegant
recreations. Such chambers of rhetoric came originally in the fifteenth
century from France. The fact that in their very title they confounded
rhetoric with poetry and the drama indicates the meagre attainments of
these early "Rederykers." In the outset of their career they gave
theatrical exhibitions. "King Herod and his Deeds" was enacted in the
cathedral at Utrecht in 1418. The associations spread with great celerity
throughout the Netherlands, and, as they were all connected with each
other, and in habits of periodical intercourse, these humble links of
literature were of great value in drawing the people of the provinces
into closer union. They became, likewise, important political engines. As
early as the time of Philip the Good, their songs and lampoons became so
offensive to the arbitrary notions of the Burgundian government, as to
cause the societies to be prohibited. It was, however, out of the
sovereign's power permanently to suppress institutions, which already
partook of the character of the modern periodical press combined with
functions resembling the show and licence of the Athenian drama. Viewed
from the stand-point of literary criticism their productions were not
very commendable in taste, conception, or execution. To torture the Muses
to madness, to wire-draw poetry through inextricable coils of difficult
rhymes and impossible measures; to hammer one golden grain of wit into a
sheet of infinite platitude, with frightful ingenuity to construct
ponderous anagrams and preternatural acrostics, to dazzle the vulgar eye
with tawdry costumes, and to tickle the vulgar ear with virulent
personalities, were tendencies which perhaps smacked of the hammer, the
yard-stick and the pincers, and gave sufficient proof, had proof been
necessary, that literature is not one of the mechanical arts, and that
poetry can not be manufactured to a profit by joint stock companies. Yet,
if the style of these lucubrations was often depraved, the artisans
rarely received a better example from the literary institutions above
them. It was not for guilds of mechanics to give the tone to literature,
nor were their efforts in more execrable taste than the emanations from
the pedants of Louvain. The "Rhetoricians" are not responsible for all
the bad taste of their generation. The gravest historians of the
Netherlands often relieved their elephantine labors by the most asinine
gambols, and it was not to be expected that these bustling weavers and
cutlers should excel their literary superiors in taste or elegance.

Philip the Fair enrolled himself as a member in one of these societies.
It may easily be inferred, therefore, that they had already become bodies
of recognized importance. The rhetorical chambers existed in the most
obscure villages. The number of yards of Flemish poetry annually
manufactured and consumed throughout the provinces almost exceed belief.
The societies had regular constitutions. Their presiding officers were
called kings, princes, captains, archdeacons, or rejoiced in similar
high-sounding names. Each chamber had its treasurer, its buffoon, and its
standard-bearer for public processions. Each had its peculiar title or
blazon, as the Lily, the Marigold, or the Violet, with an appropriate
motto. By the year 1493, the associations had become so important, that
Philip the Fair summoned them all to a general assembly at Mechlin. Here
they were organized, and formally incorporated under the general
supervision of an upper or mother-society of Rhetoric, consisting of
fifteen members, and called by the title of "Jesus with the balsam
flower."

The sovereigns were always anxious to conciliate these influential guilds
by becoming members of them in person. Like the players, the Rhetoricians
were the brief abstract and chronicle of the time, and neither prince nor
private person desired their ill report. It had, indeed, been Philip's
intention to convert them into engines for the arbitrary purposes of his
house, but fortunately the publicly organized societies were not the only
chambers. On the contrary, the unchartered guilds were the moat numerous
and influential. They exercised a vast influence upon the progress of the
religious reformation, and the subsequent revolt of the Netherlands. They
ridiculed, with their farces and their satires, the vices of the clergy.
They dramatized tyranny for public execration. It was also not
surprising, that among the leaders of the wild anabaptists who disgraced
the great revolution in church and state by their hideous antics, should
be found many who, like David of Delft, John of Leyden, and others, had
been members of rhetorical chambers. The genius for mummery and
theatrical exhibitions, transplanted from its sphere, and exerting itself
for purposes of fraud and licentiousness, was as baleful in its effects
as it was healthy in its original manifestations. Such exhibitions were
but the excrescences of a system which had borne good fruit. These
literary guilds befitted and denoted a people which was alive, a people
which had neither sunk to sleep in the lap of material prosperity, nor
abased itself in the sty of ignorance and political servitude. The spirit
of liberty pervaded these rude but not illiterate assemblies, and her
fair proportions were distinctly visible, even through the somewhat
grotesque garb which she thus assumed.

The great leading recreations which these chambers afforded to themselves
and the public, were the periodic jubilees which they celebrated in
various capital cities. All the guilds of rhetoric throughout the
Netherlands were then invited to partake and to compete in magnificent
processions, brilliant costumes, living pictures, charades, and other
animated, glittering groups, and in trials of dramatic and poetic skill,
all arranged under the superintendence of the particular association
which, in the preceding year, had borne away the prize. Such jubilees
were called "Land jewels."

From the amusements of a people may be gathered much that is necessary
for a proper estimation of its character. No unfavorable opinion can be
formed as to the culture of a nation, whose weavers, smiths, gardeners,
and traders, found the favorite amusement of their holidays in composing
and enacting tragedies or farces, reciting their own verses, or in
personifying moral and esthetic sentiments by ingeniously-arranged
groups, or gorgeous habiliments. The cramoisy velvets and yellow satin
doublets of the court, the gold-brocaded mantles of priests and princes
are often but vulgar drapery of little historic worth. Such costumes
thrown around the swart figures of hard-working artisans, for literary
and artistic purposes, have a real significance, and are worthy of a
closer examination. Were not these amusements of the Netherlanders as
elevated and humanizing as the contemporary bull-fights and autos-da-fe
of Spain? What place in history does the gloomy bigot merit who, for the
love of Christ, converted all these gay cities into shambles, and changed
the glittering processions of their Land jewels into fettered marches to
the scaffold?

Thus fifteen ages have passed away, and in the place of a horde of
savages, living among swamps and thickets, swarm three millions of
people, the most industrious, the most prosperous, perhaps the most
intelligent under the sun. Their cattle, grazing on the bottom of the
sea, are the finest in Europe, their agricultural products of more
exchangeable value than if nature had made their land to overflow with
wine and oil. Their navigators are the boldest, their mercantile marine
the most powerful, their merchants the most enterprising in the world.
Holland and Flanders, peopled by one race, vie with each other in the
pursuits of civilization. The Flemish skill in the mechanical and in the
fine arts is unrivalled. Belgian musicians delight and instruct other
nations, Belgian pencils have, for a century, caused the canvas to glow
with colors and combinations never seen before. Flemish fabrics are
exported to all parts of Europe, to the East and West Indies, to Africa.
The splendid tapestries, silks, linens, as well as the more homely and
useful manufactures of the Netherlands, are prized throughout the world.
Most ingenious, as they had already been described by the keen-eyed
Caesar, in imitating the arts of other nations, the skillful artificers
of the country at Louvain, Ghent, and other places, reproduce the shawls
and silks of India with admirable accuracy.

Their national industry was untiring; their prosperity unexampled; their
love of liberty indomitable; their pugnacity proverbial. Peaceful in
their pursuits, phlegmatic by temperament, the Netherlands were yet the
most belligerent and excitable population of Europe. Two centuries of
civil war had but thinned the ranks of each generation without quenching
the hot spirit of the nation.

The women were distinguished by beauty of form and vigor of constitution.
Accustomed from childhood to converse freely with all classes and sexes
in the daily walks of life, and to travel on foot or horseback from one
town to another, without escort and without fear, they had acquired
manners more frank and independent than those of women in other lands,
while their morals were pure and their decorum undoubted. The prominent
part to be sustained by the women of Holland in many dramas of the
revolution would thus fitly devolve upon a class, enabled by nature and
education to conduct themselves with courage.

Within the little circle which encloses the seventeen provinces are 208
walled cities, many of them among the most stately in Christendom, 150
chartered towns, 6,300 villages, with their watch-towers and steeples,
besides numerous other more insignificant hamlets; the whole guarded by a
belt of sixty fortresses of surpassing strength.



XIV.

Thus in this rapid sketch of the course and development of the Netherland
nation during sixteen centuries, we have seen it ever marked by one
prevailing characteristic, one master passion--the love of liberty, the
instinct of self-government. Largely compounded of the bravest Teutonic
elements, Batavian and Frisian, the race ever battles to the death with
tyranny, organizes extensive revolts in the age of Vespasian, maintains a
partial independence even against the sagacious dominion of Charlemagne,
refuses in Friesland to accept the papal yoke or feudal chain, and,
throughout the dark ages, struggles resolutely towards the light,
wresting from a series of petty sovereigns a gradual and practical
recognition of the claims of humanity. With the advent of the Burgundian
family, the power of the commons has reached so high a point, that it is
able to measure itself, undaunted, with the spirit of arbitrary rule, of
which that engrossing and tyrannical house is the embodiment. For more
than a century the struggle for freedom, for civic life, goes on; Philip
the Good, Charles the Bold, Mary's husband Maximilian, Charles V., in
turn, assailing or undermining the bulwarks raised, age after age,
against the despotic principle. The combat is ever renewed. Liberty,
often crushed, rises again and again from her native earth with redoubled
energy. At last, in the 16th century, a new and more powerful spirit, the
genius of religious freedom, comes to participate in the great conflict.
Arbitrary power, incarnated in the second Charlemagne, assails the new
combination with unscrupulous, unforgiving fierceness. Venerable civic
magistrates; haltered, grovel in sackcloth and ashes; innocent, religious
reformers burn in holocausts. By the middle of the century, the battle
rages more fiercely than ever. In the little Netherland territory,
Humanity, bleeding but not killed, still stands at bay and defies the
hunters. The two great powers have been gathering strength for centuries.
They are soon to be matched in a longer and more determined combat than
the world had ever seen. The emperor is about to leave the stage. The
provinces, so passionate for nationality, for municipal freedom, for
religious reformation, are to become the property of an utter stranger; a
prince foreign to their blood, their tongue, their religion, their whole
habits of life and thought.

Such was the political, religious, and social condition of a nation who
were now to witness a new and momentous spectacle.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
     Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
     Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
     All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
     All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
     Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
     An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
     Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
     As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
     Attacking the authority of the pope
     Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
     Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
     Condemning all heretics to death
     Craft meaning, simply, strength
     Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
     Criminals buying Paradise for money
     Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
     Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
     Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
     Difference between liberties and liberty
     Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
     Divine right
     Drank of the water in which, he had washed
     Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
     Erasmus encourages the bold friar
     Erasmus of Rotterdam
     Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
     Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
     Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
     Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
     Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
     Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
     Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
     For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
     Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
     Force clerical--the power of clerks
     Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
     Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
     Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
     Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
     In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
     Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
     July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
     King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
     Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
     Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
     Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
     No one can testify but a householder
     Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
     Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
     Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
     One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
     Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
     Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
     Paying their passage through, purgatory
     Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
     Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
     Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
     Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
     Repentant females to be buried alive
     Repentant males to be executed with the sword
     Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
     Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
     Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
     Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
     Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
     Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
     St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
     Tanchelyn
     The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
     The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
     The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
     Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
     Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
     To prefer poverty to the wealth attendant upon trade
     Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
     Villagers, or villeins




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 3.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
PHILIP THE SECOND IN THE NETHERLANDS
1555 [CHAPTER I.]

   Abdication of Charles resolved upon--Brussels in the sixteenth
   century--Hall of the palace described--Portraits of prominent
   individuals present at the ceremony--Formalities of the abdication--
   Universal emotion--Remarks upon the character and career of Charles
   --His retirement at Juste.

On the twenty-fifth day of October, 1555, the estates of the Netherlands
were assembled in the great hall of the palace at Brussels. They had been
summoned to be the witnesses and the guarantees of the abdication which
Charles V. had long before resolved upon, and which he was that day to
execute. The emperor, like many potentates before and since, was fond of
great political spectacles. He knew their influence upon the masses of
mankind. Although plain, even to shabbiness, in his own costume, and
usually attired in black, no one ever understood better than he how to
arrange such exhibitions in a striking and artistic style. We have seen
the theatrical and imposing manner in which he quelled the insurrection
at Ghent, and nearly crushed the life forever out of that vigorous and
turbulent little commonwealth. The closing scene of his long and
energetic reign he had now arranged with profound study, and with an
accurate knowledge of the manner in which the requisite effects were to
be produced. The termination of his own career, the opening of his
beloved Philip's, were to be dramatized in a manner worthy the august
character of the actors, and the importance of the great stage where they
played their parts. The eyes of the whole world were directed upon that
day towards Brussels; for an imperial abdication was an event which had
not, in the sixteenth century, been staled by custom.

The gay capital of Brabant--of that province which rejoiced in the
liberal constitution known by the cheerful title of the "joyful
entrance," was worthy to be the scene of the imposing show. Brussels had
been a city for more than five centuries, and, at that day, numbered
about one hundred thousand inhabitants. Its walls, six miles in
circumference, were already two hundred years old. Unlike most Netherland
cities, lying usually upon extensive plains, it was built along the sides
of an abrupt promontory. A wide expanse of living verdure, cultivated
gardens, shady groves, fertile cornfields, flowed round it like a sea.
The foot of the town was washed by the little river Senne, while the
irregular but picturesque streets rose up the steep sides of the hill
like the semicircles and stairways of an amphitheatre. Nearly in the
heart of the place rose the audacious and exquisitely embroidered tower
of the townhouse, three hundred and sixty-six feet in height, a miracle
of needlework in stone, rivalling in its intricate carving the cobweb
tracery of that lace which has for centuries been synonymous with the
city, and rearing itself above a facade of profusely decorated and
brocaded architecture. The crest of the elevation was crowned by the
towers of the old ducal palace of Brabant, with its extensive and
thickly-wooded park on the left, and by the stately mansions of Orange,
Egmont, Aremberg, Culemburg, and other Flemish grandees, on the right..
The great forest of Soignies, dotted with monasteries and convents,
swarming with every variety of game, whither the citizens made their
summer pilgrimages, and where the nobles chased the wild boar and the
stag, extended to within a quarter of a mile of the city walls. The
population, as thrifty, as intelligent, as prosperous as that of any city
in Europe, was divided into fifty-two guilds of artisans, among which the
most important were the armorers, whose suits of mail would turn a
musket-ball; the gardeners, upon whose gentler creations incredible sums
were annually lavished; and the tapestry-workers, whose gorgeous fabrics
were the wonder of the world. Seven principal churches, of which the most
striking was that of St. Gudule, with its twin towers, its charming
facade, and its magnificently painted windows, adorned the upper part of
the city. The number seven was a magic number in Brussels, and was
supposed at that epoch, during which astronomy was in its infancy and
astrology in its prime, to denote the seven planets which governed all
things terrestrial by their aspects and influences. Seven noble families,
springing from seven ancient castles, supplied the stock from which the
seven senators were selected who composed the upper council of the city.
There were seven great squares, seven city gates, and upon the occasion
of the present ceremony, it was observed by the lovers of wonderful
coincidences, that seven crowned heads would be congregated under a
single roof in the liberty-loving city.

The palace where the states-general were upon this occasion convened, had
been the residence of the Dukes of Brabant since the days of John the
Second, who had built it about the year 1300. It was a spacious and
convenient building, but not distinguished for the beauty of its
architecture. In front was a large open square, enclosed by an iron
railing; in the rear an extensive and beautiful park, filled with forest
trees, and containing gardens and labyrinths, fish-ponds and game
preserves, fountains and promenades, race-courses and archery grounds.
The main entrance to this edifice opened upon a spacious hall, connected
with a beautiful and symmetrical chapel. The hall was celebrated for its
size, harmonious proportions, and the richness of its decorations. It was
the place where the chapters of the famous order of the Golden Fleece
were held. Its walls were hung with a magnificent tapestry of Arran,
representing the life and achievements of Gideon, the Midianite, and
giving particular prominence to the miracle of the "fleece of wool,"
vouchsafed to that renowned champion, the great patron of the Knights of
the Fleece. On the present occasion there were various additional
embellishments of flowers and votive garlands. At the western end a
spacious platform or stage, with six or seven steps, had been
constructed, below which was a range of benches for the deputies of the
seventeen provinces. Upon the stage itself there were rows of seats,
covered with tapestry, upon the right hand and upon the left. These were
respectively to accommodate the knights of the order and the guests of
high distinction. In the rear of these were other benches, for the
members of the three great councils. In the centre of the stage was a
splendid canopy, decorated with the arms of Burgundy, beneath which were
placed three gilded arm-chairs.

All the seats upon the platform were vacant, but the benches below,
assigned to the deputies of the provinces, were already filled. Numerous
representatives from all the states but two--Gelderland and
Overyssel--had already taken their places. Grave magistrates, in chain
and gown, and executive officers in the splendid civic uniforms for which
the Netherlands were celebrated, already filled every seat within the
apace allotted. The remainder of the hall was crowded with the more
favored portion of the multitude which had been fortunate enough to
procure admission to the exhibition. The archers and hallebardiers of the
body-guard kept watch at all the doors. The theatre was filled--the
audience was eager with expectation--the actors were yet to arrive. As
the clock struck three, the hero of the scene appeared. Caesar, as he was
always designated in the classic language of the day, entered, leaning on
the shoulder of William of Orange. They came from the chapel, and were
immediately followed by Philip the Second and Queen Mary of Hungary. The
Archduke Maximilian the Duke of Savoy, and other great personages came
afterwards, accompanied by a glittering throng of warriors, councillors,
governors, and Knights of the Fleece.

Many individuals of existing or future historic celebrity in the
Netherlands, whose names are so familiar to the student of the epoch,
seemed to have been grouped, as if by premeditated design, upon this
imposing platform, where the curtain was to fall forever upon the
mightiest emperor since Charlemagne, and where the opening scene of the
long and tremendous tragedy of Philip's reign was to be simultaneously
enacted. There was the Bishop of Arras, soon to be known throughout
Christendom by the more celebrated title of Cardinal Granvelle, the
serene and smiling priest whose subtle influence over the destinies of so
many individuals then present, and over the fortunes of the whole land,
was to be so extensive and so deadly. There was that flower of Flemish
chivalry, the lineal descendant of ancient Frisian kings, already
distinguished for his bravery in many fields, but not having yet won
those two remarkable victories which were soon to make the name of Egmont
like the sound of a trumpet throughout the whole country. Tall,
magnificent in costume, with dark flowing hair, soft brown eye, smooth
cheek, a slight moustache, and features of almost feminine delicacy; such
was the gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont. The Count of Horn; too,
with bold, sullen face, and fan-shaped beard-a brave, honest,
discontented, quarrelsome, unpopular man; those other twins in doom--the
Marquis Berghen and the Lord of Montigny; the Baron Berlaymont, brave,
intensely loyal, insatiably greedy for office and wages, but who, at
least, never served but one party; the Duke of Arschot, who was to serve
all, essay to rule all, and to betray all--a splendid seignor,
magnificent in cramoisy velvet, but a poor creature, who traced his
pedigree from Adam, according to the family monumental inscriptions at
Louvain, but who was better known as grand-nephew of the emperor's famous
tutor, Chiebres; the bold, debauched Brederode, with handsome, reckless
face and turbulent demeanor; the infamous Noircarmes, whose name was to
be covered with eternal execration, for aping towards his own compatriots
and kindred as much of Alva's atrocities and avarice, as he was permitted
to exercise; the distinguished soldiers Meghen and Aremberg--these, with
many others whose deeds of arms were to become celebrated throughout
Europe, were all conspicuous in the brilliant crowd. There, too, was that
learned Frisian, President Viglius, crafty, plausible, adroit,
eloquent--a small, brisk man, with long yellow hair, glittering green
eyes, round, tumid, rosy cheeks, and flowing beard. Foremost among the
Spanish grandees, and close to Philip, stood the famous favorite, Ruy
Gomez, or as he was familiarly called "Re y Gomez" (King and Gomez), a
man of meridional aspect, with coal-black hair and beard, gleaming eyes,
a face pallid with intense application, and slender but handsome figure;
while in immediate attendance upon the emperor, was the immortal Prince
of Orange.

Such were a few only of the most prominent in that gay throng, whose
fortunes, in part, it will be our humble duty to narrate; how many of
them passing through all this glitter to a dark and mysterious
doom!--some to perish on public scaffolds, some by midnight
assassination; others, more fortunate, to fall on the battle-field
--nearly all, sooner or later, to be laid in bloody graves!

All the company present had risen to their feet as the emperor entered.
By his command, all immediately afterwards resumed their places. The
benches at either end of the platform were accordingly filled with the
royal and princely personages invited, with the Fleece Knights, wearing
the insignia of their order, with the members of the three great
councils, and with the governors. The Emperor, the King, and the Queen of
Hungary, were left conspicuous in the centre of the scene. As the whole
object of the ceremony was to present an impressive exhibition, it is
worth our while to examine minutely the appearance of the two principal
characters.

Charles the Fifth was then fifty-five years and eight months old; but he
was already decrepit with premature old age. He was of about the middle
height, and had been athletic and well-proportioned. Broad in the
shoulders, deep in the chest, thin in the flank, very muscular in the
arms and legs, he had been able to match himself with all competitors in
the tourney and the ring, and to vanquish the bull with his own hand in
the favorite national amusement of Spain. He had been able in the field
to do the duty of captain and soldier, to endure fatigue and exposure,
and every privation except fasting. These personal advantages were now
departed. Crippled in hands, knees and legs, he supported himself with
difficulty upon a crutch, with the aid of, an attendant's shoulder. In
face he had always been extremely ugly, and time had certainly not
improved his physiognomy. His hair, once of a light color, was now white
with age, close-clipped and bristling; his beard was grey, coarse, and
shaggy. His forehead was spacious and commanding; the eye was dark blue,
with an expression both majestic and benignant. His nose was aquiline but
crooked. The lower part of his face was famous for its deformity. The
under lip, a Burgundian inheritance, as faithfully transmitted as the
duchy and county, was heavy and hanging; the lower jaw protruding so far
beyond the upper, that it was impossible for him to bring together the
few fragments of teeth which still remained, or to speak a whole sentence
in an intelligible voice. Eating and talking, occupations to which he was
always much addicted, were becoming daily more arduous, in consequence of
this original defect, which now seemed hardly human, but rather an
original deformity.

So much for the father. The son, Philip the Second, was a small, meagre
man, much below the middle height, with thin legs, a narrow chest, and
the shrinking, timid air of an habitual invalid. He seemed so little,
upon his first visit to his aunts, the Queens Eleanor and Mary,
accustomed to look upon proper men in Flanders and Germany, that he was
fain to win their favor by making certain attempts in the tournament, in
which his success was sufficiently problematical. "His body," says his
professed panegyrist, "was but a human cage, in which, however brief and
narrow, dwelt a soul to whose flight the immeasurable expanse of heaven
was too contracted." [Cabrera] The same wholesale admirer adds, that "his
aspect was so reverend, that rustics who met him alone in a wood, without
knowing him, bowed down with instinctive veneration." In face, he was the
living image of his father, having the same broad forehead, and blue eye,
with the same aquiline, but better proportioned, nose. In the lower part
of the countenance, the remarkable Burgundian deformity was likewise
reproduced. He had the same heavy, hanging lip, with a vast mouth, and
monstrously protruding lower jaw. His complexion was fair, his hair light
and thin, his beard yellow, short, and pointed. He had the aspect of a
Fleming, but the loftiness of a Spaniard. His demeanor in public was
still, silent, almost sepulchral. He looked habitually on the ground when
he conversed, was chary of speech, embarrassed, and even suffering in
manner. This was ascribed partly to a natural haughtiness which he had
occasionally endeavored to overcome, and partly to habitual pains in the
stomach, occasioned by his inordinate fondness for pastry. [Bodavaro]

Such was the personal appearance of the man who was about to receive into
his single hand the destinies of half the world; whose single will was,
for the future, to shape the fortunes of every individual then present,
of many millions more in Europe, America, and at the ends of the earth,
and of countless millions yet unborn.

The three royal personages being seated upon chairs placed triangularly
under the canopy, such of the audience as had seats provided for them,
now took their places, and the proceedings commenced. Philibert de
Bruxelles, a member of the privy council of the Netherlands, arose at the
emperor's command, and made a long oration. He spoke of the emperor's
warm affection for the provinces, as the land of his birth; of his deep
regret that his broken health and failing powers, both of body and mind,
compelled him to resign his sovereignty, and to seek relief for his
shattered frame in a more genial climate. Caesar's gout was then depicted
in energetic language, which must have cost him a twinge as he sat there
and listened to the councillor's eloquence. "'Tis a most truculent
executioner," said Philibert: "it invades the whole body, from the crown
of the head to the soles of the feet, leaving nothing untouched. It
contracts the nerves with intolerable anguish, it enters the bones, it
freezes the marrow, it converts the lubricating fluids of the joints into
chalk, it pauses not until, having exhausted and debilitated the whole
body, it has rendered all its necessary instruments useless, and
conquered the mind by immense torture." [Godelaevus]

   [The historian was present at the ceremony, and gives a very full
   report of the speeches, all of which he heard. His imagination may
   have assisted his memory in the task. The other reporters of the
   councillor's harangue have reduced this pathological flight of
   rhetoric to a very small compass.]

Engaged in mortal struggle with such an enemy, Caesar felt himself
obliged, as the councillor proceeded to inform his audience, to change
the scene of the contest from the humid air of Flanders to the warmer
atmosphere of Spain. He rejoiced, however, that his son was both vigorous
and experienced, and that his recent marriage with the Queen of England
had furnished the provinces with a most valuable alliance. He then again
referred to the emperor's boundless love for his subjects, and concluded
with a tremendous, but superfluous, exhortation to Philip on the
necessity of maintaining the Catholic religion in its purity. After this
long harangue, which has been fully reported by several historians who
were present at the ceremony, the councillor proceeded to read the deed
of cession, by which Philip, already sovereign of Sicily, Naples, Milan,
and titular King of England, France, and Jerusalem, now received all the
duchies, marquisates, earldoms, baronies, cities, towns, and castles of
the Burgundian property, including, of course, the seventeen Netherlands.

As De Bruxelles finished, there was a buzz of admiration throughout the
assembly, mingled with murmurs of regret, that in the present great
danger upon the frontiers from the belligerent King of France and his
warlike and restless nation, the provinces should be left without their
ancient and puissant defender. The emperor then rose to his feet. Leaning
on his crutch, he beckoned from his seat the personage upon whose arm he
had leaned as he entered the hall. A tall, handsome youth of twenty-two
came forward--a man whose name from that time forward, and as long as
history shall endure, has been, and will be, more familiar than any other
in the mouths of Netherlanders. At that day he had rather a southern than
a German or Flemish appearance. He had a Spanish cast of features, dark,
well chiselled, and symmetrical. His head was small and well placed upon
his shoulders. His hair was dark brown, as were also his moustache and
peaked beard. His forehead was lofty, spacious, and already prematurely
engraved with the anxious lines of thought. His eyes were full, brown,
well opened, and expressive of profound reflection. He was dressed in the
magnificent apparel for which the Netherlanders were celebrated above all
other nations, and which the ceremony rendered necessary. His presence
being considered indispensable at this great ceremony, he had been
summoned but recently from the camp on the frontier, where,
notwithstanding his youth, the emperor had appointed him to command his
army in chief against such antagonists as Admiral Coligny and the Due de
Nevers.

Thus supported upon his crutch and upon the shoulder of William of
Orange, the Emperor proceeded to address the states, by the aid of a
closely-written brief which he held in his hand. He reviewed rapidly the
progress of events from his seventeenth year up to that day. He spoke of
his nine expeditions into Germany, six to Spain, seven to Italy, four to
France, ten to the Netherlands, two to England, as many to Africa, and of
his eleven voyages by sea. He sketched his various wars, victories, and
treaties of peace, assuring his hearers that the welfare of his subjects
and the security of the Roman Catholic religion had ever been the leading
objects of his life. As long as God had granted him health, he continued,
only enemies could have regretted that Charles was living and reigning,
but now that his strength was but vanity, and life fast ebbing away, his
love for dominion, his affection for his subjects, and his regard for
their interests, required his departure. Instead of a decrepit man with
one foot in the grave, he presented them with a sovereign in the prime of
life and the vigor of health. Turning toward Philip, he observed, that
for a dying father to bequeath so magnificent an empire to his son was a
deed worthy of gratitude, but that when the father thus descended to the
grave before his time, and by an anticipated and living burial sought to
provide for the welfare of his realms and the grandeur of his son, the
benefit thus conferred was surely far greater. He added, that the debt
would be paid to him and with usury, should Philip conduct himself in his
administration of the province with a wise and affectionate regard to
their true interests. Posterity would applaud his abdication, should his
son Prove worthy of his bounty; and that could only be by living in the
fear of God, and by maintaining law, justice, and the Catholic religion
in all their purity, as the true foundation of the realm. In conclusion,
he entreated the estates, and through them the nation, to render
obedience to their new prince, to maintain concord and to preserve
inviolate the Catholic faith; begging them, at the same time, to pardon
him all errors or offences which he might have committed towards them
during his reign, and assuring them that he should unceasingly remember
their obedience and affection in his every prayer to that Being to whom
the remainder of his life was to be dedicated.

Such brave words as these, so many vigorous asseverations of attempted
performance of duty, such fervent hopes expressed of a benign
administration in behalf of the son, could not but affect the
sensibilities of the audience, already excited and softened by the
impressive character of the whole display. Sobs were heard throughout
every portion of the hall, and tears poured profusely from every eye. The
Fleece Knights on the platform and the burghers in the background were
all melted with the same emotion. As for the Emperor himself, he sank
almost fainting upon his chair as he concluded his address. An ashy
paleness overspread his countenance, and he wept like a child. Even the
icy Philip was almost softened, as he rose to perform his part in the
ceremony. Dropping upon his knees before his father's feet, he reverently
kissed his hand. Charles placed his hands solemnly upon his son's head,
made the sign of the cross, and blessed him in the name of the Holy
Trinity. Then raising him in his arms he tenderly embraced him saying,
as he did so, to the great potentates around him, that he felt a sincere
compassion for the son on whose shoulders so heavy a weight had just
devolved, and which only a life-long labor would enable him to support.
Philip now uttered a few words expressive of his duty to his father and
his affection for his people. Turning to the orders, he signified his
regret that he was unable to address them either in the French or Flemish
language, and was therefore obliged to ask their attention to the Bishop
of Arras, who would act as his interpreter. Antony Perrenot accordingly
arose, and in smooth, fluent, and well-turned commonplaces, expressed at
great length the gratitude of Philip towards his father, with his firm
determination to walk in the path of duty, and to obey his father's
counsels and example in the future administration of the provinces. This
long address of the prelate was responded to at equal length by Jacob
Maas, member of the Council of Brabant, a man of great learning,
eloquence and prolixity, who had been selected to reply on behalf of the
states-general, and who now, in the name of these; bodies, accepted the
abdication in an elegant and complimentary harangue. Queen Mary of
Hungary, the "Christian widow" of Erasmus, and Regent of the Netherlands
during the past twenty-five years, then rose to resign her office, making
a brief address expressive of her affection for the people, her regrets
at leaving them, and her hopes that all errors which she might have
committed during her long administration would be forgiven her. Again the
redundant Maas responded, asserting in terms of fresh compliment and
elegance the uniform satisfaction of the provinces with her conduct
during her whole career.

The orations and replies having now been brought to a close, the ceremony
was terminated. The Emperor, leaning on the shoulders of the Prince of
Orange and of the Count de Buren, slowly left the hall, followed by
Philip, the Queen of Hungary, and the whole court; all in the same order
in which they had entered, and by the same passage into the chapel.

It is obvious that the drama had been completely successful. It had been
a scene where heroic self-sacrifice, touching confidence, ingenuous love
of duty, patriotism, and paternal affection upon one side; filial
reverence, with a solemn regard for public duty and the highest interests
of the people on the other, were supposed to be the predominant
sentiments. The happiness of the Netherlands was apparently the only
object contemplated in the great transaction. All had played well their
parts in the past, all hoped the best in the times which were to follow.
The abdicating Emperor was looked upon as a hero and a prophet. The stage
was drowned in tears. There is not the least doubt as to the genuine and
universal emotion which was excited throughout the assembly. "Caesar's
oration," says Secretary Godelaevus, who was present at the ceremony,
"deeply moved the nobility and gentry, many of whom burst into tears;
even the illustrious Knights of the Fleece were melted." The historian,
Pontus Heuterus, who, then twenty years of age, was likewise among the
audience, attests that "most of the assembly were dissolved in tears;
uttering the while such sonorous sobs that they compelled his Caesarean
Majesty and the Queen to cry with them. My own face," he adds, "was
certainly quite wet." The English envoy, Sir John Mason, describing in a
despatch to his government the scene which he had just witnessed, paints
the same picture. "The Emperor," he said, "begged the forgiveness of his
subjects if he had ever unwittingly omitted the performance of any of his
duties towards them. And here," continues the envoy, "he broke into a
weeping, whereunto, besides the dolefulness of the matter, I think, he
was moche provoked by seeing the whole company to do the lyke before;
there beyng in myne opinion not one man in the whole assemblie, stranger
or another, that dewring the time of a good piece of his oration poured
not out as abundantly teares, some more, some lesse. And yet he prayed
them to beare with his imperfections, proceeding of his sickly age, and
of the mentioning of so tender a matter as the departing from such a sort
of dere and loving subjects."

And yet what was the Emperor Charles to the inhabitants of the
Netherlands that they should weep for him? His conduct towards them
during his whole career had been one of unmitigated oppression. What to
them were all these forty voyages by sea and land, these journeyings back
and forth from Friesland to Tunis, from Madrid to Vienna. What was it to
them that the imperial shuttle was thus industriously flying to and fro?
The fabric wrought was but the daily growing grandeur and splendor of his
imperial house; the looms were kept moving at the expense of their
hardly-earned treasure, and the woof was often dyed red in the blood of
his bravest subjects. The interests of the Netherlands had never been
even a secondary consideration with their master. He had fulfilled no
duty towards them, he had committed the gravest crimes against them. He
had regarded them merely as a treasury upon which to draw; while the sums
which he extorted were spent upon ceaseless and senseless wars, which
were of no more interest to them than if they had been waged in another
planet. Of five millions of gold annually, which he derived from all his
realms, two millions came from these industrious and opulent provinces,
while but a half million came from Spain and another half from the
Indies. The mines of wealth which had been opened by the hand of industry
in that slender territory of ancient morass and thicket, contributed four
times as much income to the imperial exchequer as all the boasted wealth
of Mexico and Peru. Yet the artisans, the farmers and the merchants, by
whom these riches were produced, were consulted about as much in the
expenditure of the imposts upon their industry as were the savages of
America as to the distribution of the mineral treasures of their soil.
The rivalry of the houses of Habsburg and Valois, this was the absorbing
theme, during the greater part of the reign which had just been so
dramatically terminated. To gain the empire over Francis, to leave to Don
Philip a richer heritage than the Dauphin could expect, were the great
motives of the unparalleled energy displayed by Charles during the longer
and the more successful portion of his career. To crush the Reformation
throughout his dominions, was his occupation afterward, till he abandoned
the field in despair. It was certainly not desirable for the
Netherlanders that they should be thus controlled by a man who forced
them to contribute so largely to the success of schemes, some of which
were at best indifferent, and others entirely odious to them. They paid
1,200,000 crowns a year regularly; they paid in five years an
extraordinary subsidy of eight millions of ducats, and the States were
roundly rebuked by the courtly representatives of their despot, if they
presumed to inquire into the objects of the appropriations, or to express
an interest in their judicious administration. Yet it maybe supposed to
have been a matter of indifference to them whether Francis or Charles had
won the day at Pavia, and it certainly was not a cause of triumph to the
daily increasing thousands of religious reformers in Holland and Flanders
that their brethren had been crushed by the Emperor at Muhlberg. But it
was not alone that he drained their treasure, and hampered their
industry. He was in constant conflict with their ancient and
dearly-bought political liberties. Like his ancestor Charles the Bold, he
was desirous of constructing a kingdom out of the provinces. He was
disposed to place all their separate and individual charters on a
procrustean bed, and shape them all into uniformity simply by reducing
the whole to a nullity. The difficulties in the way, the stout opposition
offered by burghers, whose fathers had gained these charters with their
blood, and his want of leisure during the vast labors which devolved upon
him as the autocrat of so large a portion of the world, caused him to
defer indefinitely the execution of his plan. He found time only to crush
some of the foremost of the liberal institutions of the provinces, in
detail. He found the city of Tournay a happy, thriving, self-governed
little republic in all its local affairs; he destroyed its liberties,
without a tolerable pretext, and reduced it to the condition of a Spanish
or Italian provincial town.

His memorable chastisement of Ghent for having dared to assert its
ancient rights of self-taxation, is sufficiently known to the world, and
has been already narrated at length. Many other instances might be
adduced, if it were not a superfluous task, to prove that Charles was not
only a political despot, but most arbitrary and cruel in the exercise of
his despotism.

But if his sins against the Netherlands had been only those of financial
and political oppression, it would be at least conceivable, although
certainly not commendable, that the inhabitants should have regretted his
departure. But there are far darker crimes for which he stands arraigned
at the bar of history, and it is indeed strange that the man who had
committed them should have been permitted to speak his farewell amid
blended plaudits and tears. His hand planted the inquisition in the
Netherlands. Before his day it is idle to say that the diabolical
institution ever had a place there. The isolated cases in which
inquisitors had exercised functions proved the absence and not the
presence of the system, and will be discussed in a later chapter. Charles
introduced and organized a papal inquisition, side by side with those
terrible "placards" of his invention, which constituted a masked
inquisition even more cruel than that of Spain. The execution of the
system was never permitted to languish. The number of Netherlanders who
were burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive, in obedience to his
edicts, and for the offences of reading the Scriptures, of looking
askance at a graven image, or of ridiculing the actual presence of the
body and blood of Christ in a wafer, have been placed as high as one
hundred thousand by distinguished authorities, and have never been put at
a lower mark than fifty thousand. The Venetian envoy Navigero placed the
number of victims in the provinces of Holland and Friesland alone at
thirty thousand, and this in 1546, ten years before the abdication, and
five before the promulgation of the hideous edict of 1550!

The edicts and the inquisition were the gift of Charles to the
Netherlands, in return for their wasted treasure and their constant
obedience. For this, his name deserves to be handed down to eternal
infamy, not only throughout the Netherlands, but in every land where a
single heart beats for political or religious freedom. To eradicate these
institutions after they had been watered and watched by the care of his
successor, was the work of an eighty years' war, in the course of which
millions of lives were sacrificed. Yet the abdicating Emperor had
summoned his faithful estates around him, and stood up before them in his
imperial robes for the last time, to tell them of the affectionate regard
which he had always borne them, and to mingle his tears with theirs.

Could a single phantom have risen from one of the many thousand graves
where human beings had been thrust alive by his decree, perhaps there
might have been an answer to the question propounded by the Emperor amid
all that piteous weeping. Perhaps it might have told the man who asked
his hearers to be forgiven if he had ever unwittingly offended them, that
there was a world where it was deemed an offence to torture, strangle,
burn, and drown one's innocent fellow-creatures. The usual but trifling
excuse for such enormities can not be pleaded for the Emperor. Charles
was no fanatic. The man whose armies sacked Rome, who laid his
sacrilegious hands on Christ's vicegerent, and kept the infallible head
of the Church a prisoner to serve his own political ends, was then no
bigot. He believed in nothing; save that when the course of his imperial
will was impeded, and the interests of his imperial house in jeopardy,
pontiffs were to succumb as well as anabaptists. It was the political
heresy which lurked in the restiveness of the religious reformers under
dogma, tradition, and supernatural sanction to temporal power, which he
was disposed to combat to the death. He was too shrewd a politician not
to recognize the connection between aspirations for religious and for
political freedom. His hand was ever ready to crush both heresies in one.
Had he been a true son of the Church, a faithful champion of her
infallibility, he would not have submitted to the peace of Passau, so
long as he could bring a soldier to the field. Yet he acquiesced in the
Reformation for Germany, while the fires for burning the reformers were
ever blazing in the Netherlands, where it was death even to allude to the
existence of the peace of Passau. Nor did he acquiesce only from
compulsion, for long before his memorable defeat by Maurice, he had
permitted the German troops, with whose services he could not dispense,
regularly to attend Protestant worship performed by their own Protestant
chaplains. Lutheran preachers marched from city to city of the
Netherlands under the imperial banner, while the subjects of those
patrimonial provinces were daily suffering on the scaffold for their
nonconformity. The influence of this garrison-preaching upon the progress
of the Reformation in the Netherlands is well known. Charles hated
Lutherans, but he required soldiers, and he thus helped by his own policy
to disseminate what had he been the fanatic which he perhaps became in
retirement, he would have sacrificed his life to crush. It is quite true
that the growing Calvinism of the provinces was more dangerous both
religiously and politically, than the Protestantism of the German
princes, which had not yet been formally pronounced heresy, but it is
thus the more evident that it was political rather than religious
heterodoxy which the despot wished to suppress.

No man, however, could have been more observant of religious rites. He
heard mass daily. He listened to a sermon every Sunday and holiday. He
confessed and received the sacrament four times a year. He was sometimes
to be seen in his tent at midnight, on his knees before a crucifix with
eyes and hands uplifted. He ate no meat in Lent, and used extraordinary
diligence to discover and to punish any man, whether courtier or
plebeian, who failed to fast during the whole forty days. He was too good
a politician not to know the value of broad phylacteries and long
prayers. He was too nice an observer of human nature not to know how
easily mint and cummin could still outweigh the "weightier matters of
law, judgment, mercy and faith;" as if the founder of the religion which
he professed, and to maintain which he had established the inquisition
and the edicts, had never cried woe upon the Pharisees. Yet there is no
doubt that the Emperor was at times almost popular in the Netherlands,
and that he was never as odious as his successor. There were some deep
reasons for this, and some superficial ones; among others, a singularly
fortunate manner. He spoke German, Spanish, Italian, French, and Flemish,
and could assume the characteristics of each country as easily as he
could use its language. He could be stately with Spaniards, familiar with
Flemings witty with Italians. He could strike down a bull in the ring
like a matador at Madrid, or win the prize in the tourney like a knight
of old; he could ride at the ring with the Flemish nobles, hit the
popinjay with his crossbow among Antwerp artisans, or drink beer and
exchange rude jests with the boors of Brabant. For virtues such as these,
his grave crimes against God and man, against religion and chartered and
solemnly-sworn rights have been palliated, as if oppression became more
tolerable because the oppressor was an accomplished linguist and a good
marksman.

But the great reason for his popularity no doubt lay in his military
genius. Charles was inferior to no general of his age. "When he was born
into the world," said Alva, "he was born a soldier," and the Emperor
confirmed the statement and reciprocated the compliment, when he declared
that "the three first captains of the age were himself first, and then
the Duke of Alva and Constable Montmorency." It is quite true that all
his officers were not of the same opinion, and many were too apt to
complain that his constant presence in the field did more harm than good,
and "that his Majesty would do much better to stay at home." There is,
however, no doubt that he was both a good soldier and a good general. He
was constitutionally fearless, and he possessed great energy and
endurance. He was ever the first to arm when a battle was to be fought,
and the last to take off his harness. He commanded in person and in
chief, even when surrounded by veterans and crippled by the gout. He was
calm in great reverses. It was said that he was never known to change
color except upon two occasions: after the fatal destruction of his fleet
at Algiers, and in the memorable flight from Innspruck. He was of a
phlegmatic, stoical temperament, until shattered by age and disease; a
man without a sentiment and without a tear. It was said by Spaniards that
he was never seen to weep, even at the death of his nearest relatives and
friends, except on the solitary occasion of the departure of Don Ferrante
Gonzaga from court. Such a temperament was invaluable in the stormy
career to which he had devoted his life. He was essentially a man of
action, a military chieftain. "Pray only for my health and my life," he
was accustomed to say to the young officers who came to him from every
part of his dominions to serve under his banners, "for so, long as I have
these I will never leave you idle; at least in France. I love peace no
better than the rest of you. I was born and bred to arms, and must of
necessity keep on my harness till I can bear it no longer." The restless
energy and the magnificent tranquillity of his character made him a hero
among princes, an idol with his officers, a popular favorite every where.
The promptness with which, at much personal hazard, he descended like a
thunderbolt in the midst of the Ghent insurrection; the juvenile ardor
with which the almost bedridden man arose from his sick-bed to smite the
Protestants at Muhlberg; the grim stoicism with which he saw sixty
thousand of his own soldiers perish in the wintry siege of Metz; all
ensured him a large measure of that applause which ever follows military
distinction, especially when the man who achieves it happens to wear a
crown. He combined the personal prowess of a knight of old with the more
modern accomplishments of a scientific tactician. He could charge the
enemy in person like the most brilliant cavalry officer, and he
thoroughly understood the arrangements of a campaign, the marshalling and
victualling of troops, and the whole art of setting and maintaining an
army in the field.

Yet, though brave and warlike as the most chivalrous of his ancestors,
Gothic, Burgundian, or Suabian, he was entirely without chivalry.
Fanaticism for the faith, protection for the oppressed, fidelity to
friend and foe, knightly loyalty to a cause deemed sacred, the sacrifice
of personal interests to great ideas, generosity of hand and heart; all
those qualities which unite with courage and constancy to make up the
ideal chevalier, Charles not only lacked but despised. He trampled on the
weak antagonist, whether burgher or petty potentate. He was false as
water. He inveigled his foes who trusted to imperial promises, by arts
unworthy an emperor or a gentleman. He led about the unfortunate John
Frederic of Saxony, in his own language, "like a bear in a chain," ready
to be slipped upon Maurice should "the boy" prove ungrateful. He connived
at the famous forgery of the prelate of Arras, to which the Landgrave
Philip owed his long imprisonment; a villany worse than many for which
humbler rogues have suffered by thousands upon the gallows. The
contemporary world knew well the history of his frauds, on scale both
colossal and minute, and called him familiarly "Charles qui triche."

The absolute master of realms on which the sun perpetually shone, he was
not only greedy for additional dominion, but he was avaricious in small
matters, and hated to part with a hundred dollars. To the soldier who
brought him the sword and gauntlets of Francis the First, he gave a
hundred crowns, when ten thousand would have been less than the customary
present; so that the man left his presence full of desperation. The three
soldiers who swam the Elbe, with their swords in their mouths; to bring
him the boats with which he passed to the victory of Muhlberg, received
from his imperial bounty a doublet, a pair of stockings, and four crowns
apiece. His courtiers and ministers complained bitterly of his habitual
niggardliness, and were fain to eke out their slender salaries by
accepting bribes from every hand rich enough to bestow them. In truth
Charles was more than any thing else a politician, notwithstanding his
signal abilities as a soldier. If to have founded institutions which
could last, be the test of statesmanship, he was even a statesman; for
many of his institutions have resisted the pressure of three centuries.
But those of Charlemagne fell as soon as his hand was cold, while the
works of many ordinary legislators have attained to a perpetuity denied
to the statutes of Solon or Lycurgus. Durability is not the test of merit
in human institutions. Tried by the only touchstone applicable to
governments, their capacity to insure the highest welfare of the
governed, we shall not find his polity deserving of much admiration. It
is not merely that he was a despot by birth and inclination, nor that he
naturally substituted as far as was practicable, the despotic for the
republican element, wherever his hand can be traced. There may be
possible good in despotisms as there is often much tyranny in democracy.
Tried however according to the standard by which all governments may be
measured, those laws of truth and divine justice which all Christian
nations recognize, and which are perpetual, whether recognized or not, we
shall find little to venerate in the life work of the Emperor. The
interests of his family, the security of his dynasty, these were his end
and aim. The happiness or the progress of his people never furnished even
the indirect motives of his conduct, and the result was a baffled policy
and a crippled and bankrupt empire at last.

He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses, and he knew how to turn
them to account. He knew how much they would bear, and that little
grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast and deliberate
injustice. Therefore he employed natives mainly in the subordinate
offices of his various states, and he repeatedly warned his successor
that the haughtiness of Spaniards and the incompatibility of their
character with the Flemish, would be productive of great difficulties and
dangers. It was his opinion that men might be tyrannized more
intelligently by their own kindred, and in this perhaps he was right. He
was indefatigable in the discharge of business, and if it were possible
that half a world could be administered as if it were the private
property of an individual, the task would have been perhaps as well
accomplished by Charles as by any man. He had not the absurdity of
supposing it possible for him to attend to the details of every
individual affair in every one of his realms; and he therefore intrusted
the stewardship of all specialities to his various ministers and agents.
It was his business to know men and to deal with affairs on a large
scale, and in this he certainly was superior to his successor. His
correspondence was mainly in the hands of Granvelle the elder, who
analyzed letters received, and frequently wrote all but the signatures of
the answers. The same minister usually possessed the imperial ear, and
farmed it out for his own benefit. In all this there was of course room
for vast deception, but the Emperor was quite aware of what was going on,
and took a philosophic view of the matter as an inevitable part of his
system. Granvelle grew enormously rich under his eye by trading on the
imperial favor and sparing his majesty much trouble. Charles saw it all,
ridiculed his peculations, but called him his "bed of down." His
knowledge of human nature was however derived from a contemplation mainly
of its weaknesses, and was therefore one-sided. He was often deceived,
and made many a fatal blunder, shrewd politician though he was. He
involved himself often in enterprises which could not be honorable or
profitable, and which inflicted damage on his greatest interests. He
often offended men who might have been useful friends, and converted
allies into enemies. "His Majesty," said a keen observer who knew him
well, "has not in his career shown the prudence which was necessary to
him. He has often offended those whose love he might have conciliated,
converted friends into enemies, and let those perish who were his most
faithful partisans." Thus it must be acknowledged that even his boasted
knowledge of human nature and his power of dealing with men was rather
superficial and empirical than the real gift of genius.

His personal habits during the greater part of his life were those of an
indefatigable soldier. He could remain in the saddle day and night, and
endure every hardship but hunger. He was addicted to vulgar and
miscellaneous incontinence. He was an enormous eater. He breakfasted at
five, on a fowl seethed in milk and dressed with sugar and spices. After
this he went to sleep again. He dined at twelve, partaking always of
twenty dishes. He supped twice; at first, soon after vespers, and the
second time at midnight or one o'clock, which meal was, perhaps, the most
solid of the four. After meat he ate a great quantity of pastry and
sweetmeats, and he irrigated every repast by vast draughts of beer and
wine. His stomach, originally a wonderful one, succumbed after forty
years of such labors. His taste, but not his appetite began to fail, and
he complained to his majordomo, that all his food was insipid. The reply
is, perhaps, among the most celebrated of facetia. The cook could do
nothing more unless he served his Majesty a pasty of watches. The
allusion to the Emperor's passion for horology was received with great
applause. Charles "laughed longer than he was ever known to laugh before,
and all the courtiers (of course) laughed as long as his Majesty."
[Badovaro] The success of so sorry a jest would lead one to suppose that
the fooling was less admirable at the imperial court than some of the
recorded quips of Tribaulet would lead us to suppose.

The transfer of the other crowns and dignitaries to Philip, was
accomplished a month afterwards, in a quiet manner. Spain, Sicily, the
Balearic Islands, America, and other portions of the globe, were made
over without more display than an ordinary 'donatio inter vivos'. The
Empire occasioned some difficulty. It had been already signified to
Ferdinand, that his brother was to resign the imperial crown in his
favor, and the symbols of sovereignty were accordingly transmitted to him
by the hands of William of Orange. A deputation, moreover, of which that
nobleman, Vice-Chancellor Seld, and Dr. Wolfgang Haller were the chiefs,
was despatched to signify to the electors of the Empire the step which
had been thus resolved upon. A delay of more than two years, however,
intervened, occasioned partly by the deaths of three electors, partly by
the war which so soon broke out in Europe, before the matter was formally
acted upon. In February, 1553, however, the electors, having been
assembled in Frankfort, received the abdication of Charles, and proceeded
to the election of Ferdinand. That Emperor was crowned in March, and
immediately despatched a legation to the Pope to apprize him of the fact.
Nothing was less expected than any opposition on the part of the pontiff.
The querulous dotard, however, who then sat in St. Peter's chair, hated
Charles and all his race. He accordingly denied the validity of the whole
transaction, without sanction previously obtained from the Pope, to whom
all crowns belonged. Ferdinand, after listening, through his envoys, to
much ridiculous dogmatism on the part of the Pope, at last withdrew from
the discussion, with a formal protest, and was first recognized by
Caraffa's successor, Pius IV.

Charles had not deferred his retirement till the end of these disputes.
He occupied a private house in Brussels, near the gate of Louvain, until
August of the year 1556. On the 27th of that month, he addressed a letter
from Ghent to John of Osnabruck, president of the Chamber of Spiers,
stating his abdication in favor of Ferdinand, and requesting that in the
interim the same obedience might be rendered to Ferdinand, as could have
been yielded to himself. Ten days later; he addressed a letter to the
estates of the Empire, stating the same fact; and on the 17th September,
1556, he set sail from Zeland for Spain. These delays and difficulties
occasioned some misconceptions. Many persons who did not admire an
abdication, which others, on the contrary, esteemed as an act of
unexampled magnanimity, stoutly denied that it was the intention of
Charles to renounce the Empire. The Venetian envoy informed his
government that Ferdinand was only to be lieutenant for Charles, under
strict limitations, and that the Emperor was to resume the government so
soon as his health would allow. The Bishop of Arras and Don Juan de
Manrique had both assured him, he said, that Charles would not, on any
account, definitely abdicate. Manrique even asserted that it was a mere
farce to believe in any such intention. The Emperor ought to remain to
protect his son, by the resources of the Empire, against France, the
Turks, and the heretics. His very shadow was terrible to the Lutherans,
and his form might be expected to rise again in stern reality from its
temporary grave. Time has shown the falsity of all these imaginings, but
views thus maintained by those in the best condition to know the truth,
prove how difficult it was for men to believe in a transaction which was
then so extraordinary, and how little consonant it was in their eyes with
true propriety. It was necessary to ascend to the times of Diocletian, to
find an example of a similar abdication of empire, on so deliberate and
extensive a scale, and the great English historian of the Roman Empire
has compared the two acts with each other. But there seems a vast
difference between the cases. Both emperors were distinguished soldiers;
both were merciless persecutors of defenceless Christians; both exchanged
unbounded empire for absolute seclusion. But Diocletian was born in the
lowest abyss of human degradation--the slave and the son of a slave. For
such a man, after having reached the highest pinnacle of human greatness,
voluntarily to descend from power, seems an act of far greater
magnanimity than the retreat of Charles. Born in the purple, having
exercised unlimited authority from his boyhood, and having worn from his
cradle so many crowns and coronets, the German Emperor might well be
supposed to have learned to estimate them at their proper value.
Contemporary minds were busy, however, to discover the hidden motives
which could have influenced him, and the world, even yet, has hardly
ceased to wonder. Yet it would have been more wonderful, considering the
Emperor's character, had he remained. The end had not crowned the work;
it not unreasonably discrowned the workman. The earlier, and indeed the
greater part of his career had been one unbroken procession of triumphs.
The cherished dream of his grandfather, and of his own youth, to add the
Pope's triple crown to the rest of the hereditary possessions of his
family, he had indeed been obliged to resign. He had too much practical
Flemish sense to indulge long in chimeras, but he had achieved the Empire
over formidable rivals, and he had successively not only conquered, but
captured almost every potentate who had arrayed himself in arms against
him. Clement and Francis, the Dukes and Landgraves of, Clever, Hesse,
Saxony, and Brunswick, he had bound to his chariot wheels; forcing many
to eat the bread of humiliation and captivity, during long and weary
years. But the concluding portion of his reign had reversed all its
previous glories. His whole career had been a failure. He had been
defeated, after all, in most of his projects. He had humbled Francis, but
Henry had most signally avenged his father. He had trampled upon Philip
of Hesse and Frederic of Saxony, but it had been reserved for one of that
German race, which he characterized as "dreamy, drunken, and incapable of
intrigue," to outwit the man who had outwitted all the world, and to
drive before him, in ignominious flight, the conqueror of the nations.
The German lad who had learned both war and dissimulation in the court
and camp of him who was so profound a master of both arts, was destined
to eclipse his teacher on the most august theatre of Christendom.
Absorbed at Innspruck with the deliberations of the Trent Council,
Charles had not heeded the distant mutterings of the tempest which was
gathering around him. While he was preparing to crush, forever, the
Protestant Church, with the arms which a bench of bishops were forging,
lo! the rapid and desperate Maurice, with long red beard streaming like a
meteor in the wind, dashing through the mountain passes, at the head of
his lancers--arguments more convincing than all the dogmas of Granvelle!
Disguised as an old woman, the Emperor had attempted on the 6th April, to
escape in a peasant's wagon, from Innspruck into Flanders. Saved for the
time by the mediation of Ferdinand, he had, a few weeks later, after his
troops had been defeated by Maurice, at Fussen, again fled at midnight of
the 22nd May, almost unattended, sick in body and soul, in the midst of
thunder, lightning, and rain, along the difficult Alpine passes from
Innspruck into Carinthia. His pupil had permitted his escape, only
because in his own language, "for such a bird he had no convenient cage."
The imprisoned princes now owed their liberation, not to the Emperor's
clemency, but to his panic. The peace of Passau, in the following August,
crushed the whole fabric of the Emperor's toil, and laid-the foundation
of the Protestant Church. He had smitten the Protestants at Muhlberg for
the last time. On the other hand, the man who had dealt with Rome, as if
the Pope, not he, had been the vassal, was compelled to witness, before
he departed, the insolence of a pontiff who took a special pride in
insulting and humbling his house, and trampling upon the pride of
Charles, Philip and Ferdinand. In France too, the disastrous siege of
Metz had taught him that in the imperial zodiac the fatal sign of Cancer
had been reached. The figure of a crab, with the words "plus citra,"
instead of his proud motto of "plus ultra," scrawled on the walls where
he had resided during that dismal epoch, avenged more deeply, perhaps,
than the jester thought, the previous misfortunes of France. The Grand
Turk, too, Solyman the Magnificent, possessed most of Hungary, and held
at that moment a fleet ready to sail against Naples, in co-operation with
the Pope and France. Thus the Infidel, the Protestant, and the Holy
Church were all combined together to crush him. Towards all the great
powers of the earth, he stood not in the attitude of a conqueror, but of
a disappointed, baffled, defeated potentate. Moreover, he had been foiled
long before in his earnest attempts to secure the imperial throne for
Philip. Ferdinand and Maximilian had both stoutly resisted his arguments
and his blandishments. The father had represented the slender patrimony
of their branch of the family, compared with the enormous heritage of
Philip; who, being after all, but a man, and endowed with finite powers,
might sink under so great a pressure of empire as his father wished to
provide for him. Maximilian, also, assured his uncle that he had as good
an appetite for the crown as Philip, and could digest the dignity quite
as easily. The son, too, for whom the Emperor was thus solicitous, had
already, before the abdication, repaid his affection with ingratitude. He
had turned out all his father's old officials in Milan, and had refused
to visit him at Brussels, till assured as to the amount of ceremonial
respect which the new-made king was to receive at the hands of his
father.

Had the Emperor continued to live and reign, he would have found himself
likewise engaged in mortal combat with that great religious movement in
the Netherlands, which he would not have been able many years longer to
suppress, and which he left as a legacy of blood and fire to his
successor. Born in the same year with his century, Charles was a
decrepit, exhausted man at fifty-five, while that glorious age, in which
humanity was to burst forever the cerements in which it had so long been
buried, was but awakening to a consciousness of its strength.

Disappointed in his schemes, broken in his fortunes, with income
anticipated, estates mortgaged, all his affairs in confusion; failing in
mental powers, and with a constitution hopelessly shattered; it was time
for him to retire. He showed his keenness in recognizing the fact that
neither his power nor his glory would be increased, should he lag
superfluous on the stage where mortification instead of applause was
likely to be his portion. His frame was indeed but a wreck. Forty years
of unexampled gluttony had done their work. He was a victim to gout,
asthma, dyspepsia, gravel. He was crippled in the neck, arms, knees, and
hands. He was troubled with chronic cutaneous eruptions. His appetite
remained, while his stomach, unable longer to perform the task still
imposed upon it, occasioned him constant suffering. Physiologists, who
know how important a part this organ plays in the affairs of life, will
perhaps see in this physical condition of the Emperor A sufficient
explanation, if explanation were required, of his descent from the
throne. Moreover, it is well known that the resolution to abdicate before
his death had been long a settled scheme with him. It had been formally
agreed between himself and the Empress that they should separate at the
approach of old age, and pass the remainder of their lives in a convent
and a monastery. He had, when comparatively a young man, been struck by
the reply made to him by an aged officer, whose reasons he had asked for,
earnestly soliciting permission to retire from the imperial service. It
was, said the veteran, that he might put a little space of religious
contemplation between the active portion of his life and the grave.

A similar determination, deferred from time to time, Charles had now
carried into execution. While he still lingered in Brussels, after his
abdication, a comet appeared, to warn him to the fulfilment of his
purpose. From first to last, comets and other heavenly bodies were much
connected with his evolutions and arrangements. There was no mistaking
the motives with which this luminary had presented itself. The Emperor
knew very well, says a contemporary German chronicler, that it portended
pestilence and war, together with the approaching death of mighty
princes. "My fates call out," he cried, and forthwith applied himself to
hasten the preparations for his departure.

The romantic picture of his philosophical retirement at Juste, painted
originally by Sandoval and Siguenza, reproduced by the fascinating pencil
of Strada, and imitated in frequent succession by authors of every age
and country, is unfortunately but a sketch of fancy. The investigations
of modern writers have entirely thrown down the scaffolding on which the
airy fabric, so delightful to poets and moralists, reposed. The departing
Emperor stands no longer in a transparency robed in shining garments. His
transfiguration is at an end. Every action, almost every moment of his
retirement, accurately chronicled by those who shared his solitude, have
been placed before our eyes, in the most felicitous manner, by able and
brilliant writers. The Emperor, shorn of the philosophical robe in which
he had been conventionally arrayed for three centuries, shivers now in
the cold air of reality.

So far from his having immersed himself in profound and pious
contemplation, below the current of the world's events, his thoughts, on
the contrary, never were for a moment diverted from the political surface
of the times. He read nothing but despatches; he wrote or dictated
interminable ones in reply, as dull and prolix as any which ever came
from his pen. He manifested a succession of emotions at the course of
contemporary affairs, as intense and as varied, as if the world still
rested in his palm. He was, in truth, essentially a man of action. He had
neither the taste nor talents which make a man great in retirement. Not a
lofty thought, not a generous sentiment, not a profound or acute
suggestion in his retreat has been recorded from his lips. The epigrams
which had been invented for him by fabulists have been all taken away,
and nothing has been substituted, save a few dull jests exchanged with
stupid friars. So far from having entertained and even expressed that
sentiment of religious toleration for which he was said to have been
condemned as a heretic by the inquisition, and for which Philip was
ridiculously reported to have ordered his father's body to be burned, and
his ashes scattered to the winds, he became in retreat the bigot
effectually, which during his reign he had only been conventionally.
Bitter regrets that he should have kept his word to Luther, as if he had
not broken faith enough to reflect upon in his retirement; stern
self-reproach for omitting to put to death, while he had him in his
power, the man who had caused all the mischief of the age; fierce
instructions thundered from his retreat to the inquisitors to hasten the
execution of all heretics, including particularly his ancient friends,
preachers and almoners, Cazalla and Constantine de Fuente; furious
exhortations to Philip--as if Philip needed a prompter in such a
work--that he should set himself to "cutting out the root of heresy with
rigor and rude chastisement;"--such explosions of savage bigotry as
these, alternating with exhibitions of revolting gluttony, with surfeits
of sardine omelettes, Estramadura sausages, eel pies, pickled partridges,
fat capons, quince syrups, iced beer, and flagons of Rhenish, relieved by
copious draughts of senna and rhubarb, to which his horror-stricken
doctor doomed him as he ate--compose a spectacle less attractive to the
imagination than the ancient portrait of the cloistered Charles.
Unfortunately it is the one which was painted from life.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
     Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
     Endure every hardship but hunger
     Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
     He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
     His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
     Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
     Often much tyranny in democracy
     Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 4.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
PHILIP THE SECOND IN THE NETHERLANDS
1555-1558 [CHAPTER II.]

   Sketch of Philip the Second--Characteristics of Mary Tudor--Portrait
   of Philip--His council--Rivalry of Rup Gomez and Alva--Character of
   Rup Gomez--Queen Mary of Hungary--Sketch of Philibert of Savoy--
   Truce of Vaucelles--Secret treaty between the Pope and Henry II.--
   Rejoicings in the Netherlands on account of the Peace--Purposes of
   Philip--Re-enactment of the edict of 1560--The King's dissimulation
   --"Request" to the provinces--Infraction of the truce in Italy--
   Character of Pope Paul IV.--Intrigues of Cardinal Caraffa--War
   against Spain resolved upon by France--Campaign in Italy--Amicable
   siege of Rome--Pence with the pontiff--Hostilities on the Flemish
   border--Coligny foiled at Douay--Sacks Lens--Philip in England--
   Queen Mary engages in the war--Philip's army assembled at Givet--
   Portrait of Count Egmont--The French army under Coligny and
   Montmorency--Siege of St. Quentin--Attempts of the constable to
   relieve the city--Battle of St. Quentin--Hesitation and timidity of
   Philip--City of St. Quentin taken and sacked--Continued indecision
   of Philip--His army disbanded--Campaign of the Duke of Guise--
   Capture of Calais--Interview between Cardinal de Lorraine and the
   Bishop of Arran--Secret combinations for a league between France and
   Spain against heresy--Languid movements of Guise--Foray of De
   Thermes on the Flemish frontier--Battle of Gravelines--Popularity of
   Egmont--Enmity of Alva.

Philip the Second had received the investiture of Milan and the crown of
Naples, previously to his marriage with Mary Tudor. The imperial crown he
had been obliged, much against his will, to forego. The archduchy of
Austria, with the hereditary German dependencies of his father's family,
had been transferred by the Emperor to his brother Ferdinand, on the
occasion of the marriage of that prince with Anna, only sister of King
Louis of Hungary. Ten years afterwards, Ferdinand (King of Hungary and
Bohemia since the death of Louis, slain in 1526 at the battle of Mohacz)
was elected King of the Romans, and steadily refused all the entreaties
afterwards made to him in behalf of Philip, to resign his crown and his
succession to the Empire, in favor of his nephew. With these diminutions,
Philip had now received all the dominions of his father. He was King of
all the Spanish kingdoms and of both the Sicilies. He was titular King of
England, France, and Jerusalem. He was "Absolute Dominator" in Asia,
Africa, and America; he was Duke of Milan and of both Burgundies, and
Hereditary Sovereign of the seventeen Netherlands.

Thus the provinces had received a new master. A man of foreign birth and
breeding, not speaking a word of their language, nor of any language
which the mass of the inhabitants understood, was now placed in supreme
authority over them, because he represented, through the females, the
"good" Philip of Burgundy, who a century before had possessed himself by
inheritance, purchase, force, or fraud, of the sovereignty in most of
those provinces. It is necessary to say an introductory word or two
concerning the previous history of the man to whose hands the destiny of
so many millions was now entrusted.

He was born in May, 1527, and was now therefore twenty-eight years of
age. At the age of sixteen he had been united to his cousin, Maria of
Portugal, daughter of John III. and of the Emperor's sister, Donna
Catalina. In the following year (1544) he became father of the celebrated
and ill-starred Don Carlos, and a widower. The princess owed her death,
it was said, to her own imprudence and to the negligence or bigotry of
her attendants. The Duchess of Alva, and other ladies who had charge of
her during her confinement, deserted her chamber in order to obtain
absolution by witnessing an auto-da-fe of heretics. During their absence,
the princess partook voraciously of a melon, and forfeited her life in
consequence.

In 1548, Don Philip had made his first appearance in the Netherlands. He
came thither to receive homage in the various provinces as their future
sovereign, and to exchange oaths of mutual fidelity with them all. Andrew
Doria, with a fleet of fifty ships, had brought him to Genoa, whence he
had passed to Milan, where he was received with great rejoicing. At Trent
he was met by Duke Maurice of Saxony, who warmly begged his intercession
with the Emperor in behalf of the imprisoned Landgrave of Hesse. This
boon Philip was graciously pleased to promise,--and to keep the pledge as
sacredly as most of the vows plighted by him during this memorable year.
The Duke of Aerschot met him in Germany with a regiment of cavalry and
escorted him to Brussels. A summer was spent in great festivities, the
cities of the Nether lands vieing with each other in magnificent
celebrations of the ceremonies, by which Philip successively swore
allegiance to the various constitutions and charters of the provinces,
and received their oaths of future fealty in return. His oath to support
all the constitutions and privileges was without reservation, while his
father and grandfather had only sworn to maintain the charters granted or
confirmed by Philip and Charles of Burgundy. Suspicion was disarmed by
these indiscriminate concessions, which had been resolved upon by the
unscrupulous Charles to conciliate the good will of the people. In view
of the pretensions which might be preferred by the Brederode family in
Holland, and by other descendants of ancient sovereign races in other
provinces, the Emperor, wishing to ensure the succession to his sisters
in case of the deaths of himself, Philip, and Don Carlos without issue,
was unsparing in those promises which he knew to be binding only upon the
weak. Although the house of Burgundy had usurped many of the provinces on
the express pretext that females could not inherit, the rule had been
already violated, and he determined to spare no pains to conciliate the
estates, in order that they might be content with a new violation, should
the contingency occur. Philip's oaths were therefore without reserve, and
the light-hearted Flemings, Brabantines, and Walloons received him with
open arms. In Valenciennes the festivities which attended his entrance
were on a most gorgeous scale, but the "joyous entrance" arranged for him
at Antwerp was of unparalleled magnificence. A cavalcade of the
magistrates and notable burghers, "all attired in cramoisy velvet,"
attended by lackies in splendid liveries and followed by four thousand
citizen soldiers in full uniform, went forth from the gates to receive
him. Twenty-eight triumphal arches, which alone, according to the thrifty
chronicler, had cost 26,800 Carolus guldens, were erected in the
different streets and squares, and every possible demonstration of
affectionate welcome was lavished upon the Prince and the Emperor. The
rich and prosperous city, unconscious of the doom which awaited it in the
future, seemed to have covered itself with garlands to honor the approach
of its master. Yet icy was the deportment with which Philip received
these demonstrations of affection, and haughty the glance with which he
looked down upon these exhibitions of civic hilarity, as from the height
of a grim and inaccessible tower. The impression made upon the
Netherlanders was any thing but favorable, and when he had fully
experienced the futility of the projects on the Empire which it was so
difficult both for his father and himself to resign, he returned to the
more congenial soil of Spain. In 1554 he had again issued from the
peninsula to marry the Queen of England, a privilege which his father had
graciously resigned to him. He was united to Mary Tudor at Winchester, on
the 25th July of that year, and if congeniality of tastes could have made
a marriage happy, that union should have been thrice blessed. To maintain
the supremacy of the Church seemed to both the main object of existence,
to execute unbelievers the most sacred duty imposed by the Deity upon
anointed princes, to convert their kingdoms into a hell the surest means
of winning Heaven for themselves. It was not strange that the conjunction
of two such wonders of superstition in one sphere should have seemed
portentous in the eyes of the English nation. Philip's mock efforts in
favor of certain condemned reformers, and his pretended intercessions in
favor of the Princess Elizabeth, failed entirely of their object. The
parliament refused to confer upon him more than a nominal authority in
England. His children, should they be born, might be sovereigns; he was
but husband of the Queen; of a woman who could not atone by her abject
but peevish fondness for himself, and by her congenial blood-thirstiness
towards her subjects, for her eleven years seniority, her deficiency in
attractions, and her incapacity to make him the father of a line of
English monarchs. It almost excites compassion even for Mary Tudor, when
her passionate efforts to inspire him with affection are contrasted with
his impassiveness. Tyrant, bigot, murderess though she was, she was still
woman, and she lavished upon her husband all that was not ferocious in
her nature. Forbidding prayers to be said for the soul of her father,
hating her sister and her people, burning bishops, bathing herself in the
blood of heretics, to Philip she was all submissiveness and feminine
devotion. It was a most singular contrast, Mary, the Queen of England and
Mary the wife of Philip. Small, lean and sickly, painfully near-sighted,
yet with an eye of fierceness and fire; her face wrinkled by the hands of
care and evil passions still more than by Time, with a big man's voice,
whose harshness made those in the next room tremble; yet feminine in her
tastes, skilful with her needle, fond of embroidery work, striking the
lute with a touch remarkable for its science and feeling, speaking many
languages, including Latin, with fluency and grace; most feminine, too,
in her constitutional sufferings, hysterical of habit, shedding floods of
tears daily at Philip's coldness, undisguised infidelity, and frequent
absences from England--she almost awakens compassion and causes a
momentary oblivion of her identity.

Her subjects, already half maddened by religious persecution, were
exasperated still further by the pecuniary burthens which she imposed
upon them to supply the King's exigencies, and she unhesitatingly
confronted their frenzy, in the hope of winning a smile from him. When at
last her chronic maladies had assumed the memorable form which caused
Philip and Mary to unite in a letter to Cardinal Pole, announcing not the
expected but the actual birth of a prince, but judiciously leaving the
date in blank, the momentary satisfaction and delusion of the Queen was
unbounded. The false intelligence was transmitted every where. Great were
the joy and the festivities in the Netherlands, where people were so
easily made to rejoice and keep holiday for any thing. "The Regent, being
in Antwerp," wrote Sir Thomas Gresham to the lords of council, "did cause
the great bell to rings to give all men to understand that the news was
trewe. The Queene's highness here merchants caused all our Inglishe ships
to shoote off with such joy and triumph, as by men's arts and pollicey
coulde be devised--and the Regent sent our Inglishe maroners one hundred
crownes to drynke." If bell-ringing and cannon-firing could have given
England a Spanish sovereign, the devoutly-wished consummation would have
been reached. When the futility of the royal hopes could no longer be
concealed, Philip left the country, never to return till his war with
France made him require troops, subsidies, and a declaration of
hostilities from England.

The personal appearance of the new sovereign has already been described.
His manner was far from conciliatory, and in this respect he was the
absolute reverse of his father. Upon his first journey out of Spain, in
1548, into his various dominions, he had made a most painful impression
every where. "He was disagreeable," says Envoy Suriano, "to the Italians,
detestable to the Flemings, odious to the Germans."

The remonstrances of the Emperor, and of Queen Mary of Hungary, at the
impropriety of his manners, had produced, however, some effect, so that
on his wedding journey to England, he manifested much "gentleness and
humanity, mingled with royal gravity." Upon this occasion, says another
Venetian, accredited to him, "he had divested himself of that Spanish
haughtiness, which, when he first came from Spain, had rendered him so
odious." The famous ambassador, Badovaro confirms the impression. "Upon
his first journey," he says, "he was esteemed proud, and too greedy for
the imperial succession; but now 'tis the common opinion that his
humanity and modesty are all which could be desired." These humane
qualities, however, it must be observed, were exhibited only in the
presence of ambassadors and grandees, the only representatives of
"humanity" with whom he came publicly and avowedly in contact.

He was thought deficient in manly energy. He was an infirm
valetudinarian, and was considered as sluggish in character, as deficient
in martial enterprise, as timid of temperament as he was fragile and
sickly of frame. It is true, that on account of the disappointment which
he occasioned by his contrast to his warlike father, he mingled in some
tournaments in Brussels, where he was matched against Count Mansfeld, one
of the most distinguished chieftains of the age, and where, says his
professed panegyrist, "he broke his lances very mach to the satisfaction
of his father and aunts."

That learned and eloquent author, Estelle Calvete, even filled the
greater part of a volume, in which he described the journey of the
Prince, with a minute description of these feasts and jousts, but we may
reasonably conclude that to the loyal imagination of his eulogist Philip
is indebted for most of these knightly trophies. It was the universal
opinion of unprejudiced cotemporaries, that he was without a spark of
enterprise. He was even censured for a culpable want of ambition, and for
being inferior to his father in this respect, as if the love of
encroaching on his neighbor's dominions, and a disposition to foreign.
commotions and war would have constituted additional virtues, had he
happened to possess them. Those who were most disposed to think favorably
of him, remembered that there was a time when even Charles the Fifth was
thought weak and indolent, and were willing to ascribe Philip's pacific
disposition to his habitual cholic and side-ache, and to his father's
inordinate care for him in youth. They even looked forward to the time
when he should blaze forth to the world as a conqueror and a hero. These,
however, were views entertained by but few; the general and the correct
opinion, as it proved, being, that Philip hated war, would never
certainly acquire any personal distinction in the field, and when engaged
in hostilities would be apt to gather his laurels at the hands of his
generals, rather than with his own sword. He was believed to be the
reverse of the Emperor. Charles sought great enterprises, Philip would
avoid them. The Emperor never recoiled before threats; the son was
reserved, cautious, suspicious of all men, and capable of sacrificing a
realm from hesitation and timidity. The father had a genius for action,
the son a predilection for repose. Charles took "all men's opinions, but
reserved his judgment," and acted on it, when matured, with irresistible
energy; Philip was led by others, was vacillating in forming decisions,
and irresolute in executing them when formed.

Philip, then, was not considered, in that warlike age, as likely to shine
as a warrior. His mental capacity, in general, was likewise not very
highly esteemed. His talents were, in truth, very much below mediocrity.
His mind was incredibly small. A petty passion for contemptible details
characterized him from his youth, and, as long as he lived, he could
neither learn to generalize, nor understand that one man, however
diligent, could not be minutely acquainted with all the public and
private affairs of fifty millions of other men. He was a glutton of work.
He was born to write despatches, and to scrawl comments upon those which
he received.

   [The character of these apostilles, always confused, wordy and
   awkward, was sometimes very ludicrous; nor did it improve after his
   thirty or forty years' daily practice in making them. Thus, when he
   received a letter from France in 1589, narrating the assassination
   of Henry III., and stating that "the manner in which he had been
   killed was that a Jacobin monk had given him a pistol-shot in the
   head" (la facon qua l'on dit qu'il a ette tue, sa ette par un
   Jacobin qui luy a donna d'un cou de pistolle dans la tayte), he
   scrawled the following luminous comment upon the margin.
   Underlining the word "pistolle," he observed, "this is perhaps some
   kind of knife; and as for 'tayte,' it can be nothing else but head,
   which is not tayte, but tete, or teyte, as you very well know"
   (quiza de alguna manera de cuchillo, etc., etc.)--Gachard. Rapport
   a M. le Minist. de l'Interieur, prefixed to corresp. Philippe II.
   Vol. I. xlix. note 1. It is obvious that a person who made such
   wonderful commentaries as this, and was hard at work eight or nine
   hours a day for forty years, would leave a prodigious quantity of
   unpublished matter at his death.]

He often remained at the council-board four or five hours at a time, and
he lived in his cabinet. He gave audiences to ambassadors and deputies
very willingly, listening attentively to all that was said to him, and
answering in monosyllables. He spoke no tongue but Spanish; and was
sufficiently sparing of that, but he was indefatigable with his pen. He
hated to converse, but he could write a letter eighteen pages long, when
his correspondent was in the next room, and when the subject was,
perhaps, one which a man of talent could have settled with six words of
his tongue. The world, in his opinion, was to move upon protocols and
apostilles. Events had no right to be born throughout his dominions,
without a preparatory course of his obstetrical pedantry. He could never
learn that the earth would not rest on its axis, while he wrote a
programme of the way it was to turn. He was slow in deciding, slower in
communicating his decisions. He was prolix with his pen, not from
affluence, but from paucity of ideas. He took refuge in a cloud of words,
sometimes to conceal his meaning, oftener to conceal the absence of any
meaning, thus mystifying not only others but himself. To one great
purpose, formed early, he adhered inflexibly. This, however, was rather
an instinct than an opinion; born with him, not created by him. The idea
seemed to express itself through him, and to master him, rather than to
form one of a stock of sentiments which a free agent might be expected to
possess. Although at certain times, even this master-feeling could yield
to the pressure of a predominant self-interest-thus showing that even in
Philip bigotry was not absolute--yet he appeared on the whole the
embodiment of Spanish chivalry and Spanish religious enthusiasm, in its
late and corrupted form. He was entirely a Spaniard. The Burgundian and
Austrian elements of his blood seemed to have evaporated, and his veins
were filled alone with the ancient ardor, which in heroic centuries had
animated the Gothic champions of Spain. The fierce enthusiasm for the
Cross, which in the long internal warfare against the Crescent, had been
the romantic and distinguishing feature of the national character, had
degenerated into bigotry. That which had been a nation's glory now made
the monarch's shame. The Christian heretic was to be regarded with a more
intense hatred than even Moor or Jew had excited in the most Christian
ages, and Philip was to be the latest and most perfect incarnation of all
this traditional enthusiasm, this perpetual hate. Thus he was likely to
be single-hearted in his life. It was believed that his ambition would be
less to extend his dominions than to vindicate his title of the most
Catholic king. There could be little doubt entertained that he would be,
at least, dutiful to his father in this respect, and that the edicts
would be enforced to the letter.

He was by birth, education, and character, a Spaniard, and that so
exclusively, that the circumstance would alone have made him unfit to
govern a country so totally different in habits and national sentiments
from his native land. He was more a foreigner in Brussels, even, than in
England. The gay, babbling, energetic, noisy life of Flanders and Brabant
was detestable to him. The loquacity of the Netherlanders was a continual
reproach upon his taciturnity. His education had imbued him, too, with
the antiquated international hatred of Spaniard and Fleming, which had
been strengthening in the metropolis, while the more rapid current of
life had rather tended to obliterate the sentiment in the provinces.

The flippancy and profligacy of Philip the Handsome, the extortion and
insolence of his Flemish courtiers, had not been forgotten in Spain, nor
had Philip the Second forgiven his grandfather for having been a
foreigner. And now his mad old grandmother, Joanna, who had for years
been chasing cats in the lonely tower where she had been so long
imprisoned, had just died; and her funeral, celebrated with great pomp by
both her sons, by Charles at Brussels and Ferdinand at Augsburg, seemed
to revive a history which had begun to fade, and to recall the image of
Castilian sovereignty which had been so long obscured in the blaze of
imperial grandeur.

His education had been but meagre. In an age when all kings and noblemen
possessed many languages, he spoke not a word of any tongue but
Spanish,--although he had a slender knowledge of French and Italian,
which he afterwards learned to read with comparative facility. He had
studied a little history and geography, and he had a taste for sculpture,
painting, and architecture. Certainly if he had not possessed a feeling
for art, he would have been a monster. To have been born in the earlier
part of the sixteenth century, to have been a king, to have had Spain,
Italy, and the Netherlands as a birthright, and not to have been inspired
with a spark of that fire which glowed so intensely in those favored
lands and in that golden age, had indeed been difficult.

The King's personal habits were regular. His delicate health made it
necessary for him to attend to his diet, although he was apt to exceed in
sweetmeats and pastry. He slept much, and took little exercise
habitually, but he had recently been urged by the physicians to try the
effect of the chase as a corrective to his sedentary habits. He was most
strict in religious observances, as regular at mass, sermons, and vespers
as a monk; much more, it was thought by many good Catholics, than was
becoming to his rank and age. Besides several friars who preached
regularly for his instruction, he had daily discussions with others on
abstruse theological points. He consulted his confessor most minutely as
to all the actions of life, inquiring anxiously whether this proceeding
or that were likely to burthen his conscience. He was grossly licentious.
It was his chief amusement to issue forth at night disguised, that he
might indulge in vulgar and miscellaneous incontinence in the common
haunts of vice. This was his solace at Brussels in the midst of the
gravest affairs of state. He was not illiberal, but, on the contrary, it
was thought that he would have been even generous, had he not been
straitened for money at the outset of his career. During a cold winter,
he distributed alms to the poor of Brussels with an open hand. He was
fond of jests in private, and would laugh immoderately, when with a few
intimate associates, at buffooneries, which he checked in public by the
icy gravity of his deportment. He dressed usually in the Spanish fashion,
with close doublet, trunk hose, and short cloak, although at times he
indulged in the more airy fashions of France and Burgundy, wearing
buttons on his coats and feathers in his hat. He was not thought at that
time to be cruel by nature, but was usually spoken of, in the
conventional language appropriated to monarchs, as a prince "clement,
benign, and debonnaire." Time was to show the justice of his claims to
such honorable epithets.

The court was organized during his residence at Brussels on the
Burgundian, not the Spanish model, but of the one hundred and fifty
persons who composed it, nine tenths of the whole were Spaniards; the
other fifteen or sixteen being of various nations, Flemings, Burgundians,
Italians, English, and Germans. Thus it is obvious how soon he
disregarded his father's precept and practice in this respect, and began
to lay the foundation of that renewed hatred to Spaniards which was soon
to become so intense, exuberant, and fatal throughout every class of
Netherlanders. He esteemed no nation but the Spanish, with Spaniards he
consorted, with Spaniards he counselled, through Spaniards he governed.

His council consisted of five or six Spanish grandees, the famous Ruy
Gomez, then Count of Melito, afterwards Prince of Eboli; the Duke of
Alva, the Count de Feria, the Duke of Franca Villa, Don Antonio Toledo,
and Don Juan Manrique de Lara. The "two columns," said Suriano, "which
sustain this great machine, are Ruy Gomez and Alva, and from their
councils depends the government of half the world." The two were ever
bitterly opposed to each other. Incessant were their bickerings, intense
their mutual hate, desperate and difficult the situation of any man,
whether foreigner or native, who had to transact business with the
government. If he had secured the favor of Gomez, he had already earned
the enmity of Alva. Was he protected by the Duke, he was sure to be cast
into outer darkness by the favorite.--Alva represented the war party, Ruy
Gomez the pacific polity more congenial to the heart of Philip. The
Bishop of Arras, who in the opinion of the envoys was worth them all for
his capacity and his experience, was then entirely in the background,
rarely entering the council except when summoned to give advice in
affairs of extraordinary delicacy or gravity. He was, however, to
reappear most signally in course of the events already preparing. The
Duke of Alva, also to play so tremendous a part in the yet unborn history
of the Netherlands, was not beloved by Philip. He was eclipsed at this
period by the superior influence of the favorite, and his sword,
moreover, became necessary in the Italian campaign which was impending.
It is remarkable that it was a common opinion even at that day that the
duke was naturally hesitating and timid. One would have thought that his
previous victories might have earned for him the reputation for courage
and skill which he most unquestionably deserved. The future was to
develop those other characteristics which were to make his name the
terror and wonder of the world.

The favorite, Ruy Gomez da Silva, Count de Melito, was the man upon whose
shoulders the great burthen of the state reposed. He was of a family
which was originally Portuguese. He had been brought up with the King,
although some eight years his senior, and their friendship dated from
earliest youth. It was said that Ruy Gomez, when a boy, had been
condemned to death for having struck Philip, who had come between him and
another page with whom he was quarrelling. The Prince threw himself
passionately at his father's feet, and implored forgiveness in behalf of
the culprit with such energy that the Emperor was graciously pleased to
spare the life of the future prime minister. The incident was said to
have laid the foundation of the remarkable affection which was supposed
to exist between the two, to an extent never witnessed before between
king and subject. Ruy Gomez was famous for his tact and complacency, and
omitted no opportunity of cementing the friendship thus auspiciously
commenced. He was said to have particularly charmed his master, upon one
occasion, by hypocritically throwing up his cards at a game of hazard
played for a large stake, and permitting him to win the game with a far
inferior hand. The King learning afterwards the true state of the case,
was charmed by the grace and self-denial manifested by the young
nobleman. The complacency which the favorite subsequently exhibited in
regard to the connexion which existed so long and so publicly between his
wife, the celebrated Princess Eboli, and Philip, placed his power upon an
impregnable basis, and secured it till his death.

At the present moment he occupied the three posts of valet, state
councillor, and finance minister. He dressed and undressed his master,
read or talked him to sleep, called him in the morning, admitted those
who were to have private audiences, and superintended all the
arrangements of the household. The rest of the day was devoted to the
enormous correspondence and affairs of administration which devolved upon
him as first minister of state and treasury. He was very ignorant. He had
no experience or acquirement in the arts either of war or peace, and his
early education had been limited. Like his master, he spoke no tongue but
Spanish, and he had no literature. He had prepossessing manners, a fluent
tongue, a winning and benevolent disposition. His natural capacity for
affairs was considerable, and his tact was so perfect that he could
converse face to face with statesmen; doctors, and generals upon
campaigns, theology, or jurisprudence, without betraying any remarkable
deficiency. He was very industrious, endeavoring to make up by hard study
for his lack of general knowledge, and to sustain with credit the burthen
of his daily functions. At the same time, by the King's desire, he
appeared constantly at the frequent banquets, masquerades, tourneys and
festivities, for which Brussels at that epoch was remarkable. It was no
wonder that his cheek was pale, and that he seemed dying of overwork. He
discharged his duties cheerfully, however, for in the service of Philip
he knew no rest. "After God," said Badovaro, "he knows no object save the
felicity of his master." He was already, as a matter of course, very
rich, having been endowed by Philip with property to the amount of
twenty-six thousand dollars yearly, [at values of 1855] and the tide of
his fortunes was still at the flood.

Such were the two men, the master and the favorite, to whose hands the
destinies of the Netherlands were now entrusted.

The Queen of Hungary had resigned the office of Regent of the
Netherlands, as has been seen, on the occasion of the Emperor's
abdication. She was a woman of masculine character, a great huntress
before the Lord, a celebrated horsewoman, a worthy descendant of the Lady
Mary of Burgundy. Notwithstanding all the fine phrases exchanged between
herself and the eloquent Maas, at the great ceremony of the 25th of
October, she was, in reality, much detested in the provinces, and she
repaid their aversion with abhorrence. "I could not live among these
people," she wrote to the Emperor, but a few weeks before the abdication,
"even as a private person, for it would be impossible for me to do my
duty towards God and my prince. As to governing them, I take God to
witness that the task is so abhorrent to me, that I would rather earn my
daily bread by labor than attempt it." She added, that a woman of fifty
years of age, who had served during twenty-five of them, had a right to
repose, and that she was moreover "too old to recommence and learn her A,
B, C." The Emperor, who had always respected her for the fidelity with
which she had carried out his designs, knew that it was hopeless to
oppose her retreat. As for Philip, he hated his aunt, and she hated
him--although, both at the epoch of the abdication and subsequently, he
was desirous that she should administer the government.

The new Regent was to be the Duke of Savoy. This wandering and
adventurous potentate had attached himself to Philip's fortunes, and had
been received by the King with as much favor as he had ever enjoyed at
the hands of the Emperor. Emanuel Philibert of Savoy, then about
twenty-six or seven years of age, was the son of the late unfortunate
duke, by Donna Beatrice of Portugal, sister of the Empress. He was the
nephew of Charles, and first cousin to Philip. The partiality of the
Emperor for his mother was well known, but the fidelity with which the
family had followed the imperial cause had been productive of nothing but
disaster to the duke. He had been ruined in fortune, stripped of all his
dignities and possessions. His son's only inheritance was his sword. The
young Prince of Piedmont, as he was commonly called in his youth; sought
the camp of the Emperor, and was received with distinguished favor. He
rose rapidly in the military service. Acting always upon his favorite
motto, "Spoliatis arma supersunt," he had determined, if possible, to
carve his way to glory, to wealth, and even to his hereditary estates, by
his sword alone. War was not only his passion, but his trade. Every one
of his campaigns was a speculation, and he had long derived a
satisfactory income by purchasing distinguished prisoners of war at a low
price from the soldiers who had captured them, and were ignorant of their
rank, and by ransoming them afterwards at an immense advance. This sort
of traffic in men was frequent in that age, and was considered perfectly
honorable. Marshal Strozzi, Count Mansfeld, and other professional
soldiers, derived their main income from the system. They were naturally
inclined, therefore, to look impatiently upon a state of peace as an
unnatural condition of affairs which cut off all the profits of their
particular branch of industry, and condemned them both to idleness and
poverty. The Duke of Savoy had become one of the most experienced and
successful commanders of the age, and an especial favorite with the
Emperor. He had served with Alva in the campaigns against the Protestants
of Germany, and in other important fields. War being his element, he
considered peace as undesirable, although he could recognize its
existence. A truce he held, however, to be a senseless parodox, unworthy
of the slightest regard. An armistice, such as was concluded on the
February following the abdication, was, in his opinion, only to be turned
to account by dealing insidious and unsuspected blows at the enemy, some
portion of whose population might repose confidence in the plighted faith
of monarchs and plenipotentiaries. He had a show of reason for his
political and military morality, for he only chose to execute the evil
which had been practised upon himself. His father had been beggared, his
mother had died of spite and despair, he had himself been reduced from
the rank of a sovereign to that of a mercenary soldier, by spoliations
made in time of truce. He was reputed a man of very decided abilities,
and was distinguished for headlong bravery. His rashness and personal
daring were thought the only drawbacks to his high character as a
commander. He had many accomplishments. He spoke Latin, French, Spanish,
and Italian with equal fluency, was celebrated for his attachment to the
fine arts, and wrote much and with great elegance. Such had been
Philibert of Savoy, the pauper nephew of the powerful Emperor, the
adventurous and vagrant cousin of the lofty Philip, a prince without a
people, a duke without a dukedom; with no hope but in warfare, with no
revenue but rapine; the image, in person, of a bold and manly soldier,
small, but graceful and athletic, martial in bearing, "wearing his sword
under his arm like a corporal," because an internal malady made a belt
inconvenient, and ready to turn to swift account every chance which a new
series of campaigns might open to him. With his new salary as governor,
his pensions, and the remains of his possessions in Nice and Piedmont, he
had now the splendid annual income of one hundred thousand crowns, and
was sure to spend it all.

It had been the desire of Charles to smooth the commencement of Philip's
path. He had for this purpose made a vigorous effort to undo, as it were,
the whole work of his reign, to suspend the operation of his whole
political system. The Emperor and conqueror, who had been warring all his
lifetime, had attempted, as the last act of his reign, to improvise a
peace. But it was not so easy to arrange a pacification of Europe as
dramatically as he desired, in order that he might gather his robes about
him, and allow the curtain to fall upon his eventful history in a grand
hush of decorum and quiet. During the autumn and winter of 1555,
hostilities had been virtually suspended, and languid negotiations
ensued. For several months armies confronted each other without engaging,
and diplomatists fenced among themselves without any palpable result. At
last the peace commissioners, who had been assembled at Vaucelles since
the beginning of the year 1556, signed a treaty of truce rather than of
peace, upon the 5th of February. It was to be an armistice of five years,
both by land and sea, for France, Spain, Flanders, and Italy, throughout
all the dominions of the French and Spanish monarchs. The Pope was
expressly included in the truce, which was signed on the part of France
by Admiral Coligny and Sebastian l'Aubespine; on that of Spain, by Count
de Lalain, Philibert de Bruxelles, Simon Renard, and Jean Baptiste
Sciceio, a jurisconsult of Cremona. During the precious month of
December, however, the Pope had concluded with the French monarch a
treaty, by which this solemn armistice was rendered an egregious farce.
While Henry's plenipotentiaries had been plighting their faith to those
of Philip, it had been arranged that France should sustain, by subsidies
and armies, the scheme upon which Paul was bent, to drive the Spaniards
entirely out of the Italian peninsula. The king was to aid the pontiff,
and, in return, was to carve thrones for his own younger children out of
the confiscated realms of Philip. When was France ever slow to sweep upon
Italy with such a hope? How could the ever-glowing rivalry of Valois and
Habsburg fail to burst into a general conflagration, while the venerable
vicegerent of Christ stood thus beside them with his fan in his hand?

For a brief breathing space, however, the news of the pacification
occasioned much joy in the provinces. They rejoiced even in a temporary
cessation of that long series of campaigns from which they could
certainly derive no advantage, and in which their part was to furnish
money, soldiers, and battlefields, without prospect of benefit from any
victory, however brilliant, or any treaty, however elaborate.
Manufacturing, agricultural and commercial provinces, filled to the full
with industrial life, could not but be injured by being converted into
perpetual camps. All was joy in the Netherlands, while at Antwerp, the
great commercial metropolis of the provinces and of Europe, the rapture
was unbounded. Oxen were roasted whole in the public squares; the
streets, soon to be empurpled with the best blood of her citizens, ran
red with wine; a hundred triumphal arches adorned the pathway of Philip
as he came thither; and a profusion of flowers, although it was February,
were strewn before his feet. Such was his greeting in the light-hearted
city, but the countenance was more than usually sullen with which the
sovereign received these demonstrations of pleasure. It was thought by
many that Philip had been really disappointed in the conclusion of the
armistice, that he was inspired with a spark of that martial ambition for
which his panegyrists gave him credit, and that knowing full well the
improbability of a long suspension of hostilities, he was even eager for
the chance of conquest which their resumption would afford him. The
secret treaty of the Pope was of course not so secret but that the hollow
intention of the contracting parties to the truce of Vaucelles were
thoroughly suspected; intentions which certainly went far to justify the
maxims and the practice of the new governor-general of the Netherlands
upon the subject of armistices.

Philip, understanding his position, was revolving renewed military
projects while his subjects were ringing merry bells and lighting
bonfires in the Netherlands. These schemes, which were to be carried out
in the immediate future, caused, however, a temporary delay in the great
purpose to which he was to devote his life.

The Emperor had always desired to regard the Netherlands as a whole, and
he hated the antiquated charters and obstinate privileges which
interfered with his ideas of symmetry. Two great machines, the court of
Mechlin and the inquisition, would effectually simplify and assimilate
all these irregular and heterogeneous rights. The civil tribunal was to
annihilate all diversities in their laws by a general cassation of their
constitutions, and the ecclesiastical court was to burn out all
differences in their religious faith. Between two such millstones it was
thought that the Netherlands might be crushed into uniformity. Philip
succeeded to these traditions. The father had never sufficient leisure to
carry out all his schemes, but it seemed probable that the son would be a
worthy successor, at least in all which concerned the religious part of
his system. One of the earliest measures of his reign was to re-enact the
dread edict of 1550. This he did by the express advice of the Bishop of
Arras who represented to him the expediency of making use of the
popularity of his father's name, to sustain the horrible system resolved
upon. As Charles was the author of the edict, it could be always argued
that nothing new was introduced; that burning, hanging, and drowning for
religious differences constituted a part of the national institutions;
that they had received the sanction of the wise Emperor, and had been
sustained by the sagacity of past generations. Nothing could have been
more subtle, as the event proved, than this advice. Innumerable were the
appeals made in subsequent years, upon this subject, to the patriotism
and the conservative sentiments of the Netherlanders. Repeatedly they
were summoned to maintain the inquisition, on the ground that it had been
submitted to by their ancestors, and that no change had been made by
Philip, who desired only to maintain church and crown in the authority
which they had enjoyed in the days of his father of very laudable memory.

Nevertheless, the King's military plans seemed to interfere for the
moment with this cherished object. He seemed to swerve, at starting, from
pursuing the goal which he was only to abandon with life. The edict of
1550 was re-enacted and confirmed, and all office-holders were commanded
faithfully to enforce it upon pain of immediate dismissal. Nevertheless,
it was not vigorously carried into effect any where. It was openly
resisted in Holland, its proclamation was flatly refused in Antwerp, and
repudiated throughout Brabant. It was strange that such disobedience
should be tolerated, but the King wanted money. He was willing to refrain
for a season from exasperating the provinces by fresh religious
persecution at the moment when he was endeavoring to extort every penny
which it was possible to wring from their purses.

The joy, therefore, with which the pacification had been hailed by the
people was far from an agreeable spectacle to the King. The provinces
would expect that the forces which had been maintained at their expense
during the war would be disbanded, whereas he had no intention of
disbanding them. As the truce was sure to be temporary, he had no
disposition to diminish his available resources for a war which might be
renewed at any moment. To maintain the existing military establishment in
the Netherlands, a large sum of money was required, for the pay was very
much in arrear. The king had made a statement to the provincial estates
upon this subject, but the matter was kept secret during the negotiations
with France. The way had thus been paved for the "Request" or "Bede,"
which he now made to the estates assembled at Brussels, in the spring of
1556. It was to consist of a tax of one per cent. (the hundredth penny)
upon all real estate, and of two per cent. upon all merchandise; to be
collected in three payments. The request, in so far as the imposition of
the proposed tax was concerned, was refused by Flanders, Brabant,
Holland, and all the other important provinces, but as usual, a moderate,
even a generous, commutation in money was offered by the estates. This
was finally accepted by Philip, after he had become convinced that at
this moment, when he was contemplating a war with France, it would be
extremely impolitic to insist upon the tax. The publication of the truce
in Italy had been long delayed, and the first infractions which it
suffered were committed in that country. The arts of politicians; the
schemes of individual ambition, united with the short-lived military
ardor of Philip to place the monarch in an eminently false position, that
of hostility to the Pope. As was unavoidable, the secret treaty of
December acted as an immediate dissolvent to the truce of February.

Great was the indignation of Paul Caraffa, when that truce was first
communicated to him by the Cardinal de Tournon, on the part of the French
Government. Notwithstanding the protestations of France that the secret
league was still binding, the pontiff complained that he was likely to be
abandoned to his own resources, and to be left single-handed to contend
with the vast power of Spain.

Pope Paul IV., of the house of Caraffa, was, in position, the well-known
counterpart of the Emperor Charles. At the very moment when the conqueror
and autocrat was exchanging crown for cowl, and the proudest throne of
the universe for a cell, this aged monk, as weary of scientific and
religious seclusion as Charles of pomp and power, had abdicated his
scholastic pre-eminence, and exchanged his rosary for the keys and sword.
A pontifical Faustus, he had become disgusted with the results of a life
of study and abnegation, and immediately upon his election appeared to be
glowing with mundane passions, and inspired by the fiercest ambition of a
warrior. He had rushed from the cloister as eagerly as Charles had sought
it. He panted for the tempests of the great external world as earnestly
as the conqueror who had so long ridden upon the whirlwind of human
affairs sighed for a haven of repose. None of his predecessors had been
more despotic, more belligerent, more disposed to elevate and strengthen
the temporal power of Rome. In the inquisition he saw the grand machine
by which this purpose could be accomplished, and yet found himself for a
period the antagonist of Philip. The single circumstance would have been
sufficient, had other proofs been wanting, to make manifest that the part
which he had chosen to play was above his genius. Had his capacity been
at all commensurate with his ambition, he might have deeply influenced
the fate of the world; but fortunately no wizard's charm came to the aid
of Paul Caraffa, and the triple-crowned monk sat upon the pontifical
throne, a fierce, peevish, querulous, and quarrelsome dotard; the prey
and the tool of his vigorous enemies and his intriguing relations. His
hatred of Spain and Spaniards was unbounded. He raved at them as
"heretics, schismatics, accursed of God, the spawn of Jews and Moors, the
very dregs of the earth." To play upon such insane passions was not
difficult, and a skilful artist stood ever ready to strike the chords
thus vibrating with age and fury. The master spirit and principal
mischief-maker of the papal court was the well-known Cardinal Caraffa,
once a wild and dissolute soldier, nephew to the Pope. He inflamed the
anger of the pontiff by his representations, that the rival house of
Colonna, sustained by the Duke of Alva, now viceroy of Naples, and by the
whole Spanish power, thus relieved from the fear of French hostilities,
would be free to wreak its vengeance upon their family. It was determined
that the court of France should be held by the secret league. Moreover,
the Pope had been expressly included in the treaty of Vaucelles, although
the troops of Spain had already assumed a hostile attitude in the south
of Italy. The Cardinal was for immediately proceeding to Paris, there to
excite the sympathy of the French monarch for the situation of himself
and his uncle. An immediate rupture between France and Spain, a
re-kindling of the war flames from one end of Europe to the other, were
necessary to save the credit and the interests of the Caraffas. Cardinal
de Tournon, not desirous of so sudden a termination to the pacific
relations between his, country and Spain, succeeded in detaining him a
little longer in Rome.--He remained, but not in idleness. The restless
intriguer had already formed close relations with the most important
personage in France, Diana of Poitiers.--This venerable courtesan, to the
enjoyment of whose charms Henry had succeeded, with the other regal
possessions, on the death of his father, was won by the flatteries of the
wily Caraffa, and by the assiduities of the Guise family. The best and
most sagacious statesmen, the Constable, and the Admiral, were in favor
of peace, for they knew the condition of the kingdom. The Duke of Guise
and the Cardinal Lorraine were for a rupture, for they hoped to increase
their family influence by war. Coligny had signed the treaty of
Vaucelles, and wished to maintain it, but the influence of the Catholic
party was in the ascendant. The result was to embroil the Catholic King
against the Pope and against themselves. The queen was as favorably
inclined as the mistress to listen to Caraffa, for Catherine de Medici
was desirous that her cousin, Marshal Strozzi, should have honorable and
profitable employment in some fresh Italian campaigns.

In the mean time an accident favored the designs of the papal court. An
open quarrel with Spain resulted from an insignificant circumstance. The
Spanish ambassador at Rome was in the habit of leaving the city very
often, at an early hour in the morning, upon shooting excursions, and had
long enjoyed the privilege of ordering the gates to be opened for him at
his pleasure. By accident or design, he was refused permission upon one
occasion to pass through the gate as usual. Unwilling to lose his day's
sport, and enraged at what he considered an indignity, his excellency, by
the aid of his attendants, attacked and beat the guard, mastered them,
made his way out of the city, and pursued his morning's amusement. The
Pope was furious, Caraffa artfully inflamed his anger. The envoy was
refused an audience, which he desired, for the sake of offering
explanations, and the train being thus laid, it was thought that the
right moment had arrived for applying the firebrand. The Cardinal went to
Paris post haste. In his audience of the King, he represented that his
Holiness had placed implicit reliance upon his secret treaty with his
majesty, that the recently concluded truce with Spain left the pontiff at
the mercy of the Spaniard, that the Duke of Alva had already drawn the
sword, that the Pope had long since done himself the pleasure and the
honor of appointing the French monarch protector of the papal chair in
general, and of the Caraffa family in particular, and that the moment had
arrived for claiming the benefit of that protection. He assured him,
moreover, as by full papal authority, that in respecting the recent truce
with Spain, his majesty would violate both human and divine law. Reason
and justice required him to defend the pontiff, now that the Spaniards
were about to profit by the interval of truce to take measures for his
detriment. Moreover, as the Pope was included in the truce of Vaucelles,
he could not be abandoned without a violation of that treaty itself.--The
arts and arguments of the Cardinal proved successful; the war was
resolved upon in favor of the Pope. The Cardinal, by virtue of powers
received and brought with him from his holiness, absolved the King from
all obligation to keep his faith with Spain. He also gave him a
dispensation from the duty of prefacing hostilities by a declaration of
war. Strozzi was sent at once into Italy, with some hastily collected
troops, while the Duke of Guise waited to organize a regular army.

The mischief being thus fairly afoot, and war let loose again upon
Europe, the Cardinal made a public entry into Paris, as legate of the
Pope. The populace crowded about his mule, as he rode at the head of a
stately procession through the streets. All were anxious to receive a
benediction from the holy man who had come so far to represent the
successor of St. Peter, and to enlist the efforts of all true believers
in his cause. He appeared to answer the entreaties of the superstitious
rabble with fervent blessings, while the friends who were nearest him
were aware that nothing but gibes and sarcasms were falling from his
lips. "Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content, since
they will be fools," he muttered; smiling the while upon them
benignantly, as became his holy office. Such were the materials of this
new combination; such was the fuel with which this new blaze was lighted
and maintained. Thus were the great powers of the earth--Spain, France,
England, and the Papacy embroiled, and the nations embattled against each
other for several years. The preceding pages show how much national
interests, or principles; were concerned in the struggle thus commenced,
in which thousands were to shed their life-blood, and millions to be
reduced from peace and comfort to suffer all the misery which famine and
rapine can inflict. It would no doubt have increased the hilarity of
Caraffa, as he made his triumphant entry into Paris, could the idea have
been suggested to his mind that the sentiments, or the welfare of the
people throughout the great states now involved in his meshes, could have
any possible bearing upon the question of peace or wax. The world was
governed by other influences. The wiles of a cardinal--the arts of a
concubine--the snipe-shooting of an ambassador--the speculations of a
soldier of fortune--the ill temper of a monk--the mutual venom of Italian
houses--above all, the perpetual rivalry of the two great historical
families who owned the greater part of Europe between them as their
private property--such were the wheels on which rolled the destiny of
Christendom. Compared to these, what were great moral and political
ideas, the plans of statesmen, the hopes of nations? Time was soon to
show. Meanwhile, government continued to be administered exclusively for
the benefit of the governors. Meanwhile, a petty war for paltry motives
was to precede the great spectacle which was to prove to Europe that
principles and peoples still existed, and that a phlegmatic nation of
merchants and manufacturers could defy the powers of the universe, and
risk all their blood and treasure, generation after generation, in a
sacred cause.

It does not belong to our purpose to narrate the details of the campaign
in Italy; neither is this war of politics and chicane of any great
interest at the present day. To the military minds of their age, the
scientific duel which now took place upon a large scale, between two such
celebrated captains as the Dukes of Guise and Alva, was no doubt esteemed
the most important of spectacles; but the progress of mankind in the art
of slaughter has stripped so antiquated an exhibition of most of its
interest, even in a technical point of view. Not much satisfaction could
be derived from watching an old-fashioned game of war, in which the
parties sat down before each other so tranquilly, and picked up piece
after piece, castle after castle, city after city, with such scientific
deliberation as to make it evident that, in the opinion of the
commanders, war was the only serious business to be done in the world;
that it was not to be done in a hurry, nor contrary to rule, and that
when a general had a good job upon his hands he ought to know his
profession much too thoroughly, to hasten through it before he saw his
way clear to another. From the point of time, at the close of the year
1556, when that well-trained but not very successful soldier, Strozzi,
crossed the Alps, down to the autumn of the following year, when the Duke
of Alva made his peace with the Pope, there was hardly a pitched battle,
and scarcely an event of striking interest. Alva, as usual, brought his
dilatory policy to bear upon his adversary with great effect. He had no
intention, he observed to a friend, to stake the whole kingdom of Naples
against a brocaded coat of the Duke of Guise. Moreover, he had been sent
to the war, as Ruy Gomez informed the Venetian ambassador, "with a bridle
in his mouth." Philip, sorely troubled in his mind at finding himself in
so strange a position as this hostile attitude to the Church, had
earnestly interrogated all the doctors and theologians with whom he
habitually took counsel, whether this war with the Pope would not work a
forfeiture of his title of the Most Catholic King. The Bishop of Arras
and the favorite both disapproved of the war, and encouraged, with all
their influence, the pacific inclinations of the monarch. The doctors
were, to be sure, of opinion that Philip, having acted in Italy only in
self-defence, and for the protection of his states, ought not to be
anxious as to his continued right to the title on which he valued himself
so highly. Nevertheless, such ponderings and misgivings could not but
have the effect of hampering the actions of Alva. That general chafed
inwardly at what he considered his own contemptible position. At the same
time, he enraged the Duke of Guise still more deeply by the forced
calmness of his proceedings. Fortresses were reduced, towns taken, one
after another, with the most provoking deliberation, while his distracted
adversary in vain strove to defy, or to delude him, into trying the
chances of a stricken field. The battle of Saint Quentin, the narrative
of which belongs to our subject, and will soon occupy our attention, at
last decided the Italian operations. Egmont's brilliant triumph in
Picardy rendered a victory in Italy superfluous, and placed in Alva's
hand the power of commanding the issue of his own campaign. The Duke of
Guise was recalled to defend the French frontier, which the bravery of
the Flemish hero had imperilled, and the Pope was left to make the best
peace which he could. All was now prosperous and smiling, and the
campaign closed with a highly original and entertaining exhibition. The
pontiff's puerile ambition, sustained by the intrigues of his nephew, had
involved the French monarch in a war which was contrary to his interests
and inclination. Paul now found his ally too sorely beset to afford him
that protection upon which he had relied, when he commenced, in his
dotage, his career as a warrior. He was, therefore, only desirous of
deserting his friend, and of relieving himself from his uncomfortable
predicament, by making a treaty with his catholic majesty upon the best
terms which he could obtain. The King of France, who had gone to war only
for the sake of his holiness, was to be left to fight his own battles,
while the Pope was to make his peace with all the world. The result was a
desirable one for Philip. Alva was accordingly instructed to afford the
holy father a decorous and appropriate opportunity for carrying out his
wishes. The victorious general was apprized that his master desired no
fruit from his commanding attitude in Italy and the victory of Saint
Quentin, save a full pardon from the Pope for maintaining even a
defensive war against him. An amicable siege of Rome was accordingly
commenced, in the course of which an assault or "camiciata" on the holy
city, was arranged for the night of the 26th August, 1557. The pontiff
agreed to be taken by surprise--while Alva, through what was to appear
only a superabundance of his habitual discretion, was to draw off his
troops at the very moment when the victorious assault was to be made. The
imminent danger to the holy city and to his own sacred person thus
furnishing the pontiff with an excuse for abandoning his own cause, as
well as that of his ally the Duke of Alva was allowed, in the name of his
master and himself; to make submission to the Church and his peace with
Rome. The Spanish general, with secret indignation and disgust, was
compelled to humor the vanity of a peevish but imperious old man.
Negotiations were commenced, and so skilfully had the Duke played his
game during the spring and summer, that when he was admitted to kiss the
Pope's toe, he was able to bring a hundred Italian towns in his hand, as
a peace-offering to his holiness. These he now restored, with apparent
humility and inward curses, upon the condition that the fortifications
should be razed, and the French alliance absolutely renounced. Thus did
the fanaticism of Philip reverse the relative position of himself and his
antagonist. Thus was the vanquished pontiff allowed almost to dictate
terms to the victorious general. The king who could thus humble himself
to a dotard, while he made himself the scourge of his subjects, deserved
that the bull of excommunication which had been prepared should have been
fulminated. He, at least, was capable of feeling the scathing effects of
such anathemas.

The Duke of Guise, having been dismissed with the pontiff's assurance
that he had done little for the interests of his sovereign, less for the
protection of the Church, and least of all for his own reputation, set
forth with all speed for Civita Vecchia, to do what he could upon the
Flemish frontier to atone for his inglorious campaign in Italy. The
treaty between the Pope and the Duke of Alva was signed on the 14th
September (1557), and the Spanish general retired for the winter to
Milan. Cardinal Caraffa was removed from the French court to that of
Madrid, there to spin new schemes for the embroilment of nations and the
advancement of his own family. Very little glory was gained by any of the
combatants in this campaign. Spain, France, nor Paul IV., not one of them
came out of the Italian contest in better condition than that in which
they entered upon it. In fact all were losers. France had made an
inglorious retreat, the Pope a ludicrous capitulation, and the only
victorious party, the King of Spain, had, during the summer, conceded to
Cosmo de Medici the sovereignty of Sienna. Had Venice shown more
cordiality towards Philip, and more disposition to sustain his policy, it
is probable that the Republic would have secured the prize which thus
fell to the share of Cosmo. That astute and unprincipled potentate, who
could throw his net so well in troubled water, had successfully duped all
parties, Spain, France, and Rome. The man who had not only not
participated in the contest, but who had kept all parties and all warfare
away from his borders, was the only individual in Italy who gained
territorial advantage from the war.

To avoid interrupting the continuity of the narrative, the Spanish
campaign has been briefly sketched until the autumn of 1557, at which
period the treaty between the Pope and Philip was concluded. It is now
necessary to go back to the close of the preceding year.

Simultaneously with the descent of the French troops upon Italy,
hostilities had broken out upon the Flemish border. The pains of the
Emperor in covering the smouldering embers of national animosities so
precipitately, and with a view rather to scenic effect than to a
deliberate and well-considered result, were thus set at nought, and
within a year from the day of his abdication, hostilities were reopened
from the Tiber to the German Ocean. The blame of first violating the
truce of Vaucelles was laid by each party upon the other with equal
justice, for there can be but little doubt that the reproach justly
belonged to both. Both had been equally faithless in their professions of
amity. Both were equally responsible for the scenes of war, plunder, and
misery, which again were desolating the fairest regions of Christendom.

At the time when the French court had resolved to concede to the wishes
of the Caraffa family, Admiral Coligny, who had been appointed governor
of Picardy, had received orders to make a foray upon the frontier of
Flanders. Before the formal annunciation of hostilities, it was thought
desirable to reap all the advantage possible from the perfidy which had
been resolved upon.

It happened that a certain banker of Lucca, an ancient gambler and
debauchee, whom evil courses had reduced from affluence to penury, had
taken up his abode upon a hill overlooking the city of Douay. Here he had
built himself a hermit's cell. Clad in sackcloth, with a rosary at his
waist, he was accustomed to beg his bread from door to door. His garb was
all, however, which he possessed of sanctity, and he had passed his time
in contemplating the weak points in the defences of the city with much
more minuteness than those in his own heart. Upon the breaking out of
hostilities in Italy, the instincts of his old profession had suggested
to him that a good speculation might be made in Flanders, by turning to
account as a spy the observations which he had made in his character of a
hermit. He sought an interview with Coligny, and laid his propositions
before him. The noble Admiral hesitated, for his sentiments were more
elevated than those of many of his contemporaries. He had, moreover,
himself negotiated and signed the truce with Spain, and he shrank from
violating it with his own hand, before a declaration of war. Still he was
aware that a French army was on its way to attack the Spaniards in Italy;
he was under instructions to take the earliest advantage which his
position upon the frontier might offer him; he knew that both theory and
practice authorized a general, in that age, to break his fast, even in
time of truce, if a tempting morsel should present itself; and, above
all, he thoroughly understood the character of his nearest antagonist,
the new governor of the Netherlands, Philibert of Savoy, whom he knew to
be the most unscrupulous chieftain in Europe. These considerations
decided him to take advantage of the hermit-banker's communication.

A day was accordingly fixed, at which, under the guidance of this
newly-acquired ally, a surprise should be attempted by the French forces,
and the unsuspecting city of Douay given over to the pillage of a brutal
soldiery. The time appointed was the night of Epiphany, upon occasion of
which festival, it was thought that the inhabitants, overcome with sleep
and wassail, might be easily overpowered. (6th January, 1557.) The plot
was a good plot, but the Admiral of France was destined to be foiled by
an old woman. This person, apparently the only creature awake in the
town, perceived the danger, ran shrieking through the streets, alarmed
the citizens while it was yet time, and thus prevented the attack.
Coligny, disappointed in his plan, recompensed his soldiers by a sudden
onslaught upon Lens in Arthois, which he sacked and then levelled with
the ground. Such was the wretched condition of frontier cities, standing,
even in time of peace, with the ground undermined beneath them, and
existing every moment, as it were, upon the brink of explosion.

Hostilities having been thus fairly commenced, the French government was
in some embarrassment. The Duke of Guise, with the most available forces
of the kingdom, having crossed the Alps, it became necessary forthwith to
collect another army. The place of rendezvous appointed was Pierrepoint,
where an army of eighteen thousand infantry and five thousand horse were
assembled early in the spring. In the mean time, Philip finding the war
fairly afoot, had crossed to England for the purpose (exactly in
contravention of all his marriage stipulations) of cajoling his wife and
browbeating her ministers into a participation in his war with France.
This was easily accomplished. The English nation found themselves
accordingly engaged in a contest with which they had no concern, which,
as the event proved, was very much against their interests, and in which
the moving cause for their entanglement was the devotion of a weak, bad,
ferocious woman, for a husband who hated her. A herald sent from England
arrived in France, disguised, and was presented to King Henry at Rheims.
Here, dropping on one knee, he recited a list of complaints against his
majesty, on behalf of the English Queen, all of them fabricated or
exaggerated for the occasion, and none of them furnishing even a decorous
pretext for the war which was now formally declared in consequence. The
French monarch expressed his regret and surprise that the firm and
amicable relations secured by treaty between the two countries should
thus, without sufficient cause, be violated. In accepting the wager of
warfare thus forced upon him, he bade the herald, Norris, inform his
mistress that her messenger was treated with courtesy only because he
represented a lady, and that, had he come from a king, the language with
which he would have been greeted would have befitted the perfidy
manifested on the occasion. God would punish this shameless violation of
faith, and this wanton interruption to the friendship of two great
nations. With this the herald was dismissed from the royal presence, but
treated with great distinction, conducted to the hotel of the English
ambassador, and presented, on the part of the French sovereign with a
chain of gold.

Philip had despatched Ruy Gomez to Spain for the purpose of providing
ways and means, while he was himself occupied with the same task in
England. He stayed there three months. During this time, he "did more,"
says a Spanish contemporary, "than any one could have believed possible
with that proud and indomitable nation. He caused them to declare war
against France with fire and sword, by sea and land." Hostilities having
been thus chivalrously and formally established, the Queen sent an army
of eight thousand men, cavalry, infantry, and pioneers, who, "all clad in
blue uniform," commanded by Lords Pembroke and Clinton, with the three
sons of the Earl of Northumberland, and officered by many other scions of
England's aristocracy, disembarked at Calais, and shortly afterwards
joined the camp before Saint Quentin.

Philip meantime had left England, and with more bustle and activity than
was usual with him, had given directions for organizing at once a
considerable army. It was composed mainly of troops belonging to the
Netherlands, with the addition of some German auxiliaries. Thirty-five
thousand foot and twelve thousand horse had, by the middle of July,
advanced through the province of Namur, and were assembled at Givet under
the Duke of Savoy, who, as Governor-General of the Netherlands, held the
chief command. All the most eminent grandees of the provinces, Orange,
Aerschot, Berlaymont, Meghen, Brederode, were present with the troops,
but the life and soul of the army, upon this memorable occasion, was the
Count of Egmont.

Lamoral, Count of Egmont, Prince of Gavere, was now in the thirty-sixth
year of his age, in the very noon of that brilliant life which was
destined to be so soon and so fatally overshadowed. Not one of the dark
clouds, which were in the future to accumulate around him, had yet rolled
above his horizon. Young, noble, wealthy, handsome, valiant, he saw no
threatening phantom in the future, and caught eagerly at the golden
opportunity, which the present placed within his grasp, of winning fresh
laurels on a wider and more fruitful field than any in which he had
hitherto been a reaper. The campaign about to take place was likely to be
an imposing, if not an important one, and could not fail to be attractive
to a noble of so ardent and showy a character as Egmont. If there were no
lofty principles or extensive interests to be contended for, as there
certainly were not, there was yet much that was stately and exciting to
the imagination in the warfare which had been so deliberately and
pompously arranged. The contending armies, although of moderate size,
were composed of picked troops, and were commanded by the flower of
Europe's chivalry. Kings, princes, and the most illustrious paladins of
Christendom, were arming for the great tournament, to which they had been
summoned by herald and trumpet; and the Batavian hero, without a crown or
even a country, but with as lofty a lineage as many anointed sovereigns
could boast, was ambitious to distinguish himself in the proud array.

Upon the north-western edge of the narrow peninsula of North Holland,
washed by the stormy waters of the German Ocean, were the ancient castle,
town, and lordship, whence Egmont derived his family name, and the title
by which he was most familiarly known. He was supposed to trace his
descent, through a line of chivalrous champions and crusaders, up to the
pagan kings of the most ancient of existing Teutonic races. The eighth
century names of the Frisian Radbold and Adgild among his ancestors were
thought to denote the antiquity of a house whose lustre had been
increased in later times by the splendor of its alliances. His father,
united to Francoise de Luxemburg, Princess of Gavere, had acquired by
this marriage, and transmitted to his posterity, many of the proudest
titles and richest estates of Flanders. Of the three children who
survived him, the only daughter was afterwards united to the Count of
Vaudemont, and became mother of Louise de Vaudemont, queen of the French
monarch, Henry the Third.

Of his two sons, Charles, the elder, had died young and unmarried,
leaving all the estates and titles of the family to his brother. Lamoral,
born in 1522, was in early youth a page of the Emperor. When old enough
to bear arms he demanded and obtained permission to follow the career of
his adventurous sovereign. He served his apprenticeship as a soldier in
the stormy expedition to Barbary, where, in his nineteenth year, he
commanded a troop of light horse, and distinguished himself under the
Emperor's eye for his courage and devotion, doing the duty not only of a
gallant commander but of a hardy soldier. Returning, unscathed by the
war, flood, or tempest of that memorable enterprise, he reached his
country by the way of Corsica, Genoa, and Lorraine, and was three years
afterwards united (in the year 1545) to Sabina of Bavaria, sister of
Frederick, Elector Palatine. The nuptials had taken place at Spiers, and
few royal weddings could have been more brilliant. The Emperor, his
brother Ferdinand King of the Romans, with the Archduke Maximilian, all
the imperial electors, and a concourse of the principal nobles of the
empire, were present on the occasion been at the Emperor's side during
the unlucky siege of Metz; in 1554 he had been sent at the head of a
splendid embassy to England, to solicit for Philip the hand of Mary
Tudor, and had witnessed the marriage in Winchester Cathedral, the same
year. Although one branch of his house had, in past times, arrived at the
sovereignty of Gueldres, and another had acquired the great estates and
titles of Buren, which had recently passed, by intermarriage with the
heiress, into the possession of the Prince of Orange, yet the Prince of
Gavere, Count of Egmont, was the chief of a race which yielded to none of
the great Batavian or Flemish families in antiquity, wealth, or power.
Personally, he was distinguished for his bravery, and although he was not
yet the idol of the camp, which he was destined to become, nor had yet
commanded in chief on any important occasion, he was accounted one of the
five principal generals in the Spanish service. Eager for general
admiration, he was at the same time haughty and presumptuous, attempting
to combine the characters of an arrogant magnate and a popular chieftain.
Terrible and sudden in his wrath, he was yet of inordinate vanity, and
was easily led by those who understood his weakness. With a limited
education, and a slender capacity for all affairs except those relating
to the camp, he was destined to be as vacillating and incompetent as a
statesman, as he was prompt and fortunately audacious in the field. A
splendid soldier, his evil stars had destined him to tread, as a
politician, a dark and dangerous path, in which not even genius, caution,
and integrity could ensure success, but in which rashness alternating
with hesitation, and credulity with violence, could not fail to bring
ruin. Such was Count Egmont, as he took his place at the-head of the
king's cavalry in the summer of 1557.

The early operations of the Duke of Savoy were at first intended to
deceive the enemy. The army, after advancing as far into Picardy as the
town of Vervins, which they burned and pillaged, made a demonstration
with their whole force upon the city of Guise. This, however, was but a
feint, by which attention was directed and forces drawn off from Saint
Quentin, which was to be the real point of attack In the mean time, the
Constable of France, Montmorency, arrived upon the 28th July (1557), to
take command of the French troops. He was accompanied by the Marechal de
Saint Andre and by Admiral Coligny. The most illustrious names of France,
whether for station or valor, were in the officers' list of this select
army. Nevers and Montpensier, Enghien and Conde, Vendome and
Rochefoucauld, were already there, and now the Constable and the Admiral
came to add the strength of their experience and lofty reputation to
sustain the courage of the troops. The French were at Pierrepoint, a post
between Champagne and Picardy, and in its neighborhood. The Spanish army
was at Vervins, and threatening Guise. It had been the opinion in France
that the enemy's intention was to invade Champagne, and the Duc de
Nevers, governor of that province, had made a disposition of his forces
suitable for such a contingency. It was the conviction of Montmorency,
however, that Picardy was to be the quarter really attacked, and that
Saint Quentin, which was the most important point at which the enemy's
progress, by that route, towards Paris could be arrested, was in imminent
danger. The Constable's opinion was soon confirmed by advices received by
Coligny. The enemy's army, he was informed, after remaining three days
before Guise, had withdrawn from that point, and had invested Saint
Quentin with their whole force.

This wealthy and prosperous city stood upon an elevation rising from the
river Somme. It was surrounded by very extensive suburbs, ornamented with
orchards and gardens, and including within their limits large tracts of a
highly cultivated soil. Three sides of the place were covered by a lake,
thirty yards in width, very deep at some points, in others, rather
resembling a morass, and extending on the Flemish side a half mile beyond
the city. The inhabitants were thriving and industrious; many of the
manufacturers and merchants were very rich, for it was a place of much
traffic and commercial importance.

Teligny, son-in-law of the Admiral, was in the city with a detachment of
the Dauphin's regiment; Captain Brueuil was commandant of the town. Both
informed Coligny of the imminent peril in which they stood. They
represented the urgent necessity of immediate reinforcements both of men
and supplies. The city, as the Admiral well knew, was in no condition to
stand a siege by such an army, and dire were the consequences which would
follow the downfall of so important a place. It was still practicable,
they wrote, to introduce succor, but every day diminished the possibility
of affording effectual relief. Coligny was not the man to let the grass
grow under his feet, after such an appeal in behalf of the principal
place in his government. The safety of France was dependent upon that of
St. Quentin. The bulwark overthrown, Paris was within the next stride of
an adventurous enemy. The Admiral instantly set out, upon the 2d of
August, with strong reinforcements. It was too late. The English
auxiliaries, under Lords Pembroke, Clinton, and Grey, had, in the mean
time, effected their junction with the Duke of Savoy, and appeared in the
camp before St. Quentin. The route, by which it had been hoped that the
much needed succor could be introduced, was thus occupied and rendered
impracticable. The Admiral, however, in consequence of the urgent nature
of the letters received from Brueuil and Teligny, had outstripped, in his
anxiety, the movements of his troops. He reached the city, almost alone
and unattended. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of his officers, he had
listened to no voice save the desperate entreaties of the besieged
garrison, and had flown before his army. He now shut himself up in the
city, determined to effect its deliverance by means of his skill and
experience, or, at least, to share its fate. As the gates closed upon
Coligny, the road was blocked up for his advancing troops.

A few days were passed in making ineffectual sorties, ordered by Coligny
for the sake of reconnoitring the country, and of discovering the most
practicable means of introducing supplies. The Constable, meantime, who
had advanced with his army to La Fore, was not idle. He kept up daily
communications with the beleagured Admiral, and was determined, if
possible, to relieve the city. There was, however, a constant succession
of disappointments. Moreover, the brave but indiscreet Teligny, who
commanded during a temporary illness of the Admiral, saw fit, against
express orders, to make an imprudent sortie. He paid the penalty of his
rashness with his life. He was rescued by the Admiral in person, who, at
imminent hazard, brought back the unfortunate officer covered with
wounds, into the city, there to die at his father's feet, imploring
forgiveness for his disobedience. Meantime the garrison was daily growing
weaker. Coligny sent out of the city all useless consumers, quartered all
the women in the cathedral and other churches, where they were locked in,
lest their terror and their tears should weaken the courage of the
garrison; and did all in his power to strengthen the defences of the
city, and sustain the resolution of the inhabitants. Affairs were growing
desperate. It seemed plain that the important city must soon fall, and
with it most probably Paris. One of the suburbs was already in the hands
of the enemy. At last Coligny discovered a route by which he believed it
to be still possible to introduce reinforcements. He communicated the
results of his observations to the Constable. Upon one side of the city
the lake, or morass, was traversed by a few difficult and narrow
pathways, mostly under water, and by a running stream which could only be
passed in boats. The Constable, in consequence of this information
received from Coligny, set out from La Fere upon the 8th of August, with
four thousand infantry and two thousand horse. Halting his troops at the
village of Essigny, he advanced in person to the edge of the morass, in
order to reconnoitre the ground and prepare his plans. The result was a
determination to attempt the introduction of men and supplies into the
town by the mode suggested. Leaving his troops drawn up in battle array,
he returned to La Fere for the remainder of his army, and to complete his
preparations. Coligny in the mean time was to provide boats for crossing
the stream. Upon the 10th August, which was the festival of St. Laurence,
the Constable advanced with four pieces of heavy artillery, four
culverines, and four lighter pieces, and arrived at nine o'clock in the
morning near the Faubourg d'Isle, which was already in possession of the
Spanish troops. The whole army of the Constable consisted of twelve
thousand German, with fifteen companies of French infantry; making in all
some sixteen thousand foot, with five thousand cavalry in addition. The
Duke of Savoy's army lay upon the same side of the town, widely extended,
and stretching beyond the river and the morass. Montmorency's project was
to be executed in full view of the enemy. Fourteen companies of Spaniards
were stationed in the faubourg. Two companies had been pushed forward as
far as a water-mill, which lay in the pathway of the advancing Constable.
These soldiers stood their ground for a moment, but soon retreated, while
a cannonade was suddenly opened by the French upon the quarters of the
Duke of Savoy. The Duke's tent was torn to pieces, and he had barely time
to hurry on his cuirass, and to take refuge with Count Egmont. The
Constable, hastening to turn this temporary advantage to account at once,
commenced the transportation of his troops across the morass. The
enterprise was, however, not destined to be fortunate. The number of
boats which had been provided was very inadequate; moreover they were
very small, and each as it left the shore was consequently so crowded
with soldiers that it was in danger of being swamped. Several were
overturned, and the men perished. It was found also that the opposite
bank was steep and dangerous. Many who had crossed the river were unable
to effect a landing, while those who escaped drowning in the water lost
their way in the devious and impracticable paths, or perished miserably
in the treacherous quagmires. Very few effected their entrance into the
town, but among them was Andelot, brother of Coligny, with five hundred
followers. Meantime, a council of officers was held in Egmont's tent.
Opinions were undecided as to the course to be pursued under the
circumstances. Should an engagement be risked, or should the Constable,
who had but indifferently accomplished his project and had introduced but
an insignificant number of troops into the city, be allowed to withdraw
with the rest of his army? The fiery vehemence of Egmont carried all
before it. Here was an opportunity to measure arms at advantage with the
great captain of the age. To relinquish the prize, which the fortune of
war had now placed within reach of their valor, was a thought not to be
entertained. Here was the great Constable Montmorency, attended by
princes of the royal blood, the proudest of the nobility, the very crown
and flower of the chivalry of France, and followed by an army of her
bravest troops. On a desperate venture he had placed himself within their
grasp. Should he go thence alive and unmolested? The moral effect of
destroying such an army would be greater than if it were twice its actual
strength. It would be dealing a blow at the very heart of France, from
which she could not recover. Was the opportunity to be resigned without a
struggle of laying at the feet of Philip, in this his first campaign
since his accession to his father's realms, a prize worthy of the
proudest hour of the Emperor's reign? The eloquence of the impetuous
Batavian was irresistible, and it was determined to cut off the
Constable's retreat.

Three miles from the Faubourg d'Isle, to which that general had now
advanced, was a narrow pass or defile, between steep and closely hanging
hills. While advancing through this ravine in the morning, the Constable
had observed that the enemy might have it in their power to intercept his
return at that point. He had therefore left the Rhinegrave, with his
company of mounted carabineers, to guard the passage. Being ready to
commence his retreat, he now sent forward the Due de Nevers, with four
companies of cavalry to strengthen that important position, which he
feared might be inadequately guarded. The act of caution came too late.
This was the fatal point which the quick glance of Egmont had at once
detected. As Nevers reached the spot, two thousand of the enemy's cavalry
rode through and occupied the narrow passage. Inflamed by mortification
and despair, Nevers would have at once charged those troops, although
outnumbering his own by nearly, four to one. His officers restrained him
with difficulty, recalling to his memory the peremptory orders which he
had received from the Constable to guard the passage, but on no account
to hazard an engagement, until sustained by the body of the army. It was
a case in which rashness would have been the best discretion. The
headlong charge which the Duke had been about to make, might possibly
have cleared the path and have extricated the army, provided the
Constable had followed up the movement by a rapid advance upon his part.
As it was, the passage was soon blocked up by freshly advancing bodies of
Spanish and Flemish cavalry, while Nevers slowly and reluctantly fell
back upon the Prince of Conde, who was stationed with the light horse at
the mill where the first skirmish had taken place. They were soon joined
by the Constable, with the main body of the army. The whole French force
now commenced its retrograde movement. It was, however, but too evident
that they were enveloped. As they approached the fatal pass through which
lay their only road to La Fire, and which was now in complete possession
of the enemy, the signal of assault was given by Count Egmont. That
general himself, at the head of two thousand light horse, led the charge
upon the left flank. The other side was assaulted by the Dukes Eric and
Henry of Brunswick, each with a thousand heavy dragoons, sustained by
Count Horn, at the head of a regiment of mounted gendarmerie. Mansfeld,
Lalain, Hoogstraaten; and Vilain, at the same time made a furious attack
upon the front. The French cavalry wavered with the shock so vigorously
given. The camp followers, sutlers, and pedlers, panic-struck, at once
fled helter-skelter, and in their precipitate retreat, carried confusion
and dismay throughout all the ranks of the army. The rout was sudden and
total. The onset and the victory were simultaneous, Nevers riding through
a hollow with some companies of cavalry, in the hope of making a detour
and presenting a new front to the enemy, was overwhelmed at once by the
retreating French and their furious pursuers. The day was lost, retreat
hardly possible, yet, by a daring and desperate effort, the Duke,
accompanied by a handful of followers, cut his way through the enemy and
effected his escape. The cavalry had been broken at the first onset and
nearly destroyed. A portion of the infantry still held firm, and
attempted to continue their retreat. Some pieces of artillery, however,
now opened upon them, and before they reached Essigny, the whole army was
completely annihilated. The defeat was absolute. Half the French troops
actually engaged in the enterprise, lost their lives upon the field. The
remainder of the army was captured or utterly disorganized. When Nevers
reviewed, at Laon, the wreck of the Constable's whole force, he found
some thirteen hundred French and three hundred German cavalry, with four
companies of French infantry remaining out of fifteen, and four thousand
German foot remaining of twelve thousand. Of twenty-one or two thousand
remarkably fine and well-appointed troops, all but six thousand had been
killed or made prisoners within an hour. The Constable himself, with a
wound in the groin, was a captive. The Duke of Enghien, after behaving
with brilliant valor, and many times rallying the troops, was shot
through the body, and brought into the enemy's camp only to expire. The
Due de Montpensier, the Marshal de Saint Andre, the Due de Loggieville,
Prince Ludovic of Mantua, the Baron Corton, la Roche du Mayne, the
Rhinegrave, the Counts de Rochefoucauld, d'Aubigni, de Rochefort, all
were taken. The Due de Nevers, the Prince of Conde, with a few others,
escaped; although so absolute was the conviction that such an escape was
impossible, that it was not believed by the victorious army. When Nevers
sent a trumpet, after the battle, to the Duke of Savoy, for the purpose
of negotiating concerning the prisoners, the trumpeter was pronounced an
impostor, and the Duke's letter a forgery; nor was it till after the
whole field had been diligently searched for his dead body without
success, that Nevers could persuade the conquerors that he was still in
existence.

Of Philip's army but fifty lost their lives. Lewis of Brederode was
smothered in his armor; and the two counts Spiegelberg and Count Waldeck
were also killed; besides these, no officer of distinction fell. All the
French standards and all their artillery but two pieces were taken, and
placed before the King, who the next day came into the camp before Saint
Quentin. The prisoners of distinction were likewise presented to him in
long procession. Rarely had a monarch of Spain enjoyed a more signal
triumph than this which Philip now owed to the gallantry and promptness
of Count Egmont.

While the King stood reviewing the spoils of victory, a light horseman of
Don Henrico Manrique's regiment approached, and presented him with a
sword. "I am the man, may it please your Majesty," said the trooper, "who
took the Constable; here is his sword; may your Majesty be pleased to
give me something to eat in my house." "I promise it," replied Philip;
upon which the soldier kissed his Majesty's hand and retired. It was the
custom universally recognized in that day, that the king was the king's
captive, and the general the general's, but that the man, whether soldier
or officer, who took the commander-in-chief, was entitled to ten thousand
ducats. Upon this occasion the Constable was the prisoner of Philip,
supposed to command his own army in person. A certain Spanish Captain
Valenzuela, however, disputed the soldier's claim to the Constable's
sword. The trooper advanced at once to the Constable, who stood there
with the rest of the illustrious prisoners. "Your excellency is a
Christian," said he; "please to declare upon your conscience and the
faith of a cavalier, whether 't was I that took you prisoner. It need not
surprise your excellency that I am but a soldier, since with soldiers his
Majesty must wage his wars." "Certainly," replied the Constable, "you
took me and took my horse, and I gave you my sword. My word, however, I
pledged to Captain Valenzuela." It appearing, however, that the custom of
Spain did not recognize a pledge given to any one but the actual captor,
it was arranged that the soldier should give two thousand of his ten
thousand ducats to the captain. Thus the dispute ended.

Such was the brilliant victory of Saint Quentin, worthy to be placed in
the same list with the world-renowned combats of Creqy and Agincourt.
Like those battles, also, it derives its main interest from the personal
character of the leader, while it seems to have been hallowed by the
tender emotions which sprang from his subsequent fate. The victory was
but a happy move in a winning game. The players were kings, and the
people were stakes--not parties. It was a chivalrous display in a war
which was waged without honorable purpose, and in which no single lofty
sentiment was involved. The Flemish frontier was, however, saved for the
time from the misery which was now to be inflicted upon the French
border. This was sufficient to cause the victory to be hailed as
rapturously by the people as by the troops. From that day forth the name
of the brave Hollander was like the sound of a trumpet to the army.
"Egmont and Saint Quentin" rang through every mouth to the furthest
extremity of Philip's realms. A deadly blow was struck to the very heart
of France. The fruits of all the victories of Francis and Henry withered.
The battle, with others which were to follow it, won by the same hand,
were soon to compel the signature of the most disastrous treaty which had
ever disgraced the history of France.

The fame and power of the Constable faded--his misfortunes and captivity
fell like a blight upon the ancient glory of the house of
Montmorency--his enemies destroyed his influence and his
popularity--while the degradation of the kingdom was simultaneous with
the downfall of his illustrious name. On the other hand, the exultation
of Philip was as keen as his cold and stony nature would permit. The
magnificent palace-convent of the Escurial, dedicated to the saint on
whose festival the battle had been fought, and built in the shape of the
gridiron, on which that martyr had suffered, was soon afterwards erected
in pious commemoration of the event. Such was the celebration of the
victory. The reward reserved for the victor was to be recorded on a later
page of history.

The coldness and caution, not to say the pusillanimity of Philip,
prevented him from seizing the golden fruits of his triumph. Ferdinand
Gonzaga wished the blow to be followed up by an immediate march upon
Paris.--Such was also the feeling of all the distinguished soldiers of
the age. It was unquestionably the opinion, and would have been the deed,
of Charles, had he been on the field of Saint Quentin, crippled as he
was, in the place of his son. He could not conceal his rage and
mortification when he found that Paris had not fallen, and is said to
have refused to read the despatches which recorded that the event had not
been consummated. There was certainly little of the conqueror in Philip's
nature; nothing which would have led him to violate the safest principles
of strategy. He was not the man to follow up enthusiastically the blow
which had been struck; Saint Quentin, still untaken, although defended by
but eight hundred soldiers, could not be left behind him; Nevers was
still in his front, and although it was notorious that he commanded only
the wreck of an army, yet a new one might be collected, perhaps, in time
to embarrass the triumphant march to Paris. Out of his superabundant
discretion, accordingly, Philip refused to advance till Saint Quentin
should be reduced.

Although nearly driven to despair by the total overthrow of the French in
the recent action, Coligny still held bravely out, being well aware that
every day by which the siege could be protracted was of advantage to his
country. Again he made fresh attempts to introduce men into the city. A
fisherman showed him a submerged path, covered several feet deep with
water, through which he succeeded in bringing one hundred and fifty
unarmed and half-drowned soldiers into the place. His garrison consisted
barely of eight hundred men, but the siege was still sustained, mainly by
his courage and sagacity, and by the spirit of his brother Andelot. The
company of cavalry, belonging to the Dauphin's regiment, had behaved
badly, and even with cowardice, since the death of their commander
Teligny. The citizens were naturally weary and impatient of the siege.
Mining and countermining continued till the 21st August. A steady
cannonade was then maintained until the 27th. Upon that day, eleven
breaches having been made in the walls, a simultaneous assault was
ordered at four of them. The citizens were stationed upon the walls,
the soldiers in the breaches. There was a short but sanguinary contest,
the garrison resisting with uncommon bravery. Suddenly an entrance was
effected through a tower which had been thought sufficiently strong, and
which had been left unguarded. Coligny, rushing to the spot, engaged the
enemy almost single-handed. He was soon overpowered, being attended only
by four men and a page, was made a prisoner by a soldier named Francisco
Diaz, and conducted through one of the subterranean mines into the
presence of the Duke of Savoy, from whom the captor received ten thousand
ducats in exchange for the Admiral's sword. The fighting still continued
with great determination in the streets, the brave Andelot resisting to
the last. He was, however, at last overpowered, and taken prisoner.
Philip, who had, as usual, arrived in the trenches by noon, armed in
complete harness, with a page carrying his helmet, was met by the
intelligence that the city of Saint Quentin was his own.

To a horrible carnage succeeded a sack and a conflagration still more
horrible. In every house entered during the first day, every human being
was butchered. The sack lasted all that day and the whole of the
following, till the night of the 28th. There was not a soldier who did
not obtain an ample share of plunder, and some individuals succeeded in
getting possession of two, three, and even twelve thousand ducats each.
The women were not generally outraged, but they were stripped almost
entirely naked, lest they should conceal treasure which belonged to their
conquerors, and they were slashed in the face with knives, partly in
sport, partly as a punishment for not giving up property which was not in
their possession. The soldiers even cut off the arms of many among these
wretched women, and then turned them loose, maimed and naked, into the
blazing streets; for the town, on the 28th, was fired in a hundred
places, and was now one general conflagration. The streets were already
strewn with the corpses of the butchered garrison and citizens; while the
survivors were now burned in their houses. Human heads, limbs, and
trunks, were mingled among the bricks and rafters of the houses, which
were falling on every side. The fire lasted day and night, without an
attempt being made to extinguish it; while the soldiers dashed like
devils through flame and smoke in search of booty. Bearing lighted
torches, they descended into every subterrranean vault and receptacle, of
which there were many in the town, and in every one of which they hoped
to discover hidden treasure. The work of killing, plundering, and burning
lasted nearly three days and nights. The streets, meanwhile, were
encumbered with heaps of corpses, not a single one of which had been
buried since the capture of the town. The remains of nearly all the able
bodied male population, dismembered, gnawed by dogs or blackened by fire,
polluted the midsummer air meantime, the women had been again driven into
the cathedral, where they had housed during the siege, and where they now
crouched together in trembling expectation of their fate.' On the 29th
August, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Philip issued an order that
every woman, without an exception, should be driven out of the city into
the French territory. Saint Quentin, which seventy years before had been
a Flemish town, was to be re-annexed, and not a single man, woman, or
child who could speak the French language was to remain another hour in
the place. The tongues of the men had been effectually silenced. The
women, to the number of three thousand five hundred, were now compelled
to leave the cathedral and the city. Some were in a starving condition;
others had been desperately wounded; all, as they passed through the
ruinous streets of what had been their home, were compelled to tread upon
the unburied remains of their fathers, husbands, or brethren. To none of
these miserable creatures remained a living protector--hardly even a dead
body which could be recognized; and thus the ghastly procession of more
than three thousand women, many with gaping wounds in the face, many with
their arms cut off and festering, of all ranks and ages, some numbering
more than ninety years, bareheaded, with grey hair streaming upon their
shoulders; others with nursing infants in their arms, all escorted by a
company of heavy-armed troopers, left forever their native city. All made
the dismal journey upon foot, save that carts were allowed to transport
the children between the ages of two and six years. The desolation and
depopulation were now complete. "I wandered through the place, gazing at
all this," says a Spanish soldier who was present, and kept a diary of
all which occurred, "and it seemed to me that it was another destruction
of Jerusalem. What most struck me was to find not a single denizen of the
town left, who was or who dared to call himself French. How vain and
transitory, thought I, are the things of this world! Six days ago what
riches were in the city, and now remains not one stone upon another."

The expulsion of the women had been accomplished by the express command
of Philip, who moreover had made no effort to stay the work of carnage,
pillage, and conflagration. The pious King had not forgotten, however,
his duty to the saints. As soon as the fire had broken out, he had sent
to the cathedral, whence he had caused the body of Saint Quentin to be
removed and placed in the royal tent. Here an altar, was arranged, upon
one side of which was placed the coffin of that holy personage, and upon
the other the head of the "glorious Saint Gregory" (whoever that glorious
individual may have been in life), together with many other relics
brought from the church. Within the sacred enclosure many masses were
said daily, while all this devil's work was going on without. The saint
who had been buried for centuries was comfortably housed and guarded by
the monarch, while dogs were gnawing the carcases of the freshly-slain
men of Saint Quentin, and troopers were driving into perpetual exile its
desolate and mutilated women.

The most distinguished captives upon this occasion were, of course,
Coligny and his brother. Andelot was, however, fortunate enough to make
his escape that night under the edge of the tent in which he was
confined. The Admiral was taken to Antwerp. Here he lay for many weeks
sick with a fever. Upon his recovery, having no better pastime, he fell
to reading the Scriptures. The result was his conversion to Calvinism;
and the world shudders yet at the fate in which that conversion involved
him.

Saint Quentin being thus reduced, Philip was not more disposed to push
his fortune. The time was now wasted in the siege of several
comparatively unimportant places, so that the fruits of Egmont's valor
were not yet allowed to ripen. Early in September Le Catelet was taken.
On the 12th of the same month the citadel of Ham yielded, after receiving
two thousand shots from Philip's artillery, while Nojon, Chanly, and some
other places of less importance, were burned to the ground. After all
this smoke and fire upon the frontier, productive of but slender
consequences, Philip disbanded his army, and retired to Brussels. He
reached that city on the 12th October. The English returned to their own
country. The campaign of 1557 was closed without a material result, and
the victory of Saint Quentin remained for a season barren.

In the mean time the French were not idle. The army of the Constable had
been destroyed but the Duke de Guise, who had come post-haste from Italy
after hearing the news of Saint Quentin, was very willing to organize
another. He was burning with impatience both to retrieve his own
reputation, which had suffered some little damage by his recent Italian
campaign, and to profit by the captivity of his fallen rival the
Constable. During the time occupied by the languid and dilatory
proceedings of Philip in the autumn, the Duke had accordingly recruited
in France and Germany a considerable army. In January (1558) he was ready
to take the field. It had been determined in the French cabinet, however,
not to attempt to win back the places which they had lost in Picardy, but
to carry the war into the territory of the ally. It was fated that
England should bear all the losses, and Philip appropriate all the gain
and glory, which resulted from their united exertions. It was the war of
the Queen's husband, with which the Queen's people had no concern, but in
which the last trophies of the Black Prince were to be forfeited. On the
first January, 1558, the Duc de Guise appeared before Calais. The Marshal
Strozzi had previously made an expedition, in disguise, to examine the
place. The result of his examination was that the garrison was weak, and
that it relied too much upon the citadel. After a tremendous cannonade,
which lasted a week, and was heard in Antwerp, the city was taken by
assault. Thus the key to the great Norman portal of France, the
time-honored key which England had worn at her girdle since the eventful
day of Crecy, was at last taken from her. Calais had been originally won
after a siege which had lasted a twelvemonth, had been held two hundred
and ten years, and was now lost in seven days. Seven days more, and ten
thousand discharges from thirty-five great guns sufficed for the
reduction of Guines. Thus the last vestige of English dominion, the last
substantial pretext of the English sovereign to wear the title and the
lilies of France, was lost forever. King Henry visited Calais, which
after two centuries of estrangement had now become a French town again,
appointed Paul de Thermes governor of the place, and then returned to
Paris to celebrate soon afterwards the marriage of the Dauphin with the
niece of the Guises, Mary, Queen of Scots.

These events, together with the brief winter campaign of the Duke, which
had raised for an instant the drooping head of France, were destined
before long to give a new face to affairs, while it secured the
ascendancy of the Catholic party in the kingdom. Disastrous eclipse had
come over the house of Montmorency and Coligny, while the star of Guise,
brilliant with the conquest of Calais, now culminated to the zenith.

It was at this period that the memorable interview between the two
ecclesiastics, the Bishop of Arras and the Cardinal de Lorraine, took
place at Peronne. From this central point commenced the weaving of that
wide-spread scheme, in which the fate of millions was to be involved. The
Duchess Christina de Lorraine, cousin of Philip, had accompanied him to
Saint Quentin. Permission had been obtained by the Duc de Guise and his
brother, the Cardinal, to visit her at Peronne. The Duchess was
accompanied by the Bishop of Arras, and the consequence was a full and
secret negotiation between the two priests. It may be supposed that
Philip's short-lived military ardor had already exhausted itself. He had
mistaken his vocation, and already recognized the false position in which
he was placed. He was contending against the monarch in whom he might
find the surest ally against the arch enemy of both kingdoms, and of the
world. The French monarch held heresy in horror, while, for himself,
Philip had already decided upon his life's mission.

The crafty Bishop was more than a match for the vain and ambitious
Cardinal. That prelate was assured that Philip considered the captivity
of Coligny and Montmorency a special dispensation of Providence, while
the tutelar genius of France, notwithstanding the reverses sustained by
that kingdom, was still preserved. The Cardinal and his brother, it was
suggested, now held in their hands the destiny of the kingdom, and of
Europe. The interests of both nations, of religion, and of humanity, made
it imperative upon them to put an end to this unnatural war, in order
that the two monarchs might unite hand and heart for the extirpation of
heresy. That hydra-headed monster had already extended its coils through
France, while its pestilential breath was now wafted into Flanders from
the German as well as the French border. Philip placed full reliance upon
the wisdom and discretion of the Cardinal. It was necessary that these
negotiations should for the present remain a profound secret; but in the
mean time a peace ought to be concluded with as little delay as possible;
a result which, it was affirmed, was as heartily desired by Philip as it
could be by Henry. The Bishop was soon aware of the impression which his
artful suggestions had produced. The Cardinal, inspired by the flattery
thus freely administered, as well as by the promptings of his own
ambition, lent a willing ear to the Bishop's plans. Thus was laid the
foundation of a vast scheme, which time was to complete. A crusade with
the whole strength of the French and Spanish crowns, was resolved upon
against their own subjects. The Bishop's task was accomplished. The
Cardinal returned to France, determined to effect a peace with Spain. He
was convinced that the glory of his house was to be infinitely enhanced,
and its power impregnably established, by a cordial co-operation with
Philip in his dark schemes against religion and humanity. The
negotiations were kept, however, profoundly secret. A new campaign and
fresh humiliations were to precede the acceptance by France of the peace
which was thus proffered.

Hostile operations were renewed soon after the interview at Peronne. The
Duke of Guise, who had procured five thousand cavalry and fourteen
thousand infantry in Germany, now, at the desire of the King, undertook
an enterprise against Thionville, a city of importance and great strength
in Luxemburg, upon the river Moselle. It was defended by Peter de
Quarebbe, a gentleman of Louvain, with a garrison of eighteen hundred
men. On the 5th June, thirty-five pieces of artillery commenced the work;
the mining and countermining-continuing seventeen days; on the 22nd the
assault was made, and the garrison capitulated immediately afterwards. It
was a siege conducted in a regular and business-like way, but the details
possess no interest. It was, however, signalized by the death of one of
the eminent adventurers of the age, Marshal Strozzi. This brave, but
always unlucky soldier was slain by a musket ball while assisting the
Duke of Guise--whose arm was, at that instant, resting upon his
shoulder--to point a gun at the fortress.

After the fall of Thionville, the Due de Guise, for a short time,
contemplated the siege of the city of Luxemburg, but contented himself
with the reduction of the unimportant places of Vireton and Arlon. Here
he loitered seventeen days, making no exertions to follow up the success
which had attended him at the opening of the campaign. The good fortune
of the French was now neutralized by the same languor which had marked
the movements of Philip after the victory of Saint Quentin. The time,
which might have been usefully employed in following up his success, was
now wasted by the Duke in trivial business, or in absolute torpor. This
may have been the result of a treacherous understanding with Spain, and
the first fruits of the interview at Peronne. Whatever the cause,
however, the immediate consequences were disaster to the French nation,
and humiliation to the crown.

It had been the plan of the French cabinet that Marshal de Thermes, who,
upon the capture of Calais, had been appointed governor of the city,
should take advantage of his position as soon as possible. Having
assembled an army of some eight thousand foot and fifteen hundred horse,
partly Gascons and partly Germans, he was accordingly directed to ravage
the neighboring country, particularly the county of Saint Pol. In the
mean time, the Due de Guise, having reduced the cities on the southern
frontier, was to move in a northerly direction, make a junction with the
Marshal, and thus extend a barrier along the whole frontier of the
Netherlands.

De Therlries set forth from Calais, in the beginning of June, with his
newly-organized army. Passing by Gravelines and Bourbourg, he arrived
before Dunkerk on the 2d of July. The city, which was without a garrison,
opened negotiations, during the pendency of which it was taken by assault
and pillaged. The town of Saint Winochsberg shared the same fate. De
Thermes, who was a martyr to the gout, was obliged at this point
temporarily to resign the command to d'Estonteville, a ferocious soldier,
who led the predatory army as far as Niewport, burning, killing,
ravishing, plundering, as they went. Meantime Philip, who was at
Brussels, had directed the Duke of Savoy to oppose the Due de Guise with
an army which had been hastily collected and organized at Maubeuge, in
the province of Namur. He now desired, if possible, to attack and cut off
the forces of De Thermes before he should extend the hand to Guise, or
make good his retreat to Calais.

Flushed with victory over defenceless peasants, laden with the spoils of
sacked and burning towns, the army of De Thermes was already on its
homeward march. It was the moment for a sudden and daring blow. Whose arm
should deal it? What general in Philip's army possessed the requisite
promptness, and felicitous audacity; who, but the most brilliant of
cavalry officers, the bold and rapid hero of St. Quentin? Egmont, in
obedience to the King's command, threw himself at once into the field. He
hastily collected all the available forces in the neighborhood. These,
with drafts from the Duke of Savoy's army, and with detachments under
Marshal Bigonicourt from the garrisons of Saint Omer, Bethune, Aire, and
Bourbourg, soon amounted to ten thousand foot and two thousand horse. His
numbers were still further swollen by large bands of peasantry, both men
and women, maddened by their recent injuries, and thirsting for
vengeance. With these troops the energetic chieftain took up his position
directly in the path of the French army. Determined to destroy De Thermes
with all his force, or to sacrifice himself, he posted his army at
Gravelines, a small town lying near the sea-shore, and about midway
between Calais and Dunkerk. The French general was putting the finishing
touch to his expedition by completing the conflagration at Dunkerk, and
was moving homeward, when he became aware of the lion in his path.
Although suffering from severe sickness, he mounted his horse and
personally conducted his army to Gravelines. Here he found his progress
completely arrested. On that night, which was the 12th July, he held a
council of officers. It was determined to refuse the combat offered, and,
if possible, to escape at low tide along the sands toward Calais. The
next morning he crossed the river Aa, below Gravelines. Egmont, who was
not the man, on that occasion at least, to build a golden bridge for a
flying enemy, crossed the same stream just above the town, and drew up
his whole force in battle array. De Thermes could no longer avoid the
conflict thus resolutely forced upon him. Courage was now his only.
counsellor. Being not materially outnumbered by his adversaries, he had,
at least, an even chance of cutting his way through all obstacles, and of
saving his army and his treasure. The sea was on his right hand, the Aa
behind him, the enemy in front. He piled his baggage and wagons so as to
form a barricade upon his left, and placed his artillery, consisting of
four culverines and three falconeta, in front. Behind these he drew up
his cavalry, supported at each side by the Gascons, and placed his French
and German infantry in the rear.

Egmont, on the other hand, divided his cavalry into five squadrons. Three
of light horse were placed in advance for the first assault--the centre
commanded by himself, the two wings by Count Pontenals and Henrico
Henriquez. The black hussars of Lazarus Schwendi and the Flemish
gendarmes came next. Behind these was the infantry, divided into three
nations, Spanish, German, and Flemish, and respectively commanded by
Carvajal, Monchausen, and Bignicourt. Egmont, having characteristically
selected the post of danger in the very front of battle for himself,
could no longer restrain his impatience. "The foe is ours already," he
shouted; "follow me, all who love their fatherland:" With that he set
spurs to his horse, and having his own regiment well in hand, dashed upon
the enemy. The Gascons received the charge with coolness, and under cover
of a murderous fire from the artillery in front, which mowed down the
foremost ranks of their assailants-sustained the whole weight of the
first onset without flinching. Egmont's horse was shot under him at the
commencement of the action. Mounting another, he again cheered his
cavalry to the attack. The Gascons still maintained an unwavering front,
and fought with characteristic ferocity. The courage of despair inflamed
the French, the hope of a brilliant and conclusive victory excited the
Spaniards and Flemings. It was a wild, hand to hand conflict--general and
soldier, cavalier and pikeman, lancer and musketeer, mingled together in
one dark, confused, and struggling mass, foot to foot, breast to breast,
horse to horse-a fierce, tumultuous battle on the sands, worthy the
fitful pencil of the national painter, Wouvermans. For a long time it was
doubtful on which side victory was to incline, but at last ten English
vessels unexpectedly appeared in the offing, and ranging up soon
afterwards as close to the share as was possible, opened their fire upon
the still unbroken lines of the French. The ships were too distant, the
danger of injuring friend as well as foe too imminent, to allow of their
exerting any important influence upon the result. The spirit of the enemy
was broken, however, by this attack upon their seaward side, which they
had thought impregnable. At the same time, too, a detachment of German
cavalry which had been directed by Egmont to make their way under the
downs to the southward, now succeeded in turning their left flank.
Egmont, profiting by their confusion, charged them again with redoubled
vigor. The fate of the day was decided. The French cavalry wavered, broke
their ranks, and in their flight carried dismay throughout the whole
army. The rout was total; horse and foot; French, Gascon, and German fled
from the field together. Fifteen hundred fell in the action, as many more
were driven into the sea, while great numbers were torn to pieces by the
exasperated peasants, who now eagerly washed out their recent injuries in
the blood of the dispersed, wandering, and wounded soldiers. The army of
De Thermes was totally destroyed, and with it, the last hope of France
for an honorable and equal negotiation. She was now at Philip's feet, so
that this brilliant cavalry action, although it has been surpassed in
importance by many others, in respect to the numbers of the combatants
and the principles involved in the contest, was still, in regard to the
extent both of its immediate and its permanent results, one of the most
decisive and striking which have ever been fought. The French army
engaged was annihilated. Marshal de Thermes, with a wound in the head,
Senarpont, Annibault, Villefon, Morvilliers, Chanlis, and many others of
high rank were prisoners. The French monarch had not much heart to set
about the organization of another army; a task which he was now compelled
to undertake. He was soon obliged to make the best terms which he could,
and to consent to a treaty which was one of the most ruinous in the
archives of France.

The Marshal de Thermes was severely censured for having remained so long
at Dunkerk and in its neighborhood. He was condemned still more loudly
for not having at least effected his escape beyond Gravelines, during the
night which preceded the contest. With regard to the last charge,
however, it may well be doubted whether any nocturnal attempt would have
been likely to escape the vigilance of Egmont. With regard to his delay
at Dunkerk, it was asserted that he had been instructed to await in that
place the junction with the Due de Guise, which had been previously
arranged. But for the criminal and, then, inexplicable languor which
characterized that commander's movements, after the capture of
Thionville, the honor of France might still have been saved.

Whatever might have been the faults of De Thermes or of Guise, there
could be little doubt as to the merit of Egmont. Thus within eleven
months of the battle of Saint Quentin, had the Dutch hero gained another
victory so decisive as to settle the fate of the war, and to elevate his
sovereign to a position from which he might dictate the terms of a
triumphant peace. The opening scenes of Philip's reign were rendered as
brilliant as the proudest days of the Emperor's career, while the
provinces were enraptured with the prospect of early peace. To whom,
then, was the sacred debt of national and royal gratitude due but to
Lamoral of Egmont? His countrymen gladly recognized the claim. He became
the idol of the army; the familiar hero of ballad and story; the mirror
of chivalry, and the god of popular worship. Throughout the Netherlands
he was hailed as the right hand of the fatherland, the saviour of
Flanders from devastation and outrage, the protector of the nation, the
pillar of the throne.

The victor gained many friends by his victory, and one enemy. The
bitterness of that foe was likely, in the future, to outweigh all the
plaudits of his friends. The Duke of Alva had strongly advised against
giving battle to De Thermes. He depreciated the triumph after it had been
gained, by reflections upon the consequences which would have flowed, had
a defeat been suffered instead. He even held this language to Egmont
himself after his return to Brussels. The conqueror, flushed with his
glory, was not inclined to digest the criticism, nor what he considered
the venomous detraction of the Duke. More vain and arrogant than ever, he
treated his powerful Spanish rival with insolence, and answered his
observations with angry sarcasms, even in the presence of the King. Alva
was not likely to forget the altercation, nor to forgive the triumph.

There passed, naturally, much bitter censure and retort on both sides at
court, between the friends and adherents of Egmont and those who
sustained the party of his adversary. The battle of Gravelines was fought
over daily, amid increasing violence and recrimination, between Spaniard
and Fleming, and the old international hatred flamed more fiercely than
ever. Alva continued to censure the foolhardiness which had risked so
valuable an army on a single blow. Egmont's friends replied that it was
easy for foreigners, who had nothing at risk in the country, to look on
while the fields of the Netherlands were laid waste, and the homes and
hearths of an industrious population made desolate, by a brutal and
rapacious soldiery. They who dwelt in the Provinces would be ever
grateful to their preserver for the result. They had no eyes for the
picture which the Spanish party painted of an imaginary triumph of De
Thermos and its effects. However the envious might cavil, now that the
blow had been struck, the popular heart remained warm as ever, and
refused to throw down the idol which had so recently been set up.




1558-1559 [CHAPTER III.]

   Secret negotiations for peace--Two fresh armies assembled, but
   inactive--Negotiations at Cercamp--Death of Mary Tudor--Treaty of
   Cateau Cambresis--Death of Henry II.--Policy of Catharine de Medici
   --Revelations by Henry II. to the Prince of Orange--Funeral of
   Charles V. in Brussels--Universal joy in the Netherlands at the
   restoration of peace--Organization of the government by Philip, and
   preparations for his departure--Appointment of Margaret of Parma as
   Regent of the Netherlands--Three councils--The consulta--The
   stadholders of the different provinces--Dissatisfaction caused by
   the foreign troops--Assembly of the Estates at Ghent to receive the
   parting instructions and farewell of the King--Speech of the Bishop
   of Arras--Request for three millions--Fierce denunciation of heresy
   on the part of Philip--Strenuous enforcement of the edicts
   commanded--Reply by the States of Arthois--Unexpected conditions--
   Rage of the King--Similar conduct on the part of the other
   provinces--Remonstrance in the name of States--General against the
   foreign soldiery--Formal reply on the part of the crown--Departure
   of the King from the Netherlands--Autos--da--fe in Spain.

The battle of Gravelines had decided the question. The intrigues of the
two Cardinals at Peronne having been sustained by Egmont's victory, all
parties were ready for a peace. King Henry was weary of the losing game
which he had so long been playing, Philip was anxious to relieve himself
from his false position, and to concentrate his whole mind and the
strength of his kingdom upon his great enemy the Netherland heresy, while
the Duke of Savoy felt that the time had at last arrived when an adroit
diplomacy might stand him in stead, and place him in the enjoyment of
those rights which the sword had taken from him, and which his own sword
had done so much towards winning back. The sovereigns were inclined to
peace, and as there had never been a national principle or instinct or
interest involved in the dispute, it was very certain that peace would be
popular every where, upon whatever terms it might be concluded.

Montmorency and the Prince of Orange were respectively empowered to open
secret negotiations. The Constable entered upon the task with alacrity,
because he felt that every day of his captivity was alike prejudicial to
his own welfare and the interests of his country.--The Guises, who had
quarrelled with the Duchess de Valentinois (Diane de Poitiers), were not
yet powerful enough to resist the influence of the mistress; while,
rather to baffle them than from any loftier reasons, that interest was
exerted in behalf of immediate peace. The Cardinal de Lorraine had by no
means forgotten the eloquent arguments used by the Bishop of Arras; but
his brother, the Due de Guise, may be supposed to have desired some
little opportunity of redeeming the credit of the kingdom, and to have
delayed the negotiations until his valor could secure a less inglorious
termination to the war.

A fresh army had, in fact, been collected under his command, and was
already organized at Pierrepoint. At the same time, Philip had assembled
a large force, consisting of thirty thousand foot and fifteen thousand
cavalry, with which he had himself taken the field, encamping towards the
middle of August upon the banks of the river Anthies, near the border of
Picardy. King Henry, on the other hand, had already arrived in the camp
at Pierrepoint, and had reviewed as imposing an army as had ever been at
the disposal of a French monarch. When drawn up in battle array it
covered a league and a half of ground, while three hours were required to
make its circuit on horseback. All this martial display was only for
effect. The two kings, at the head of their great armies, stood looking
at each other while the negotiations for, peace were proceeding. An
unimportant skirmish or two at the out-posts, unattended with loss of
life, were the only military results of these great preparations. Early
in the autumn, all the troops were disbanded, while the commissioners of
both crowns met in open congress at the abbey of Cercamp, near Cambray,
by the middle of October. The envoys on the part of Philip were the
Prince of Orange, the Duke of Alva, the Bishop of Arras, Ruy Gomez de
Silva, the president Viglius; on that of the French monarch, the
Constable, the Marshal de Saint Andre, the Cardinal de Lorraine, the
Bishop of Orleans, and Claude l'Aubespine.

There were also envoys sent by the Queen of England, but as the dispute
concerning Calais was found to hamper the negotiations at Cercamp, the
English question was left to be settled by another congress, and was kept
entirely separate from the arrangements concluded between France and
Spain.

The death of Queen Mary, on the 17th November, caused a temporary
suspension of the proceedings. After the widower, however, had made a
fruitless effort to obtain the hand of her successor, and had been
unequivocally repulsed, the commissioners again met in February, 1559, at
Cateau Cambresis. The English difficulty was now arranged by separate
commissioners, and on the third of April a treaty between France and
Spain was concluded.

By this important convention, both kings bound themselves to maintain the
Catholic worship inviolate by all means in their power, and agreed that
an oecumenical council should at once assemble, to compose the religious
differences, and to extinguish the increasing heresy in both kingdoms.
Furthermore, it was arranged that the conquests made by each country
during the preceding eight years should be restored. Thus all the gains
of Francis and Henry were annulled by a single word, and the Duke of
Savoy converted, by a dash of the pen, from a landless soldier of fortune
into a sovereign again. He was to receive back all his estates, and was
moreover to marry Henry's sister Margaret, with a dowry of three hundred
thousand crowns. Philip, on the other hand, now a second time a widower,
was to espouse Henry's daughter Isabella, already betrothed to the Infant
Don Carlos, and to receive with her a dowry of four hundred thousand
crowns. The restitutions were to be commenced by Henry, and to be
completed within three months. Philip was to restore his conquests in the
course of a month afterwards.

Most of the powers of Europe were included by both parties in this
treaty: the Pope, the Emperor, all the Electors, the republics of Venice,
Genoa and Switzerland, the kingdoms of England, Scotland, Poland,
Denmark, Sweden; the duchies of Ferrara, Savoy and Parma, besides other
inferior principalities. Nearly all Christendom, in short, was embraced
in this most amicable compact, as if Philip were determined that,
henceforth and forever, Calvinists and Mahometans, Turks and Flemings,
should be his only enemies.

The King of France was to select four hostages from among Philip's
subjects, to accompany him to Paris as pledges for the execution of all
the terms of the treaty. The royal choice fell upon the Prince of Orange,
the Duke of Alva, the Duke of Aerschot, and the Count of Egmont.

Such was the treaty of Cateau Cambresis. Thus was a termination put to a
war between France and Spain, which had been so wantonly undertaken.

Marshal Monluc wrote that a treaty so disgraceful and disastrous had
never before been ratified by a French monarch. It would have been
difficult to point to any one more unfortunate upon her previous annals;
if any treaty can be called unfortunate, by which justice is done and
wrongs repaired, even under coercion. The accumulated plunder of years,
which was now disgorged by France, was equal in value to one third of
that kingdom. One hundred and ninety-eight fortified towns were
surrendered, making, with other places of greater or less importance, a
total estimated by some writers as high as four hundred. The principal
gainer was the Duke of Savoy, who, after so many years of
knight-errantry, had regained his duchy, and found himself the
brother-in-law of his ancient enemy.

The well-known tragedy by which the solemnities of this pacification were
abruptly concluded in Paris, bore with it an impressive moral. The
monarch who, in violation of his plighted word and against the interests
of his nation and the world, had entered precipitately into a causeless
war, now lost his life in fictitious combat at the celebration of peace.
On the tenth of July, Henry the Second died of the wound inflicted by
Montgomery in the tournament held eleven days before. Of this weak and
worthless prince, all that even his flatterers could favorably urge was
his great fondness for war, as if a sanguinary propensity, even when
unaccompanied by a spark of military talent, were of itself a virtue.
Yet, with his death the kingdom fell even into more pernicious hands, and
the fate of Christendom grew darker than ever. The dynasty of Diane de
Poitiers was succeeded by that of Catharine de Medici; the courtesan gave
place to the dowager; and France during the long and miserable period in
which she lay bleeding in the grasp of the Italian she-wolf and her
litter of cowardly and sanguinary princes--might even lament the days of
Henry and his Diana. Charles the Ninth, Henry the Third, Francis of
Alencon, last of the Valois race--how large a portion of the fearful debt
which has not yet been discharged by half a century of revolution and
massacre was of their accumulation.

The Duchess of Valentinois had quarrelled latterly with the house of
Guise, and was disposed to favor Montmorency. The King, who was but a
tool in her hands, might possibly have been induced, had he lived, to
regard Coligny and his friends with less aversion. This is, however,
extremely problematical, for it was Henry the Second who had concluded
that memorable arrangement with his royal brother of Spain, to arrange
for the Huguenot chiefs throughout both realms, a "Sicilian Vespers,"
upon the first favorable occasion. His death and the subsequent policy of
the Queen-Regent deferred the execution of the great scheme till fourteen
years later. Henry had lived long enough, however, after the conclusion
of the secret agreement to reveal it to one whose life was to be employed
in thwarting this foul conspiracy of monarchs against their subjects.
William of Orange, then a hostage for the execution of the treaty of
Cateau Cambresis, was the man with whom the King had the unfortunate
conception to confer on the subject of the plot. The Prince, who had
already gained the esteem of Charles the Fifth by his habitual
discretion, knew how to profit by the intelligence and to bide his time;
but his hostility to the policy of the French and Spanish courts was
perhaps dated from that hour.

Pending the peace negotiations, Philip had been called upon to mourn for
his wife and father. He did not affect grief for the death of Mary Tudor,
but he honored the Emperor's departure with stately obsequies at
Brussels. The ceremonies lasted two days (the 29th and 30th December,
1558). In the grand and elaborate procession which swept through the
streets upon the first day, the most conspicuous object was a ship
floating apparently upon the waves, and drawn by a band of Tritons who
disported at the bows. The masts, shrouds, and sails of the vessel were
black, it was covered with heraldic achievements, banners and emblematic
mementos of the Emperor's various expeditions, while the flags of Turks
and Moors trailed from her sides in the waves below. Three allegorical
personages composed the crew. Hope, "all clothyd in brown, with anker in
hand," stood at the prow; Faith, with sacramental chalice and red cross,
clad in white garment, with her face nailed "with white tiffany," sat on
a "stool of estate" before the mizen-mast; while Charity "in red, holding
in her hand a burning heart," was at the helm to navigate the vessel.
Hope, Faith, and Love were thought the most appropriate symbols for the
man who had invented the edicts, introduced the inquisition, and whose
last words, inscribed by a hand already trembling with death, had adjured
his son, by his love, allegiance, and hope of salvation, to deal to all
heretics the extreme rigor of the law, "without respect of persons and
without regard to any plea in their favor."

The rest of the procession, in which marched the Duke of Alva, the Prince
of Orange, and other great personages, carrying the sword, the globe, the
sceptre, and the "crown imperial," contained no emblems or imagery worthy
of being recorded. The next day the King, dressed in mourning and
attended by a solemn train of high officers and nobles, went again to the
church. A contemporary letter mentions a somewhat singular incident as
forming the concluding part of the ceremony. "And the service being
done," wrote Sir Richard Clough to Sir Thomas Gresham, "there went a
nobleman into the herse (so far as I codde understande, it was the Prince
of Orange), who, standing before the herse, struck with his hand upon the
chest and sayd, 'He is ded.' Then standing styli awhile, he sayd, 'He
shall remayn ded.' And 'then resting awhile, he struck again and sayd,
'He is ded, and there is another rysen up in his place greater than ever
he was.' Whereupon the Kynge's hoode was taken off and the Kynge went
home without his hoode."

If the mourning for the dead Emperor was but a mummery and a masquerade,
there was, however, heartiness and sincerity in the rejoicing which now
burst forth like a sudden illumination throughout the Netherlands, upon
the advent of peace. All was joy in the provinces, but at Antwerp, the
metropolis of the land, the enthusiasm was unbounded. Nine days were
devoted to festivities. Bells rang their merriest peals, artillery
thundered, beacons blazed, the splendid cathedral spire flamed nightly
with three hundred burning cresaets, the city was strewn with flowers and
decorated with triumphal arches, the Guilds of Rhetoric amazed the world
with their gorgeous processions, glittering dresses and bombastic
versification, the burghers all, from highest to humblest, were feasted
and made merry, wine flowed in the streets and oxen were roasted whole,
prizes on poles were climbed for, pigs were hunted blindfold, men and
women raced in sacks, and in short, for nine days long there was one
universal and spontaneous demonstration of hilarity in Antwerp and
throughout the provinces.

But with this merry humor of his subjects, the sovereign had but little
sympathy. There was nothing in his character or purposes which owed
affinity with any mood of this jocund and energetic people. Philip had
not made peace with all the world that the Netherlanders might climb on
poles or ring bells, or strew flowers in his path for a little holiday
time, and then return to their industrious avocations again. He had made
peace with all the world that he might be free to combat heresy; and this
arch enemy had taken up its strong hold in the provinces. The treaty of
Cateau Cambresis left him at liberty to devote himself to that great
enterprise. He had never loved the Netherlands, a residence in these
constitutional provinces was extremely irksome to him, and he was
therefore anxious to return to Spain. From the depths of his cabinet he
felt that he should be able to direct the enterprise he was resolved
upon, and that his presence in the Netherlands would be superfluous and
disagreeable.

The early part of the year 1559 was spent by Philip in organizing the
government of the provinces and in making the necessary preparations for
his departure. The Duke of Savoy, being restored to his duchy, had, of
course, no more leisure to act as Regent of the Netherlands, and it was
necessary, therefore, to fix upon his successor in this important post,
at once. There were several candidates. The Duchess Christina of Lorraine
had received many half promises of the appointment, which she was most
anxious to secure; the Emperor was even said to desire the nomination of
the Archduke Maximilian, a step which would have certainly argued more
magnanimity upon Philip's part than the world could give him credit for;
and besides these regal personages, the high nobles of the land,
especially Orange and Egmont, had hopes of obtaining the dignity. The
Prince of Orange, however, was too sagacious to deceive himself long, and
became satisfied very soon that no Netherlander was likely to be selected
for Regent. He therefore threw his influence in favor of the Duchess
Christina, whose daughter, at the suggestion of the Bishop of Arras, he
was desirous of obtaining in marriage. The King favored for a time, or
pretended to favor, both the appointment of Madame de Lorraine and the
marriage project of the Prince. Afterwards, however, and in a manner
which was accounted both sudden and mysterious, it appeared that the
Duchess and Orange had both been deceived, and that the King and Bishop
had decided in favor of another candidate, whose claims had not been
considered, before, very prominent. This was the Duchess Margaret of
Parma, natural daughter of Charles the Fifth. A brief sketch of this
important personage, so far as regards her previous career, is reserved
for the following chapter. For the present it is sufficient to state the
fact of the nomination. In order to afford a full view of Philip's
political arrangements before his final departure from the Netherlands,
we defer until the same chapter, an account of the persons who composed
the boards of council organized to assist the new Regent in the
government. These bodies themselves were three in number: a state and
privy council and one of finance. They were not new institutions, having
been originally established by the Emperor, and were now arranged by his
successor upon the same nominal basis upon which they had before existed.
The finance council, which had superintendence of all matters relating to
the royal domains and to the annual budgets of the government, was
presided over by Baron Berlaymont. The privy council, of which Viglius
was president, was composed of ten or twelve learned doctors, and was
especially entrusted with the control of matters relating to law,
pardons, and the general administration of justice. The state council,
which was far the most important of the three boards, was to superintend
all high affairs of government, war, treaties, foreign intercourse,
internal and interprovincial affairs. The members of this council were
the Bishop of Arras, Viglius, Berlaymont, the Prince of Orange, Count
Egmont, to which number were afterwards added the Seigneur de Glayon, the
Duke of Aerschot, and Count Horn. The last-named nobleman, who was
admiral of the provinces, had, for the present, been appointed to
accompany the King to Spain, there to be specially entrusted with the
administration of affairs relating to the Netherlands. He was destined,
however, to return at the expiration of two years.

With the object, as it was thought, of curbing the power of the great
nobles, it had been arranged that the three councils should be entirely
distinct from each other, that the members of the state council should
have no participation in the affairs of the two other bodies; but, on the
other hand, that the finance and privy councillors, as well as the
Knights of the Fleece, should have access to the deliberations of the
state council. In the course of events, however, it soon became evident
that the real power of the government was exclusively in the hands of the
consulta, a committee of three members of the state council, by whose
deliberations the Regent was secretly instructed to be guided on all
important occasions. The three, Viglius, Berlaymont, and Arras, who
composed the secret conclave or cabinet, were in reality but one. The
Bishop of Arras was in all three, and the three together constituted only
the Bishop of Arras.

There was no especial governor or stadholder appointed for the province
of Brabant, where the Regent was to reside and to exercise executive
functions in person. The stadholders for the other provinces were, for
Flanders and Artois, the Count of Egmont; for Holland, Zeeland, and
Utrecht, the Prince of Orange; for Gueldres and Zutfen, the Count of
Meghen; for Friesland, Groningen and Overyssel, Count Aremberg; for
Hainault, Valenciennes and Cambray, the Marquis of Berghen; for Tournay
and Tournaisis, Baron Montigny; for Namur, Baron Berlaymont; for
Luxemburg, Count Mansfeld; for Ryssel, Douay and Orchies, the Baron
Coureires. All these stadholders were commanders-in-chief of the military
forces in their respective provinces. With the single exception of Count
Egmont, in whose province of Flanders the stadholders were excluded from
the administration of justice,--all were likewise supreme judges in the
civil and criminal tribunal. The military force of the Netherlands in
time of peace was small, for the provinces were jealous of the presence
of soldiery. The only standing army which then legally existed in the
Netherlands were the Bandes d'Ordonnance, a body of mounted
gendarmerie--amounting in all to three thousand men--which ranked among
the most accomplished and best disciplined cavalry of Europe. They were
divided into fourteen squadrons, each under the command of a stadholder,
or of a distinguished noble. Besides these troops, however, there still
remained in the provinces a foreign force amounting in the aggregate to
four thousand men. These soldiers were the remainder of those large
bodies which year after year had been quartered upon the Netherlands
during the constant warfare to which they had been exposed. Living upon
the substance of the country, paid out of its treasury, and as offensive
by their licentious and ribald habits of life as were the enemies against
whom they were enrolled, these troops had become an intolerable burthen
to the people. They were now disposed in different garrisons, nominally
to protect the frontier. As a firm peace, however, had now been concluded
between Spain and France, and as there was no pretext for compelling the
provinces to accept this protection, the presence of a foreign soldiery
strengthened a suspicion that they were to be used in the onslaught which
was preparing against the religious freedom and the political privileges
of the country. They were to be the nucleus of a larger army, it was
believed, by which the land was to be reduced to a state of servile
subjection to Spain. A low, constant, but generally unheeded murmur of
dissatisfaction and distrust upon this subject was already perceptible
throughout the Netherlands; a warning presage of the coming storm.

All the provinces were now convoked for the 7th of August (1559), at
Ghent, there to receive the parting communication and farewell of the
King. Previously to this day, however, Philip appeared in person upon
several solemn occasions, to impress upon the country the necessity of
attending to the great subject with which his mind was exclusively
occupied. He came before the great council of Mechlin, in order to
address that body with his own lips upon the necessity of supporting the
edicts to the letter, and of trampling out every vestige of heresy,
wherever it should appear, by the immediate immolation of all heretics,
whoever they might be. He likewise caused the estates of Flanders to be
privately assembled, that he might harangue them upon the same great
topic. In the latter part of July he proceeded to Ghent, where a great
concourse of nobles, citizens, and strangers had already assembled. Here,
in the last week of the month, the twenty-third chapter of the Golden
Fleece was held with much pomp, and with festivities which lasted three
days. The fourteen vacancies which existed were filled with the names of
various distinguished personages. With this last celebration the public
history of Philip the Good's ostentatious and ambitious order of
knighthood was closed. The subsequent nominations were made 'ex indultu
apostolico', and without the assembling of a chapter.

The estates having duly assembled upon the day prescribed, Philip,
attended by Margaret of Parma, the Duke of Savoy, and a stately retinue
of ambassadors and grandees, made his appearance before them. After the
customary ceremonies had been performed, the Bishop of Arras arose and
delivered, in the name of his sovereign, an elaborate address of
instructions and farewells. In this important harangue, the states were
informed that the King had convened them in order that they might be
informed of his intention of leaving the Netherlands immediately. He
would gladly have remained longer in his beloved provinces, had not
circumstances compelled his departure. His father had come hither for the
good of the country in the year 1543, and had never returned to Spain,
except to die.

Upon the King's accession to the sovereignty he had arranged a truce of
five years, which had been broken through by the faithlessness of France.
He had, therefore, been obliged, notwithstanding his anxiety to return to
a country where his presence was so much needed, to remain in the
provinces till he had conducted the new war to a triumphant close. In
doing this he had been solely governed by his intense love for the
Netherlands, and by his regard for their interests. All the money which
he had raised from their coffers had been spent for their protection.
Upon this account his Majesty expressed his confidence that the estates
would pay an earnest attention to the "Request" which had been laid
before them, the more so, as its amount, three millions of gold florins,
would all be expended for the good of the provinces. After his return to
Spain he hoped to be able to make a remittance. The Duke of Savoy, he
continued, being obliged, in consequence of the fortunate change in his
affairs, to resign the government of the Netherlands, and his own son,
Don Carlos, not yet being sufficiently advanced in years to succeed to
that important post, his Majesty had selected his sister, the Duchess
Margaret of Parma, daughter of the Emperor, as the most proper person for
Regent. As she had been born in the Netherlands, and had always
entertained a profound affection for the provinces, he felt a firm
confidence that she would prove faithful both to their interests and his
own. As at this moment many countries, and particularly the lands in the
immediate neighborhood, were greatly infested by various "new, reprobate,
and damnable sects;" as these sects, proceeding from the foul fiend,
father of discord, had not failed to keep those kingdoms in perpetual
dissension and misery, to the manifest displeasure of God Almighty; as
his Majesty was desirous to avert such terrible evils from his own
realms, according to his duty to the Lord God, who would demand reckoning
from him hereafter for the well-being of the provinces; as all experience
proved that change of religion ever brought desolation and confusion to
the commonweal; as low persons, beggars and vagabonds, under color of
religion, were accustomed to traverse the land for the purpose of plunder
and disturbance; as his Majesty was most desirous of following in the
footsteps of his lord and father; as it would be well remembered what the
Emperor had said to him upon the memorable occasion of his abdication;
therefore his Majesty had commanded the Regent Margaret of Parma, for the
sake of religion and the glory of God, accurately and exactly to cause to
be enforced the edicts and decrees made by his imperial Majesty, and
renewed by his present Majesty, for the extirpation of all sects and
heresies. All governors, councillors, and others having authority, were
also instructed to do their utmost to accomplish this great end.

The great object of the discourse was thus announced in the most
impressive manner, and with all that conventional rhetoric of which the
Bishop of Arras was considered a consummate master. Not a word was said
on the subject which was nearest the hearts of the Netherlanders--the
withdrawal of the Spanish troops.

   [Bentivoglio. Guerra di Fiandra, i. 9 (Opere, Parigi, 1648), gives
   a different report, which ends with a distinct promise on the part
   of the King to dismiss the troops as soon as possible: "--in segno
   di the spetialmente havrebbe quanto prima, a fatti uscire i presidij
   stranieri dalle fortezze a levata ogn' insolita contributione al
   paese." It is almost superfluous to state that the Cardinal is no
   authority for speeches, except, indeed, for those which were never
   made. Long orations by generals upon the battle-field, by royal
   personages in their cabinets, by conspirators in secret conclave,
   are reported by him with muck minuteness, and none can gainsay the
   accuracy with which these harangues, which never had any existence,
   except in the author's imagination, are placed before the reader.
   Bentivoglio's stately and graceful style, elegant descriptions, and
   general acquaintance with his subject will always make his works
   attractive, but the classic and conventional system of inventing
   long speeches for historical characters has fortunately gone out of
   fashion. It is very interesting to know what an important personage
   really did say or write upon remarkable occasions; but it is less
   instructive to be told what the historian thinks might have been a
   good speech or epistle for him to utter or indito.]

Not a hint was held out that a reduction of the taxation, under which the
provinces had so long been groaning, was likely to take place; but, on
the contrary, the King had demanded a new levy of considerable amount. A
few well-turned paragraphs were added on the subject of the
administration of justice--"without which the republic was a dead body
without a soul"--in the Bishop's most approved style, and the discourse
concluded with a fervent exhortation to the provinces to trample heresy
and heretics out of existence, and with the hope that the Lord God, in
such case, would bestow upon the Netherlands health and happiness.

After the address had been concluded, the deputies, according to ancient
form, requested permission to adjourn, that the representatives of each
province might deliberate among themselves on the point of granting or
withholding the Request for the three millions. On the following day they
again assembled in the presence of the King, for the purpose of returning
their separate answers to the propositions.

The address first read was that of the Estates of Artois. The chairman of
the deputies from that province read a series of resolutions, drawn up,
says a contemporary, "with that elegance which characterized all the
public acts of the Artesians; bearing witness to the vivacity of their
wits." The deputies spoke of the extreme affection which their province
had always borne to his Majesty and to the Emperor. They had proved it by
the constancy with which they had endured the calamities of war so long,
and they now cheerfully consented to the Request, so far as their
contingent went. They were willing to place at his Majesty's disposal,
not only the remains of their property, but even the last drop of their
blood. As the eloquent chairman reached this point in his discourse,
Philip, who was standing with his arm resting upon Egmont's shoulder,
listening eagerly to the Artesian address, looked upon the deputies of
the province with a smiling face, expressing by the unwonted benignity of
his countenance the satisfaction which he received from these loyal
expressions of affection, and this dutiful compliance with his Request.

The deputy, however, proceeded to an unexpected conclusion, by earnestly
entreating his Majesty, as a compensation for the readiness thus evinced
in the royal service, forthwith to order the departure of all foreign
troops then in the Netherlands. Their presence, it was added, was now
rendered completely superfluous by the ratification of the treaty of
peace so fortunately arranged with all the world.

At this sudden change in the deputy's language, the King, no longer
smiling, threw himself violently upon his chair of state, where he
remained, brooding with a gloomy countenance upon the language which had
been addressed to him. It was evident, said an eye-witness, that he was
deeply offended. He changed color frequently, so that all present "could
remark, from the working of his face, how much his mind was agitated."

The rest of the provinces were even more explicit than the deputies of
Artois. All had voted their contingents to the Request, but all had made
the withdrawal of the troops an express antecedent condition to the
payment of their respective quotas.

The King did not affect to conceal his rage at these conditions,
exclaiming bitterly to Count Egmont and other seignors near the throne
that it was very easy to estimate, by these proceedings, the value of the
protestations made by the provinces of their loyalty and affection.

Besides, however, the answers thus addressed by the separate states to
the royal address, a formal remonstrance had also been drawn up in the
name of the States General, and signed by the Prince of Orange, Count
Egmont, and many of the leading patricians of the Netherlands. This
document, which was formally presented to the King before the adjournment
of the assembly, represented the infamous "pillaging, insults, and
disorders" daily exercised by the foreign soldiery; stating that the
burthen had become intolerable, and that the inhabitants of Marienburg,
and of many other large towns and villages had absolutely abandoned their
homes rather than remain any longer exposed to such insolence and
oppression.

The king, already enraged, was furious at the presentation of this
petition. He arose from his seat, and rushed impetuously from the
assembly, demanding of the members as he went, whether he too, as a
Spaniard, was expected immediately to leave the land, and to resign all
authority over it. The Duke of Savoy made use of this last occasion in
which he appeared in public as Regent, violently to rebuke the estates
for the indignity thus offered to their sovereign.

It could not be forgotten, however, by nobles and burghers, who had not
yet been crushed by the long course of oppression which was in store for
them, that there had been a day when Philip's ancestors had been more
humble in their deportment in the face of the provincial authorities. His
great-grandfather, Maximilian, kept in durance by the citizens of Bruges;
his great-grandmother, Mary of Burgundy, with streaming eyes and
dishevelled hair, supplicating in the market-place for the lives of her
treacherous ambassadors, were wont to hold a less imperious language to
the delegates of the states.

This burst of ill temper on the part of the monarch was, however,
succeeded by a different humor. It was still thought advisable to
dissemble, and to return rather an expostulatory than a peremptory answer
to the remonstrance of the States General. Accordingly a paper of a
singular tone was, after the delay of a few days, sent into the assembly.
In this message it was stated that the King was not desirous of placing
strangers in the government--a fact which was proved by the appointment
of the Duchess Margaret; that the Spanish infantry was necessary to
protect the land from invasion; that the remnant of foreign troops only
amounted to three or four thousand men, who claimed considerable arrears
of pay, but that the amount due would be forwarded to them immediately
after his Majesty's return to Spain. It was suggested that the troops
would serve as an escort for Don Carlos when he should arrive in the
Netherlands, although the King would have been glad to carry them to
Spain in his fleet, had he known the wishes of the estates in time. He
would, however, pay for their support himself, although they were to act
solely for the good of the provinces. He observed, moreover, that he had
selected two seignors of the provinces, the Prince of Orange and Count
Egmont, to take command of these foreign troops, and he promised
faithfully that, in the course of three or four months at furthest, they
should all be withdrawn.

On the same day in which the estates had assembled at Ghent, Philip had
addressed an elaborate letter to the grand council of Mechlin, the
supreme court of the provinces, and to the various provincial councils
and tribunals of the whole country. The object of the communication was
to give his final orders on the subject of the edicts, and for the
execution of all heretics in the most universal and summary manner. He
gave stringent and unequivocal instructions that these decrees for
burning, strangling, and burying alive, should be fulfilled to the
letter. He ordered all judicial officers and magistrates "to be curious
to enquire on all sides as to the execution of the placards," stating his
intention that "the utmost rigor should be employed without any respect
of persons," and that not only the transgressors should be proceeded
against, but also the judges who should prove remiss in their prosecution
of heretics. He alluded to a false opinion which had gained currency that
the edicts were only intended against anabaptists. Correcting this error,
he stated that they were to be "enforced against all sectaries, without
any distinction or mercy, who might be spotted merely with the errors
introduced by Luther."

The King, notwithstanding the violent scenes in the assembly, took leave
of the estates at another meeting with apparent cordiality. His
dissatisfaction was sufficiently manifest, but it expressed itself
principally against individuals. His displeasure at the course pursued by
the leading nobles, particularly by the Prince of Orange, was already no
secret.

Philip, soon after the adjournment of the assembly, had completed the
preparations for his departure. At Middelburg he was met by the agreeable
intelligence that the Pope had consented to issue a bull for the creation
of the new bishoprics which he desired for the Netherlands.--This
important subject will be resumed in another chapter; for the present we
accompany the King to Flushing, whence the fleet was to set sail for
Spain. He was escorted thither by the Duchess Regent, the Duke of Savoy,
and by many of the most eminent personages of the provinces. Among others
William of Orange was in attendance to witness the final departure of the
King, and to pay him his farewell respects. As Philip was proceeding on
board the ship which was to bear him forever from the Netherlands, his
eyes lighted upon the Prince. His displeasure could no longer be
restrained. With angry face he turned upon him, and bitterly reproached
him for having thwarted all his plans by means of his secret intrigues.
William replied with humility that every thing which had taken place had
been done through the regular and natural movements of the states. Upon
this the King, boiling with rage, seized the Prince by the wrist, and
shaking it violently, exclaimed in Spanish, "No los estados, ma vos, vos,
vos!--Not the estates, but you, you, you!" repeating thrice the word vos,
which is as disrespectful and uncourteous in Spanish as "toi" in French.

After this severe and public insult, the Prince of Orange did not go on
board his Majesty's vessel, but contented himself with wishing Philip,
from the shore, a fortunate journey. It may be doubted, moreover, whether
he would not have made a sudden and compulsory voyage to Spain had he
ventured his person in the ship, and whether, under the circumstances, he
would have been likely to effect as speedy a return. His caution served
him then as it was destined to do on many future occasions, and Philip
left the Netherlands with this parting explosion of hatred against the
man who, as he perhaps instinctively felt, was destined to circumvent his
measures and resist his tyranny to the last.

The fleet, which consisted of ninety vessels, so well provisioned that,
among other matters, fifteen thousand capons were put on board, according
to the Antwerp chronicler, set sail upon the 26th August (1559), from
Flushing. The voyage proved tempestuous, so that much of the rich
tapestry and other merchandise which had been accumulated by Charles and
Philip was lost. Some of the vessels foundered; to save others it was
necessary to lighten the cargo, and "to enrobe the roaring waters with
the silks," for which the Netherlands were so famous; so that it was said
that Philip and his father had impoverished the earth only to enrich the
ocean. The fleet had been laden with much valuable property, because the
King had determined to fix for the future the wandering capital of his
dominions in Spain. Philip landed in safety, however, at Laredo, on the
8th September. His escape from imminent peril confirmed him in the great
purpose to which he had consecrated his existence. He believed himself to
have been reserved from shipwreck only because a mighty mission had been
confided to him, and lest his enthusiasm against heresy should languish,
his eyes were soon feasted, upon his arrival in his native country, with
the spectacle of an auto-da fe.

Early in January of this year the King being persuaded that it was
necessary every where to use additional means to check the alarming
spread of Lutheran opinions, had written to the Pope for authority to
increase, if that were possible, the stringency of the Spanish
inquisition. The pontiff, nothing loath, had accordingly issued a bull
directed to the inquisitor general, Valdez, by which he was instructed to
consign to the flames all prisoners whatever, even those who were not
accused of having "relapsed." Great preparations had been made to strike
terror into the hearts of heretics by a series of horrible exhibitions,
in the course of which the numerous victims, many of them persons of high
rank, distinguished learning, and exemplary lives, who had long been
languishing in the dungeons of the holy office, were to be consigned to
the flames. The first auto-da fe had been consummated at Valladolid on
the 21st May (1559), in the absence of the King, of course, but in the
presence of the royal family and the principal notabilities, civil,
ecclesiastical, and military. The Princess Regent, seated on her throne,
close to the scaffold, had held on high the holy sword. The Archbishop of
Seville, followed by the ministers of the inquisition and by the victims,
had arrived in solemn procession at the "cadahalso," where, after the
usual sermon in praise of the holy office and in denunciation of heresy,
he had administered the oath to the Intante, who had duly sworn upon the
crucifix to maintain forever the sacred inquisition and the apostolic
decrees. The Archbishop had then cried aloud, "So may God prosper your
Highnesses and your estates;" after which the men and women who formed
the object of the show had been cast into the flames.--[Cabrera]. It
being afterwards ascertained that the King himself would soon be enabled
to return to Spain, the next festival was reserved as a fitting
celebration for his arrival. Upon the 8th October, accordingly, another
auto-da fe took place at Valladolid. The King, with his sister and his
son, the high officers of state, the foreign ministers, and all the
nobility of the kingdom, were present, together with an immense concourse
of soldiery, clergy, and populace. The sermon was preached by the Bishop
of Cuenga. When it was finished, Inquisitor General Valdez cried with a
loud voice, "Oh God, make speed to help us!" The King then drew his
sword. Valdez, advancing to the platform upon which Philip was seated,
proceeded to read the protestation: "Your Majesty swears by the cross of
the sword, whereon your royal hand reposes, that you will give all
necessary favor to the holy office of the inquisition against heretics,
apostates, and those who favor them, and will denounce and inform against
all those who, to your royal knowledge, shall act or speak against the
faith." The King answered aloud, "I swear it," and signed the paper. The
oath was read to the whole assembly by an officer of the inquisition.
Thirteen distinguished victims were then burned before the monarch's
eyes, besides one body which a friendly death had snatched from the hands
of the holy office, and the effigy of another person who had been
condemned, although not yet tried or even apprehended. Among the
sufferers was Carlos de Sessa, a young noble of distinguished character
and abilities, who said to the King as he passed by the throne to the
stake, "How can you thus look on and permit me to be burned?" Philip then
made the memorable reply, carefully recorded by his historiographer and
panegyrist; "I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal, were he as
wicked as you."

In Seville, immediately afterwards, another auto-da fe was held, in which
fifty living heretics were burned, besides the bones of Doctor
Constantine Ponce de la Fuente, once the friend, chaplain, and almoner of
Philip's father. This learned and distinguished ecclesiastic had been
released from a dreadful dungeon by a fortunate fever. The holy office,
however, not content with punishing his corpse, wreaked also an impotent
and ludicrous malice upon his effigy. A stuffed figure, attired in his
robes and with its arms extended in the attitude which was habitual with
him in prayer, was placed upon the scaffold among the living victims, and
then cast into the flames, that bigotry might enjoy a fantastic triumph
over the grave.

Such were the religious ceremonies with which Philip celebrated his
escape from shipwreck, and his marriage with Isabella of France,
immediately afterwards solemnized. These human victims, chained and
burning at the stake, were the blazing torches which lighted the monarch
to his nuptial couch.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
     Courage of despair inflamed the French
     Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
     I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
     Inventing long speeches for historical characters
     Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
     Petty passion for contemptible details
     Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
     Rashness alternating with hesitation
     These human victims, chained and burning at the stake




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 5.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
ADMINISTRATION OF THE DUCHESS MARGARET.
1559-1560 [CHAPTER I.]

   Biographical sketch and portrait of Margaret of Parma--The state
   council--Berlaymont--Viglius--Sketch of William the Silent--Portrait
   of Antony Perrenot, afterwards Cardinal Granvelle--General view of
   the political, social and religious condition of the Netherlands--
   Habits of the aristocracy--Emulation in extravagance--Pecuniary
   embarrassments--Sympathy for the Reformation, steadily increasing
   among the people, the true cause of the impending revolt--Measures
   of the government.--Edict of 1550 described--Papal Bulls granted to
   Philip for increasing the number of Bishops in the Netherlands--
   Necessity for retaining the Spanish troops to enforce the policy of
   persecution.

Margaret of Parma, newly appointed Regent of the Netherlands, was the
natural daughter of Charles the Fifth, and his eldest born child. Her
mother, of a respectable family called Van der Genst, in Oudenarde, had
been adopted and brought up by the distinguished house of Hoogstraaten.
Peculiar circumstances, not necessary to relate at length, had palliated
the fault to which Margaret owed her imperial origin, and gave the child
almost a legitimate claim upon its father's protection. The claim was
honorably acknowledged. Margaret was in her infancy placed by the Emperor
in the charge of his paternal aunt, Margaret of Savoy, then Regent of the
provinces. Upon the death of that princess, the child was entrusted to
the care of the Emperor's sister, Mary, Queen Dowager of Hungary, who had
succeeded to the government, and who occupied it until the abdication.
The huntress-queen communicated her tastes to her youthful niece, and
Margaret soon outrivalled her instructress. The ardor with which she
pursued the stag, and the courageous horsemanship which she always
displayed, proved her, too, no degenerate descendant of Mary of Burgundy.
Her education for the distinguished position in which she had somewhat
surreptitiously been placed was at least not neglected in this
particular. When, soon after the memorable sack of Rome, the Pope and the
Emperor had been reconciled, and it had been decided that the Medici
family should be elevated upon the ruins of Florentine liberty,
Margaret's hand was conferred in marriage upon the pontiff's nephew
Alexander. The wretched profligate who was thus selected to mate with the
Emperor's eldest born child and to appropriate the fair demesnes of the
Tuscan republic was nominally the offspring of Lorenzo de Medici by a
Moorish slave, although generally reputed a bastard of the Pope himself.
The nuptials were celebrated with great pomp at Naples, where the Emperor
rode at the tournament in the guise of a Moorish warrior. At Florence
splendid festivities had also been held, which were troubled with omens
believed to be highly unfavorable. It hardly needed, however,
preternatural appearances in heaven or on earth to proclaim the marriage
ill-starred which united a child of twelve years with a worn-out
debauchee of twenty-seven. Fortunately for Margaret, the funereal
portents proved true. Her husband, within the first year of their wedded
life, fell a victim to his own profligacy, and was assassinated by his
kinsman, Lorenzino de Medici. Cosmo, his successor in the tyranny of
Florence, was desirous of succeeding to the hand of Margaret, but the
politic Emperor, thinking that he had already done enough to conciliate
that house, was inclined to bind to his interests the family which now
occupied the papal throne. Margaret was accordingly a few years
afterwards united to Ottavio Farnese, nephew of Paul the Third. It was
still her fate to be unequally matched. Having while still a child been
wedded to a man of more than twice her years, she was now, at the age of
twenty, united to an immature youth of thirteen. She conceived so strong
an aversion to her new husband, that it became impossible for them to
live together in peace. Ottavio accordingly went to the wars, and in 1541
accompanied the Emperor in his memorable expedition to Barbary.

Rumors of disaster by battle and tempest reaching Europe before the
results of the expedition were accurately known, reports that the Emperor
had been lost in a storm, and that the young Ottavio had perished with
him, awakened remorse in the bosom of Margaret. It seemed to her that he
had been driven forth by domestic inclemency to fall a victim to the
elements. When, however, the truth became known, and it was ascertained
that her husband, although still living, was lying dangerously ill in the
charge of the Emperor, the repugnance which had been founded upon his
extreme youth changed to passionate fondness. His absence, and his
faithful military attendance upon her father, caused a revulsion in her
feelings, and awakened her admiration. When Ottavio, now created Duke of
Parma and Piacenza, returned to Rome, he was received by his wife with
open arms. Their union was soon blessed with twins, and but for a certain
imperiousness of disposition which Margaret had inherited from her
father, and which she was too apt to exercise even upon her husband, the
marriage would have been sufficiently fortunate.

Various considerations pointed her out to Philip as a suitable person for
the office of Regent, although there seemed some mystery about the
appointment which demanded explanation. It was thought that her birth
would make her acceptable to the people; but perhaps, the secret reason
with Philip was, that she alone of all other candidates would be amenable
to the control of the churchman in whose hand he intended placing the
real administration of the provinces. Moreover, her husband was very
desirous that the citadel of Piacenza, still garrisoned by Spanish
troops, should be surrendered to him. Philip was disposed to conciliate
the Duke, but unwilling to give up the fortress. He felt that Ottavio
would be flattered by the nomination of his wife to so important an
office, and be not too much dissatisfied at finding himself relieved for
a time from her imperious fondness. Her residence in the Netherlands
would guarantee domestic tranquillity to her husband, and peace in Italy
to the King. Margaret would be a hostage for the fidelity of the Duke,
who had, moreover, given his eldest son to Philip to be educated in his
service.

She was about thirty-seven years of age when she arrived in the
Netherlands, with the reputation of possessing high talents, and a proud
and energetic character. She was an enthusiastic Catholic, and had sat at
the feet of Loyola, who had been her confessor and spiritual guide. She
felt a greater horror for heretics than for any other species of
malefactors, and looked up to her father's bloody edicts as if they had
been special revelations from on high. She was most strenuous in her
observance of Roman rites, and was accustomed to wash the feet of twelve
virgins every holy week, and to endow them in marriage afterwards.--Her
acquirements, save that of the art of horsemanship, were not remarkable.

Carefully educated in the Machiavellian and Medicean school of politics,
she was versed in that "dissimulation," to which liberal Anglo-Saxons
give a shorter name, but which formed the main substance of statesmanship
at the court of Charles and Philip. In other respects her accomplishments
were but meagre, and she had little acquaintance with any language but
Italian. Her personal appearance, which was masculine, but not without a
certain grand and imperial fascination, harmonized with the opinion
generally entertained of her character. The famous moustache upon her
upper lips was supposed to indicate authority and virility of purpose, an
impression which was confirmed by the circumstance that she was liable to
severe attacks of gout, a disorder usually considered more appropriate to
the sterner sex.

Such were the previous career and public reputation of the Duchess
Margaret. It remains to be unfolded whether her character and endowments,
as exemplified in her new position, were to justify the choice of Philip.

The members of the state council, as already observed, were Berlaymont,
Viglius, Arras, Orange, and Egmont.

The first was, likewise, chief of the finance department. Most of the
Catholic writers described him as a noble of loyal and highly honorable
character. Those of the Protestant party, on the contrary, uniformly
denounced him as greedy, avaricious, and extremely sanguinary. That he
was a brave and devoted soldier, a bitter papist, and an inflexible
adherent to the royal cause, has never been disputed. The Baron himself,
with his four courageous and accomplished sons, were ever in the front
ranks to defend the crown against the nation. It must be confessed,
however, that fanatical loyalty loses most of the romance with which
genius and poetry have so often hallowed the sentiment, when the
"legitimate" prince for whom the sword is drawn is not only an alien in
tongue and blood, but filled with undisguised hatred for the land he
claims to rule.

Viglius van Aytta van Zuichem was a learned Frisian, born, according to
some writers, of "boors' degree, but having no inclination for boorish
work". According to other authorities, which the President himself
favored, he was of noble origin; but, whatever his race, it is certain
that whether gentle or simple, it derived its first and only historical
illustration from his remarkable talents and acquirements. These in early
youth were so great as to acquire the commendation of Erasmus. He had
studied in Louvain, Paris, and Padua, had refused the tutorship Philip
when that prince was still a child, and had afterwards filled a
professorship at Ingolstadt. After rejecting several offers of promotion
from the Emperor, he had at last accepted in 1542 a seat in the council
of Mechlin, of which body he had become president in 1545. He had been
one of the peace commissioners to France in 1558, and was now president
of the privy council, a member of the state council, and of the inner and
secret committee of that board, called the Consults. Much odium was
attached to his name for his share in the composition of the famous edict
of 1550. The rough draught was usually attributed to his pen, but he
complained bitterly, in letters written at this time, of injustice done
him in this respect, and maintained that he had endeavored, without
success, to induce the Emperor to mitigate the severity of the edict. One
does not feel very strongly inclined to accept his excuses, however, when
his general opinions on the subject of religion are remembered. He was
most bigoted in precept and practice. Religious liberty he regarded as
the most detestable and baleful of doctrines; heresy he denounced as the
most unpardonable of crimes.

From no man's mouth flowed more bitter or more elegant commonplaces than
from that of the learned president against those blackest of malefactors,
the men who claimed within their own walls the right to worship God
according to their own consciences. For a common person, not learned in
law or divinity, to enter into his closet, to shut the door, and to pray
to Him who seeth in secret, was, in his opinion, to open wide the gate of
destruction for all the land, and to bring in the Father of Evil at once
to fly away with the whole population, body and soul. "If every man,"
said he to Hopper, "is to believe what he likes in his own house, we
shall have hearth gods and tutelar divinities, again, the country will
swarm with a thousand errors and sects, and very few there will be, I
fear, who will allow themselves to be enclosed in the sheepfold of
Christ. I have ever considered this opinion," continued the president,
"the most pernicious of all. They who hold it have a contempt for all
religion, and are neither more nor less than atheists. This vague,
fireside liberty should be by every possible means extirpated; therefore
did Christ institute shepherds to drive his wandering sheep back into the
fold of the true Church; thus only can we guard the lambs against the
ravening wolves, and prevent their being carried away from the flock of
Christ to the flock of Belial. Liberty of religion, or of conscience, as
they call it, ought never to be tolerated."

This was the cant with which Viglius was ever ready to feed not only his
faithful Hopper, but all the world beside. The president was naturally
anxious that the fold of Christ should be entrusted to none but regular
shepherds, for he looked forward to taking one of the most lucrative
crooks into his own hand, when he should retire from his secular career.

It is now necessary to say a few introductory words concerning the man
who, from this time forth, begins to rise upon the history of his country
with daily increasing grandeur and influence. William of Nassau, Prince
of Orange, although still young in years, is already the central
personage about whom the events and the characters of the epoch most
naturally group themselves; destined as he is to become more and more
with each succeeding year the vivifying source of light, strength, and
national life to a whole people.

The Nassau family first emerges into distinct existence in the middle of
the eleventh century. It divides itself almost as soon as known into two
great branches. The elder remained in Germany, ascended the imperial
throne in the thirteenth century in the person of Adolph of Nassau and
gave to the country many electors, bishops, and generals. The younger and
more illustrious branch retained the modest property and petty
sovereignty of Nassau Dillenbourg, but at the same time transplanted
itself to the Netherlands, where it attained at an early period to great
power and large possessions. The ancestors of William, as Dukes of
Gueldres, had begun to exercise sovereignty in the provinces four
centuries before the advent of the house of Burgundy. That overshadowing
family afterwards numbered the Netherland Nassaus among its most stanch
and powerful adherents. Engelbert the Second was distinguished in the
turbulent councils and in the battle-fields of Charles the Bold, and was
afterwards the unwavering supporter of Maximilian, in court and camp.
Dying childless, he was succeeded by his brother John, whose two sons,
Henry and William, of Nassau, divided the great inheritance after their
father's death, William succeeded to the German estates, became a convert
to Protestantism, and introduced the Reformation into his dominions.
Henry, the eldest son, received the family possessions and titles in
Luxembourg, Brabant, Flanders and Holland, and distinguished himself as
much as his uncle Engelbert, in the service of the Burgundo-Austrian
house. The confidential friend of Charles the Fifth, whose governor he
had been in that Emperor's boyhood, he was ever his most efficient and
reliable adherent. It was he whose influence placed the imperial crown
upon the head of Charles. In 1515 he espoused Claudia de Chalons, sister
of Prince Philibert of Orange, "in order," as he wrote to his father, "to
be obedient to his imperial Majesty, to please the King of France, and
more particularly for the sake of his own honor and profit."

His son Rene de Nassau-Chalons succeeded Philibert. The little
principality of Orange, so pleasantly situated between Provence and
Dauphiny, but in such dangerous proximity to the seat of the "Babylonian
captivity" of the popes at Avignon, thus passed to the family of Nassau.
The title was of high antiquity. Already in the reign of Charlemagne,
Guillaume au Court-Nez, or "William with the Short Nose," had defended
the little--town of Orange against the assaults of the Saracens. The
interest and authority acquired in the demesnes thus preserved by his
valor became extensive, and in process of time hereditary in his race.
The principality became an absolute and free sovereignty, and had already
descended, in defiance of the Salic law, through the three distinct
families of Orange, Baux, and Chalons.

In 1544, Prince Rene died at the Emperor's feet in the trenches of Saint
Dizier. Having no legitimate children, he left all his titles and estates
to his cousin-german, William of Nassau, son of his father's brother
William, who thus at the age of eleven years became William the Ninth of
Orange. For this child, whom the future was to summon to such high
destinies and such heroic sacrifices, the past and present seemed to have
gathered riches and power together from many sources. He was the
descendant of the Othos, the Engelberts, and the Henries, of the
Netherlands, the representative of the Philiberts and the Renes of
France; the chief of a house, humbler in resources and position in
Germany, but still of high rank, and which had already done good service
to humanity by being among the first to embrace the great principles of
the Reformation.

His father, younger brother of the Emperor's friend Henry, was called
William the Rich. He was, however, only rich in children. Of these he had
five sons and seven daughters by his wife Juliana of Stolberg. She was a
person of most exemplary character and unaffected piety. She instilled
into the minds of all her children the elements of that devotional
sentiment which was her own striking characteristic, and it was destined
that the seed sown early should increase to an abundant harvest. Nothing
can be more tender or more touching than the letters which still exist
from her hand, written to her illustrious sons in hours of anxiety or
anguish, and to the last, recommending to them with as much earnest
simplicity as if they were still little children at her knee, to rely
always in the midst of the trials and dangers which were to beset their
paths through life, upon the great hand of God. Among the mothers of
great men, Juliana of Stolberg deserves a foremost place, and it is no
slight eulogy that she was worthy to have been the mother of William of
Orange and of Lewis, Adolphus, Henry, and John of Nassau.

At the age of eleven years, William having thus unexpectedly succeeded to
such great possessions, was sent from his father's roof to be educated in
Brussels. No destiny seemed to lie before the young prince but an
education at the Emperor's court, to be followed by military adventures,
embassies, viceroyalties, and a life of luxury and magnificence. At a
very early age he came, accordingly, as a page into the Emperor's family.
Charles recognized, with his customary quickness, the remarkable
character of the boy. At fifteen, William was the intimate, almost
confidential friend of the Emperor, who prided himself, above all other
gifts, on his power of reading and of using men. The youth was so
constant an attendant upon his imperial chief that even when interviews
with the highest personages, and upon the gravest affairs, were taking
place, Charles would never suffer him to be considered superfluous or
intrusive. There seemed to be no secrets which the Emperor held too high
for the comprehension or discretion of his page. His perceptive and
reflective faculties, naturally of remarkable keenness and depth, thus
acquired a precocious and extraordinary development. He was brought up
behind the curtain of that great stage where the world's dramas were
daily enacted. The machinery and the masks which produced the grand
delusions of history had no deceptions for him. Carefully to observe
men's actions, and silently to ponder upon their motives, was the
favorite occupation of the Prince during his apprenticeship at court. As
he advanced to man's estate, he was selected by the Emperor for the
highest duties. Charles, whose only merit, so far as the provinces were
concerned, was in having been born in Ghent, and that by an ignoble
accident, was glad to employ this representative of so many great
Netherland houses, in the defence of the land. Before the Prince was
twenty-one he was appointed general-in-chief of the army on the French
frontier, in the absence of the Duke of Savoy. The post was coveted by
many most distinguished soldiers: the Counts of Buren, Bossu, Lalaing,
Aremberg, Meghem, and particularly by Count Egmont; yet Charles showed
his extraordinary confidence in the Prince of Orange, by selecting him
for the station, although he had hardly reached maturity, and was
moreover absent in France. The young Prince acquitted himself of his high
command in a manner which justified his appointment.

It was the Prince's shoulder upon which the Emperor leaned at the
abdication; the Prince's hand which bore the imperial insignia of the
discrowned monarch to Ferdinand, at Augsburg. With these duties his
relations with Charles were ended, and those with Philip begun. He was
with the army during the hostilities which were soon after resumed in
Picardy; he was the secret negotiator of the preliminary arrangement with
France, soon afterwards confirmed by the triumphant treaty of April,
1559. He had conducted these initiatory conferences with the Constable
Montmorency and Marshal de Saint Andre with great sagacity, although
hardly a man in years, and by so doing he had laid Philip under deep
obligations. The King was so inexpressibly anxious for peace that he
would have been capable of conducting a treaty upon almost any terms. He
assured the Prince that "the greatest service he could render him in this
world was to make peace, and that he desired to have it at any price what
ever, so eager was he to return to Spain." To the envoy Suriano, Philip
had held the same language. "Oh, Ambassador," said he, "I wish peace on
any terms, and if the King of France had not sued for it, I would have
begged for it myself."

With such impatience on the part of the sovereign, it certainly
manifested diplomatic abilities of a high character in the Prince, that
the treaty negotiated by him amounted to a capitulation by France. He was
one of the hostages selected by Henry for the due execution of the
treaty, and while in France made that remarkable discovery which was to
color his life. While hunting with the King in the forest of Vincennes,
the Prince and Henry found themselves alone together, and separated from
the rest of the company. The French monarch's mind was full of the great
scheme which had just secretly been formed by Philip and himself, to
extirpate Protestantism by a general extirpation of Protestants. Philip
had been most anxious to conclude the public treaty with France, that he
might be the sooner able to negotiate that secret convention by which he
and his Most Christian Majesty were solemnly to bind themselves to
massacre all the converts to the new religion in France and the
Netherlands. This conspiracy of the two Kings against their subjects was
the matter nearest the hearts of both. The Duke of Alva, a fellow hostage
with William of Orange, was the plenipotentiary to conduct this more
important arrangement. The French monarch, somewhat imprudently imagining
that the Prince was also a party to the plot, opened the whole subject to
him without reserve. He complained of the constantly increasing numbers
of sectaries in his kingdom, and protested that his conscience would
never be easy, nor his state secure until his realm should be delivered
of "that accursed vermin." A civil revolution, under pretext of a
religious reformation, was his constant apprehension, particularly since
so many notable personages in the realm, and even princes of the blood,
were already tainted with heresy. Nevertheless, with the favor of heaven,
and the assistance of his son and brother Philip, he hoped soon to be
master of the rebels. The King then proceeded, with cynical minuteness,
to lay before his discreet companion the particulars of the royal plot,
and the manner in which all heretics, whether high or humble, were to be
discovered and massacred at the most convenient season. For the
furtherance of the scheme in the Netherlands, it was understood that the
Spanish regiments would be exceedingly efficient. The Prince, although
horror-struck and indignant at the royal revelations, held his peace, and
kept his countenance. The King was not aware that, in opening this
delicate negotiation to Alva's colleague and Philip's plenipotentiary, he
had given a warning of inestimable value to the man who had been born to
resist the machinations of Philip and of Alva. William of Orange earned
the surname of "the Silent," from the manner in which he received these
communications of Henry without revealing to the monarch, by word or
look, the enormous blunder which he had committed. His purpose was fixed
from that hour. A few days afterwards he obtained permission to visit the
Netherlands, where he took measures to excite, with all his influence,
the strongest and most general opposition to the continued presence of
the Spanish troops, of which forces, touch against his will, he had been,
in conjunction with Egmont, appointed chief. He already felt, in his own
language, that "an inquisition for the Netherlands had been, resolved
upon more cruel than that of Spain; since it would need but to look
askance at an image to be cast into the flames." Although having as yet
no spark of religious sympathy for the reformers, he could not, he said,
"but feel compassion for so many virtuous men and women thus devoted to
massacre," and he determined to save them if he could!' At the departure
of Philip he had received instructions, both patent and secret, for his
guidance as stadholder of Holland, Friesland, and Utrecht. He was ordered
"most expressly to correct and extirpate the sects reprobated by our Holy
Mother Church; to execute the edicts of his Imperial Majesty, renewed by
the King, with absolute rigor. He was to see that the judges carried out
the edicts, without infraction, alteration, or moderation, since they
were there to enforce, not to make or to discuss the law." In his secret
instructions he was informed that the execution of the edicts was to be
with all rigor, and without any respect of persons. He was also reminded
that, whereas some persons had imagined the severity of the law "to be
only intended against Anabaptists, on the contrary, the edicts were to be
enforced on Lutherans and all other sectaries without distinction."
Moreover, in one of his last interviews with Philip, the King had given
him the names of several "excellent persons suspected of the new
religion," and had commanded him to have them put to death. This,
however, he not only omitted to do, but on the contrary gave them
warning, so that they might effect their escape, "thinking it more
necessary to obey God than man."

William of Orange, at the departure of the King for Spain, was in his
twenty-seventh year. He was a widower; his first wife, Anne of Egmont,
having died in 1558, after seven years of wedlock. This lady, to whom he
had been united when they were both eighteen years of age, was the
daughter of the celebrated general, Count de Buren, and the greatest
heiress in the Netherlands. William had thus been faithful to the family
traditions, and had increased his possessions by a wealthy alliance. He
had two children, Philip and Mary. The marriage had been more amicable
than princely marriages arranged for convenience often prove. The letters
of the Prince to his wife indicate tenderness and contentment. At the
same time he was accused, at a later period, of "having murdered her with
a dagger." The ridiculous tale was not even credited by those who
reported it, but it is worth mentioning, as a proof that no calumny was
too senseless to be invented concerning the man whose character was from
that hour forth to be the mark of slander, and whose whole life was to be
its signal, although often unavailing, refutation.

Yet we are not to regard William of Orange, thus on the threshold of his
great career, by the light diffused from a somewhat later period. In no
historical character more remarkably than in his is the law of constant
development and progress illustrated. At twenty-six he is not the "pater
patriae," the great man struggling upward and onward against a host of
enemies and obstacles almost beyond human strength, and along the dark
and dangerous path leading through conflict, privation, and ceaseless
labor to no repose but death. On the contrary, his foot was hardly on the
first step of that difficult ascent which was to rise before him all his
lifetime. He was still among the primrose paths. He was rich, powerful,
of sovereign rank. He had only the germs within him of what was
thereafter to expand into moral and intellectual greatness. He had small
sympathy for the religious reformation, of which he was to be one of the
most distinguished champions. He was a Catholic, nominally, and in
outward observance. With doctrines he troubled himself but little. He had
given orders to enforce conformity to the ancient Church, not with
bloodshed, yet with comparative strictness, in his principality of
Orange. Beyond the compliance with rites and forms, thought indispensable
in those days to a personage of such high degree, he did not occupy
himself with theology. He was a Catholic, as Egmont and Horn, Berlaymont
and Mansfeld, Montigny and even Brederode, were Catholic. It was only
tanners, dyers and apostate priests who were Protestants at that day in
the Netherlands. His determination to protect a multitude of his harmless
inferiors from horrible deaths did not proceed from sympathy with their
religious sentiments, but merely from a generous and manly detestation of
murder. He carefully averted his mind from sacred matters. If indeed the
seed implanted by his pious parents were really the germ of his future
conversion to Protestantism, it must be confessed that it lay dormant a
long time. But his mind was in other pursuits. He was disposed for an
easy, joyous, luxurious, princely life. Banquets, masquerades,
tournaments, the chase, interspersed with the routine of official duties,
civil and military, seemed likely to fill out his life. His hospitality,
like his fortune, was almost regal. While the King and the foreign envoys
were still in the Netherlands, his house, the splendid Nassau palace of
Brussels, was ever open. He entertained for the monarch, who was, or who
imagined himself to be, too poor to discharge his own duties in this
respect, but he entertained at his own expense. This splendid household
was still continued. Twenty-four noblemen and eighteen pages of gentle
birth officiated regularly in his family. His establishment was on so
extensive a scale that upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were
dismissed, for the purpose of diminishing the family expenses, and there
was hardly a princely house in Germany which did not send cooks to learn
their business in so magnificent a kitchen. The reputation of his table
remained undiminished for years. We find at a later period, that Philip,
in the course of one of the nominal reconciliations which took place
several times between the monarch and William of Orange, wrote that, his
head cook being dead, he begged the Prince to "make him a present of his
chief cook, Master Herman, who was understood to be very skilful."

In this hospitable mansion, the feasting continued night and day. From
early morning till noon, the breakfast-tables were spread with wines and
luxurious viands in constant succession, to all comers and at every
moment.--The dinner and supper were daily banquets for a multitude of
guests. The highest nobles were not those alone who were entertained. Men
of lower degree were welcomed with a charming hospitality which made them
feel themselves at their ease. Contemporaries of all parties unite in
eulogizing the winning address and gentle manners of the Prince. "Never,"
says a most bitter Catholic historian, "did an arrogant or indiscreet
word fall from his lips. He, upon no occasion, manifested anger to his
servants, however much they might be in fault, but contented himself with
admonishing them graciously, without menace or insult. He had a gentle
and agreeable tongue, with which he could turn all the gentlemen at court
any way he liked. He was beloved and honored by the whole community." His
manner was graceful, familiar, caressing, and yet dignified. He had the
good breeding which comes from the heart, refined into an inexpressible
charm from his constant intercourse, almost from his cradle, with mankind
of all ranks.

It may be supposed that this train of living was attended with expense.
Moreover, he had various other establishments in town and country;
besides his almost royal residence in Brussels. He was ardently fond of
the chase, particularly of the knightly sport of falconry. In the country
he "consoled himself by taking every day a heron in the clouds." His
falconers alone cost him annually fifteen hundred florins, after he had
reduced their expenses to the lowest possible point. He was much in debt,
even at this early period and with his princely fortune. "We come of a
race," he wrote carelessly to his brother Louis, "who are somewhat bad
managers in our young days, but when we grow older, we do better, like
our late father: 'sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper et in
secula seculorum'. My greatest difficulty," he adds, "as usual, is on
account of the falconers."

His debts already amounted, according to Granvelle's statement, to
800,000 or 900,000 florins. He had embarrassed himself, not only through
his splendid extravagance, by which all the world about him were made to
partake of his wealth, but by accepting the high offices to which he had
been appointed. When general-in-chief on the frontier, his salary was
three hundred florins monthly; "not enough," as he said, "to pay the
servants in his tent," his necessary expenses being twenty-five hundred
florins, as appears by a letter to his wife. His embassy to carry the
crown to Ferdinand, and his subsequent residence as a hostage for the
treaty in Paris, were also very onerous, and he received no salary;
according to the economical system in this respect pursued by Charles and
Philip. In these two embassies or missions alone, together with the
entertainments offered by him to the court and to foreigners, after the
peace at Brussels, the Prince spent, according to his own estimate,
1,500,000 florins. He was, however, although deeply, not desperately
involved, and had already taken active measures to regulate and reduce
his establishment. His revenues were vast, both in his own right and in
that of his deceased wife. He had large claims upon the royal treasury
for service and expenditure. He had besides ample sums to receive from
the ransoms of the prisoners of St. Quentin and Gravelines, having served
in both campaigns. The amount to be received by individuals from this
source may be estimated from the fact that Count Horn, by no means one of
the most favored in the victorious armies, had received from Leonor
d'Orleans, Due de Loggieville, a ransom of eighty thousand crowns. The
sum due, if payment were enforced, from the prisoners assigned to Egmont,
Orange, and others, must have been very large. Granvelle estimated the
whole amount at two millions; adding, characteristically, "that this kind
of speculation was a practice" which our good old fathers, lovers of
virtue, would not have found laudable. In this the churchman was right,
but he might have added that the "lovers of virtue" would have found it
as little "laudable" for ecclesiastics to dispose of the sacred offices
in their gift, for carpets, tapestry, and annual payments of certain
percentages upon the cure of souls. If the profits respectively gained by
military and clerical speculators in that day should be compared, the
disadvantage would hardly be found to lie with those of the long robe.

Such, then, at the beginning of 1560, was William of Orange; a generous,
stately, magnificent, powerful grandee. As a military commander, he had
acquitted himself very creditably of highly important functions at an
early age. Nevertheless it was the opinion of many persons, that he was
of a timid temperament. He was even accused of having manifested an
unseemly panic at Philippeville, and of having only been restrained by
the expostulations of his officers, from abandoning both that fortress
and Charlemont to Admiral Coligny, who had made his appearance in the
neighborhood, merely at the head of a reconnoitring party. If the story
were true, it would be chiefly important as indicating that the Prince of
Orange was one of the many historical characters, originally of an
excitable and even timorous physical organization, whom moral courage and
a strong will have afterwards converted into dauntless heroes. Certain it
is that he was destined to confront open danger in every form, that his
path was to lead through perpetual ambush, yet that his cheerful
confidence and tranquil courage were to become not only unquestionable
but proverbial. It may be safely asserted, however, that the story was an
invention to be classed with those fictions which made him the murderer
of his first wife, a common conspirator against Philip's crown and
person, and a crafty malefactor in general, without a single virtue. It
must be remembered that even the terrible Alva, who lived in harness
almost from the cradle to the grave, was, so late as at this period,
censured for timidity, and had been accused in youth of flat cowardice.
He despised the insinuation, which for him had no meaning. There is no
doubt too that caution was a predominant characteristic of the Prince. It
was one of the chief sources of his greatness. At that period, perhaps at
any period, he would have been incapable of such brilliant and dashing
exploits as had made the name of Egmont so famous. It had even become a
proverb, "the counsel of Orange, the execution of Egmont," yet we shall
have occasion to see how far this physical promptness which had been so
felicitous upon the battle-field was likely to avail the hero of St.
Quentin in the great political combat which was approaching.

As to the talents of the Prince, there was no difference of opinion. His
enemies never contested the subtlety and breadth of his intellect, his
adroitness and capacity in conducting state affairs, his knowledge of
human nature, and the profoundness of his views. In many respects it must
be confessed that his surname of The Silent, like many similar
appellations, was a misnomer. William of Orange was neither "silent" nor
"taciturn," yet these are the epithets which will be forever associated
with the name of a man who, in private, was the most affable, cheerful,
and delightful of companions, and who on a thousand great public
occasions was to prove himself, both by pen and by speech, the most
eloquent man of his age. His mental accomplishments were considerable: He
had studied history with attention, and he spoke and wrote with facility
Latin, French, German, Flemish, and Spanish.

The man, however, in whose hands the administration of the Netherlands
was in reality placed, was Anthony Perrenot, then Bishop of Arras, soon
to be known by the more celebrated title of Cardinal Granvelle. He was
the chief of the Consults, or secret council of three, by whose
deliberations the Duchess Regent was to be governed. His father, Nicholas
Perrenot, of an obscure family in Burgundy, had been long the favorite
minister and man of business to the Emperor Charles. Anthony, the eldest
of thirteen children, was born in 1517. He was early distinguished for
his talents. He studied at Dole, Padua, Paris, and Louvain. At, the age
of twenty he spoke seven languages with perfect facility, while his
acquaintance with civil and ecclesiastical laws was considered
prodigious. At the age of twenty-three he became a canon of Liege
Cathedral. The necessary eight quarters of gentility produced upon that
occasion have accordingly been displayed by his panegyrists in triumphant
refutation of that theory which gave him a blacksmith for his
grandfather. At the same period, although he had not reached the
requisite age, the rich bishopric of Arras had already been prepared for
him by his father's care. Three years afterwards, in 1543, he
distinguished himself by a most learned and brilliant harangue before the
Council of Trent, by which display he so much charmed the Emperor, that
he created him councillor of state. A few years afterwards he rendered
the unscrupulous Charles still more valuable proofs of devotion and
dexterity by the part he played in the memorable imprisonment of the
Landgrave of Hesse and the Saxon Dukes. He was thereafter constantly
employed in embassies and other offices of trust and profit.

There was no doubt as to his profound and varied learning, nor as to his
natural quickness and dexterity. He was ready witted, smooth and fluent
of tongue, fertile in expedients, courageous, resolute. He thoroughly
understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors. He knew
how to govern under the appearance of obeying. He possessed exquisite
tact in appreciating the characters of those far above him in rank and
beneath him in intellect. He could accommodate himself with great
readiness to the idiosyncrasies of sovereigns. He was a chameleon to the
hand which fed him. In his intercourse with the King, he colored himself,
as it were, with the King's character. He was not himself, but Philip;
not the sullen, hesitating, confused Philip, however, but Philip endowed
with eloquence, readiness, facility. The King ever found himself
anticipated with the most delicate obsequiousness, beheld his struggling
ideas change into winged words without ceasing to be his own. No flattery
could be more adroit. The bishop accommodated himself to the King's
epistolary habits. The silver-tongued and ready debater substituted
protocols for conversation, in deference to a monarch who could not
speak. He corresponded with Philip, with Margaret of Parma, with every
one. He wrote folios to the Duchess when they were in the same palace. He
would write letters forty pages long to the King, and send off another
courier on the same day with two or three additional despatches of
identical date. Such prolixity enchanted the King, whose greediness for
business epistles was insatiable. The painstaking monarch toiled, pen in
hand, after his wonderful minister in vain. Philip was only fit to be the
bishop's clerk; yet he imagined himself to be the directing and governing
power. He scrawled apostilles in the margins to prove that he had read
with attention, and persuaded himself that he suggested when he scarcely
even comprehended. The bishop gave advice and issued instructions when he
seemed to be only receiving them. He was the substance while he affected
to be the shadow. These tactics were comparatively easy and likely to be
triumphant, so long as he had only to deal with inferior intellects like
those of Philip and Margaret. When he should be matched against political
genius and lofty character combined, it was possible that his resources
might not prove so all-sufficient.

His political principles were sharply defined in reality, but smoothed
over by a conventional and decorous benevolence of language, which
deceived vulgar minds. He was a strict absolutist. His deference to
arbitrary power was profound and slavish. God and "the master," as he
always called Philip, he professed to serve with equal humility. "It
seems to me," said he, in a letter of this epoch, "that I shall never be
able to fulfil the obligation of slave which I owe to your majesty, to
whom I am bound by so firm a chain;--at any rate, I shall never fail to
struggle for that end with sincerity."

As a matter of course, he was a firm opponent of the national rights of
the Netherlands, however artfully he disguised the sharp sword of violent
absolutism under a garland of flourishing phraseology. He had strenuously
warned Philip against assembling the States-general before his departure
for the sake of asking them for supplies. He earnestly deprecated
allowing the constitutional authorities any control over the expenditures
of the government, and averred that this practice under the Regent Mary
had been the cause of endless trouble. It may easily be supposed that
other rights were as little to his taste as the claim to vote the
subsidies, a privilege which was in reality indisputable. Men who stood
forth in defence of the provincial constitutions were, in his opinion,
mere demagogues and hypocrites; their only motive being to curry favor
with the populace. Yet these charters were, after all, sufficiently
limited. The natural rights of man were topics which had never been
broached. Man had only natural wrongs. None ventured to doubt that
sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God. The rights of the
Netherlands were special, not general; plural, not singular; liberties,
not liberty; "privileges," not maxims. They were practical, not
theoretical; historical, not philosophical. Still, such as they were,
they were facts, acquisitions. They had been purchased by the blood and
toil of brave ancestors; they amounted--however open to criticism upon
broad humanitarian grounds, of which few at that day had ever dreamed--to
a solid, substantial dyke against the arbitrary power which was ever
chafing and fretting to destroy its barriers. No men were more subtle or
more diligent in corroding the foundation of these bulwarks than the
disciples of Granvelle. Yet one would have thought it possible to
tolerate an amount of practical freedom so different from the wild,
social speculations which in later days, have made both tyrants and
reasonable lovers of our race tremble with apprehension. The
Netherlanders claimed, mainly, the right to vote the money which was
demanded in such enormous profusion from their painfully-acquired wealth;
they were also unwilling to be burned alive if they objected to
transubstantiation. Granvelle was most distinctly of an opposite opinion
upon both topics. He strenuously deprecated the interference of the
states with the subsidies, and it was by his advice that the remorseless
edict of 1550, the Emperor's ordinance of blood and fire, was re-enacted,
as the very first measure of Philip's reign. Such were his sentiments as
to national and popular rights by representation. For the people
itself--"that vile and mischievous animal called the people"--as he
expressed it, he entertained a cheerful contempt.

His aptitude for managing men was very great; his capacity for affairs
incontestable; but it must be always understood as the capacity for the
affairs of absolutism. He was a clever, scheming politician, an adroit
manager; it remained to be seen whether he had a claim to the character
of a statesman. His industry was enormous. He could write fifty letters a
day with his own hand. He could dictate to half a dozen amanuenses at
once, on as many different subjects, in as many different languages, and
send them all away exhausted.

He was already rich. His income from his see and other livings was
estimated, in 1557, at ten thousand dollars--[1885 approximation. The
decimal point more places to the right would in 2000 not be out of line.
D.W.]--; his property in ready money, "furniture, tapestry, and the
like," at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When it is considered
that, as compared with our times, these sums represent a revenue of a
hundred thousand, and a capital of two millions and a half in addition,
it may be safely asserted that the prelate had at least made a good
beginning. Besides his regular income, moreover, he had handsome receipts
from that simony which was reduced to a system, and which gave him a
liberal profit, generally in the shape of an annuity, upon every benefice
which he conferred. He was, however, by no means satisfied. His appetite
was as boundless as the sea; he was still a shameless mendicant of
pecuniary favors and lucrative offices. Already, in 1552, the Emperor had
roundly rebuked his greediness. "As to what you say of getting no
'merced' nor 'ayuda de costa,'" said he, "'tis merced and ayuda de costa
quite sufficient, when one has fat benefices, pensions, and salaries,
with which a man might manage to support himself." The bishop, however,
was not easily abashed, and he was at the epoch which now occupies us,
earnestly and successfully soliciting from Philip the lucrative abbey of
Saint Armand. Not that he would have accepted this preferment, "could the
abbey have been annexed to any of the new bishoprics;" on the contrary,
he assured the king that "to carry out so holy a work as the erection of
those new sees, he would willingly have contributed even out of his own
miserable pittance."

It not being considered expedient to confiscate the abbey to any
particular bishop, Philip accordingly presented it to the prelate of
Arras, together with a handsome sum of money in the shape of an "ayuda de
costa" beside. The thrifty bishop, who foresaw the advent of troublous
times in the Netherlands, however, took care in the letters by which he
sent his thanks, to instruct the King to secure the money upon crown
property in Arragon, Naples, and Sicily, as matters in the provinces were
beginning to look very precarious.

Such, at the commencement of the Duchess Margaret's administration, were
the characters and the previous histories of the persons into whose hands
the Netherlands were entrusted. None of them have been prejudged. We have
contented ourselves with stating the facts with regard to all, up to the
period at which we have arrived. Their characters have been sketched, not
according to subsequent developments, but as they appeared at the opening
of this important epoch.

The aspect of the country and its inhabitants offered many sharp
contrasts, and revealed many sources of future trouble.

The aristocracy of the Netherlands was excessively extravagant,
dissipated, and already considerably embarrassed in circumstances. It had
been the policy of the Emperor and of Philip to confer high offices,
civil, military, and diplomatic, upon the leading nobles, by which
enormous expenses were entailed upon them, without any corresponding
salaries. The case of Orange has been already alluded to, and there were
many other nobles less able to afford the expense, who had been indulged
with these ruinous honors. During the war, there had been, however, many
chances of bettering broken fortunes. Victory brought immense prizes to
the leading officers. The ransoms of so many illustrious prisoners as had
graced the triumphs of Saint Quentin and Gravelines had been extremely
profitable. These sources of wealth had now been cut off; yet, on the
departure of the King from the Netherlands, the luxury increased instead
of diminishing, "Instead of one court," said a contemporary, "you would
have said that there were fifty." Nothing could be more sumptuous than
the modes of life in Brussels. The household of Orange has been already
painted. That of Egmont was almost as magnificent. A rivalry in
hospitality and in display began among the highest nobles, and extended
to those less able to maintain themselves in the contest. During the war
there had been the valiant emulation of the battlefield; gentlemen had
vied with each other how best to illustrate an ancient name with deeds of
desperate valor, to repair the fortunes of a ruined house with the spoils
of war. They now sought to surpass each other in splendid extravagance.
It was an eager competition who should build the stateliest palaces, have
the greatest number of noble pages and gentlemen in waiting, the most
gorgeous liveries, the most hospitable tables, the most scientific cooks.
There was, also, much depravity as well as extravagance. The morals of
high society were loose. Gaming was practised to a frightful extent.
Drunkenness was a prevailing characteristic of the higher classes. Even
the Prince of Orange himself, at this period, although never addicted to
habitual excess, was extremely convivial in his tastes, tolerating scenes
and companions, not likely at a later day to find much favor in his
sight. "We kept Saint Martin's joyously," he wrote, at about this period,
to his brother, "and in the most jovial company. Brederode was one day in
such a state that I thought he would certainly die, but he has now got
over it." Count Brederode, soon afterwards to become so conspicuous in
the early scenes of the revolt, was, in truth, most notorious for his
performances in these banqueting scenes. He appeared to have vowed as
uncompromising hostility to cold water as to the inquisition, and always
denounced both with the same fierce and ludicrous vehemence. Their
constant connection with Germany at that period did not improve the
sobriety of the Netherlands' nobles. The aristocracy of that country, as
is well known, were most "potent at potting." "When the German finds
himself sober," said the bitter Badovaro, "he believes himself to be
ill." Gladly, since the peace, they had welcomed the opportunities
afforded for many a deep carouse with their Netherlands cousins. The
approaching marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Saxon princess--an
episode which will soon engage our attention--gave rise to tremendous
orgies. Count Schwartzburg, the Prince's brother-in-law, and one of the
negotiators of the marriage, found many occasions to strengthen the bonds
of harmony between the countries by indulgence of these common tastes. "I
have had many princes and counts at my table," he wrote to Orange, "where
a good deal more was drunk than eaten. The Rhinegrave's brother fell down
dead after drinking too much malvoisie; but we have had him balsamed and
sent home to his family."

These disorders among the higher ranks were in reality so extensive as to
justify the biting remark of the Venetian: "The gentlemen intoxicate
themselves every day," said he, "and the ladies also; but much less than
the men." His remarks as to the morality, in other respects, of both
sexes were equally sweeping, and not more complimentary.

If these were the characteristics of the most distinguished society, it
may be supposed that they were reproduced with more or less intensity
throughout all the more remote but concentric circles of life, as far as
the seductive splendor of the court could radiate. The lesser nobles
emulated the grandees, and vied with each other in splendid
establishments, banquets, masquerades, and equipages. The natural
consequences of such extravagance followed. Their estates were mortgaged,
deeply and more deeply; then, after a few years, sold to the merchants,
or rich advocates and other gentlemen of the robe, to whom they had been
pledged. The more closely ruin stared the victims in the face, the more
heedlessly did they plunge into excesses. "Such were the circumstances,"
moralizes a Catholic writer, "to which, at an earlier period, the affairs
of Catiline, Cethegus, Lentulus, and others of that faction had been
reduced, when they undertook to overthrow the Roman republic." Many of
the nobles being thus embarrassed, and some even desperate, in their
condition, it was thought that they were desirous of creating
disturbances in the commonwealth, that the payment of just debts might be
avoided, that their mortgaged lands might be wrested by main force from
the low-born individuals who had become possessed of them, that, in
particular, the rich abbey lands held by idle priests might be
appropriated to the use of impoverished gentlemen who could turn them to
so much better account. It is quite probable that interested motives such
as these were not entirely inactive among a comparatively small class of
gentlemen. The religious reformation in every land of Europe derived a
portion of its strength from the opportunity it afforded to potentates
and great nobles for helping themselves to Church property. No doubt many
Netherlanders thought that their fortunes might be improved at the
expense of the monks, and for the benefit of religion. Even without
apostasy from the mother Church, they looked with longing eyes on the
wealth of her favored and indolent children. They thought that the King
would do well to carve a round number of handsome military commanderies
out of the abbey lands, whose possessors should be bound to military
service after the ancient manner of fiefs, so that a splendid cavalry,
headed by the gentlemen of the country, should be ever ready to mount and
ride at the royal pleasure, in place of a horde of lazy epicureans,
telling beads and indulging themselves in luxurious vice.

Such views were entertained; such language often held. These
circumstances and sentiments had their influence among the causes which
produced the great revolt now impending. Care should be taken, however,
not to exaggerate that influence. It is a prodigious mistake to refer
this great historical event to sources so insufficient as the ambition of
a few great nobles, and the embarrassments of a larger number of needy
gentlemen. The Netherlands revolt was not an aristocratic, but a popular,
although certainly not a democratic movement. It was a great episode--the
longest, the darkest, the bloodiest, the most important episode in the
history of the religious reformation in Europe. The nobles so conspicuous
upon the surface at the outbreak, only drifted before a storm which they
neither caused nor controlled. Even the most powerful and the most
sagacious were tossed to and fro by the surge of great events, which, as
they rolled more and more tumultuously around them, seemed to become both
irresistible and unfathomable.

For the state of the people was very different from the condition of the
aristocracy. The period of martyrdom had lasted long and was to last
loner; but there were symptoms that it might one day be succeeded by a
more active stage of popular disease. The tumults of the Netherlands were
long in ripening; when the final outbreak came it would have been more
philosophical to enquire, not why it had occurred, but how it could have
been so long postponed. During the reign of Charles, the sixteenth
century had been advancing steadily in strength as the once omnipotent
Emperor lapsed into decrepitude. That extraordinary century had not
dawned upon the earth only to increase the strength of absolutism and
superstition. The new world had not been discovered, the ancient world
reconquered, the printing-press perfected, only that the inquisition
might reign undisturbed over the fairest portions of the earth, and
chartered hypocrisy fatten upon its richest lands. It was impossible that
the most energetic and quick-witted people of Europe should not feel
sympathy with the great effort made by Christendom to shake off the
incubus which had so long paralyzed her hands and brain. In the
Netherlands, where the attachment to Rome had never been intense, where
in the old times, the Bishops of Utrecht had been rather Ghibelline than
Guelph, where all the earlier sects of dissenters--Waldenses, Lollards,
Hussites--had found numerous converts and thousands of martyrs, it was
inevitable that there should be a response from the popular heart to the
deeper agitation which now reached to the very core of Christendom. In
those provinces, so industrious and energetic, the disgust was likely to
be most easily awakened for a system under which so many friars battened
in luxury upon the toils of others, contributing nothing to the taxation,
nor to the military defence of the country, exercising no productive
avocation, except their trade in indulgences, and squandering in taverns
and brothels the annual sums derived from their traffic in licences to
commit murder, incest, and every other crime known to humanity.

The people were numerous, industrious, accustomed for centuries to a
state of comparative civil freedom, and to a lively foreign trade, by
which their minds were saved from the stagnation of bigotry. It was
natural that they should begin to generalize, and to pass from the
concrete images presented them in the Flemish monasteries to the abstract
character of Rome itself. The Flemish, above all their other qualities,
were a commercial nation. Commerce was the mother of their freedom, so
far as they had acquired it, in civil matters. It was struggling to give
birth to a larger liberty, to freedom of conscience. The provinces were
situated in the very heart of Europe. The blood of a world-wide traffic
was daily coursing through the thousand arteries of that water-in-woven
territory. There was a mutual exchange between the Netherlands and all
the world; and ideas were as liberally interchanged as goods. Truth was
imported as freely as less precious merchandise. The psalms of Marot were
as current as the drugs of Molucca or the diamonds of Borneo. The
prohibitory measures of a despotic government could not annihilate this
intellectual trade, nor could bigotry devise an effective quarantine to
exclude the religious pest which lurked in every bale of merchandise, and
was wafted on every breeze from East and West.

The edicts of the Emperor had been endured, but not accepted. The
horrible persecution under which so many thousands had sunk had produced
its inevitable result. Fertilized by all this innocent blood, the soil of
the Netherlands became as a watered garden, in which liberty, civil and
religious, was to flourish perennially. The scaffold had its daily
victims, but did not make a single convert. The statistics of these
crimes will perhaps never be accurately adjusted, nor will it be
ascertained whether the famous estimate of Grotius was an exaggerated or
an inadequate calculation. Those who love horrible details may find ample
material. The chronicles contain the lists of these obscure martyrs; but
their names, hardly pronounced in their life-time, sound barbarously in
our ears, and will never ring through the trumpet of fame. Yet they were
men who dared and suffered as much as men can dare and suffer in this
world, and for the noblest cause which can inspire humanity. Fanatics
they certainly were not, if fanaticism consists in show, without
corresponding substance. For them all was terrible reality. The Emperor
and his edicts were realities, the axe, the stake were realities, and the
heroism with which men took each other by the hand and walked into the
flames, or with which women sang a song of triumph while the grave-digger
was shovelling the earth upon their living faces, was a reality also.

Thus, the people of the Netherlands were already pervaded, throughout the
whole extent of the country, with the expanding spirit of religious
reformation. It was inevitable that sooner or later an explosion was to
arrive. They were placed between two great countries, where the new
principles had already taken root. The Lutheranism of Germany and the
Calvinism of France had each its share in producing the Netherland
revolt, but a mistake is perhaps often made in estimating the relative
proportion of these several influences. The Reformation first entered the
provinces, not through the Augsburg, but the Huguenot gate. The fiery
field-preachers from the south of France first inflamed the excitable
hearts of the kindred population of the south-western Netherlands. The
Walloons were the first to rebel against and the first to reconcile
themselves with papal Rome, exactly as their Celtic ancestors, fifteen
centuries earlier, had been foremost in the revolt against imperial Rome,
and precipitate in their submission to her overshadowing power. The
Batavians, slower to be moved but more steadfast, retained the impulse
which they received from the same source which was already agitating
their "Welsh" compatriots. There were already French preachers at
Valenciennes and Tournay, to be followed, as we shall have occasion to
see, by many others. Without undervaluing the influence of the German
Churches, and particularly of the garrison-preaching of the German
military chaplains in the Netherlands, it may be safely asserted that the
early Reformers of the provinces were mainly Huguenots in their belief:
The Dutch Church became, accordingly, not Lutheran, but Calvinistic, and
the founder of the commonwealth hardly ceased to be a nominal Catholic
before he became an adherent to the same creed.

In the mean time, it is more natural to regard the great movement,
psychologically speaking, as a whole, whether it revealed itself in
France, Germany, the Netherlands, England, or Scotland. The policy of
governments, national character, individual interests, and other
collateral circumstances, modified the result; but the great cause was
the same; the source of all the movements was elemental, natural, and
single. The Reformation in Germany had been adjourned for half a century
by the Augsburg religious peace, just concluded. It was held in suspense
in France through the Macchiavellian policy which Catharine de Medici had
just adopted, and was for several years to prosecute, of balancing one
party against the other, so as to neutralize all power but her own. The
great contest was accordingly transferred to the Netherlands, to be
fought out for the rest of the century, while the whole of Christendom
were to look anxiously for the result. From the East and from the West
the clouds rolled away, leaving a comparatively bright and peaceful
atmosphere, only that they might concentrate themselves with portentous
blackness over the devoted soil of the Netherlands. In Germany, the
princes, not the people, had conquered Rome, and to the princes, not the
people, were secured the benefits of the victory--the spoils of churches,
and the right to worship according to conscience. The people had the
right to conform to their ruler's creed, or to depart from his land.
Still, as a matter of fact, many of the princes being Reformers, a large
mass of the population had acquired the privilege for their own
generation and that of their children to practise that religion which
they actually approved. This was a fact, and a more comfortable one than
the necessity of choosing between what they considered wicked idolatry
and the stake--the only election left to their Netherland brethren. In
France, the accidental splinter from Montgomery's lance had deferred the
Huguenot massacre for a dozen years. During the period in which the Queen
Regent was resolved to play her fast and loose policy, all the
persuasions of Philip and the arts of Alva were powerless to induce her
to carry out the scheme which Henry had revealed to Orange in the forest
of Vincennes. When the crime came at last, it was as blundering as it was
bloody; at once premeditated and accidental; the isolated execution of an
interregal conspiracy, existing for half a generation, yet exploding
without concert; a wholesale massacre, but a piecemeal plot.

The aristocracy and the masses being thus, from a variety of causes, in
this agitated and dangerous condition, what were the measures of the
government?

The edict of 1550 had been re-enacted immediately after Philip's
accession to sovereignty. It is necessary that the reader should be made
acquainted with some of the leading provisions of this famous document,
thus laid down above all the constitutions as the organic law of the
land. A few plain facts, entirely without rhetorical varnish, will prove
more impressive in this case than superfluous declamation. The American
will judge whether the wrongs inflicted by Laud and Charles upon his
Puritan ancestors were the severest which a people has had to undergo,
and whether the Dutch Republic does not track its source to the same
high, religious origin as that of our own commonwealth.

"No one," said the edict, "shall print, write, copy, keep, conceal, sell,
buy or give in churches, streets, or other places, any book or writing
made by Martin Luther, John Ecolampadius, Ulrich Zwinglius, Martin Bucer,
John Calvin, or other heretics reprobated by the Holy Church; nor break,
or otherwise injure the images of the holy virgin or canonized saints....
nor in his house hold conventicles, or illegal gatherings, or be present
at any such in which the adherents of the above-mentioned heretics teach,
baptize, and form conspiracies against the Holy Church and the general
welfare..... Moreover, we forbid," continues the edict, in name of the
sovereign, "all lay persons to converse or dispute concerning the Holy
Scriptures, openly or secretly, especially on any doubtful or difficult
matters, or to read, teach, or expound the Scriptures, unless they have
duly studied theology and been approved by some renowned university.....
or to preach secretly, or openly, or to entertain any of the opinions of
the above-mentioned heretics..... on pain, should anyone be found to have
contravened any of the points above-mentioned, as perturbators of our
state and of the general quiet, to be punished in the following manner."
And how were they to be punished? What was the penalty inflicted upon the
man or woman who owned a hymn-book, or who hazarded the opinion in
private, that Luther was not quite wrong in doubting the power of a monk
to sell for money the license to commit murder or incest; or upon the
parent, not being a Roman Catholic doctor of divinity, who should read
Christ's Sermon on the Mount to his children in his own parlor or shop?
How were crimes like these to be visited upon the transgressor? Was it by
reprimand, fine, imprisonment, banishment, or by branding on the
forehead, by the cropping of the ears or the slitting of nostrils, as was
practised upon the Puritan fathers of New England for their
nonconformity? It was by a sharper chastisement than any of these
methods. The Puritan fathers of the Dutch Republic had to struggle
against a darker doom. The edict went on to provide--

"That such perturbators of the general quiet are to be executed, to wit:
the men with the sword and the women to be buried alive, if they do not
persist in their errors; if they do persist in them, then they are to be
executed with fire; all their property in both cases being confiscated to
the crown."

Thus, the clemency of the sovereign permitted the repentant heretic to be
beheaded or buried, alive, instead of being burned.

The edict further provided against all misprision of heresy by making
those who failed to betray the suspected liable to the same punishment as
if suspected or convicted themselves: "we forbid," said the decree, "all
persons to lodge, entertain, furnish with food, fire, or clothing, or
otherwise to favor any one holden or notoriously suspected of being a
heretic; . . . and any one failing to denounce any such we ordain shall
be liable to the above-mentioned punishments."

The edict went on to provide, "that if any person, being not convicted of
heresy or error, but greatly suspected thereof, and therefore condemned
by the spiritual judge to abjure such heresy, or by the secular
magistrate to make public fine and reparation, shall again become
suspected or tainted with heresy--although it should not appear that
he has contravened or violated any one of our abovementioned
commands--nevertheless, we do will and ordain that such person shall be
considered as relapsed, and, as such, be punished with loss of life and
property, without any hope of moderation or mitigation of the
above-mentioned penalties."

Furthermore, it was decreed, that "the spiritual judges, desiring to
proceed against any one for the crime of heresy, shall request any of our
sovereign courts or provincial councils to appoint any one of their
college, or such other adjunct as the council shall select, to preside
over the proceedings to be instituted against the suspected. All who know
of any person tainted with heresy are required to denounce and give them
up to all judges, officers of the bishops, or others having authority on
the premises, on pain of being punished according to the pleasure of the
judge. Likewise, all shall be obliged, who know of any place where such
heretics keep themselves, to declare them to the authorities, on pain of
being held as accomplices, and punished as such heretics themselves would
be if apprehended."

In order to secure the greatest number of arrests by a direct appeal to
the most ignoble, but not the least powerful principle of human nature,
it was ordained "that the informer, in case of conviction, should be
entitled to one half the property of the accused, if not more than one
hundred pounds Flemish; if more, then ten per cent. of all such excess."

Treachery to one's friends was encouraged by the provision, "that if any
man being present at any secret conventicle, shall afterwards come
forward and betray his fellow-members of the congregation, he shall
receive full pardon."

In order that neither the good people of the Netherlands, nor the judges
and inquisitors should delude themselves with the notion that these
fanatic decrees were only intended to inspire terror, not for practical
execution, the sovereign continued to ordain--"to the end that the judges
and officers may have no reason, under pretext that the penalties are too
great and heavy and only devised to terrify delinquents, to punish them
less severely than they deserve--that the culprits be really punished by
the penalties above declared; forbidding all judges to alter or moderate
the penalties in any manner forbidding any one, of whatsoever condition,
to ask of us, or of any one having authority, to grant pardon, or to
present any petition in favor of such heretics, exiles, or fugitives, on
penalty of being declared forever incapable of civil and military office,
and of being, arbitrarily punished besides."

Such were the leading provisions of this famous edict, originally
promulgated in 1550 as a recapitulation and condensation of all the
previous ordinances of the Emperor upon religious subjects. By its style
and title it was a perpetual edict, and, according to one of its clauses,
was to be published forever, once in every six months, in every city and
village of the Netherlands. It had been promulgated at Augsburg, where
the Emperor was holding a diet, upon the 25th of September. Its severity
had so appalled the Dowager Queen of Hungary, that she had made a journey
to Augsburg expressly to procure a mitigation of some of its provisions.
The principal alteration which she was able to obtain of the Emperor was,
however, in the phraseology only. As a concession to popular, prejudice,
the words "spiritual judges" were substituted for "inquisitors" wherever
that expression had occurred in the original draft.

The edict had been re-enacted by the express advice of the Bishop of
Arras, immediately on the accession of Philip: The prelate knew the value
of the Emperor's name; he may have thought, also, that it would be
difficult to increase the sharpness of the ordinances. "I advised the
King," says Granvelle, in a letter written a few years later, "to make no
change in the placards, but to proclaim the text drawn up by the Emperor,
republishing the whole as the King's edict, with express insertion of the
phrase, 'Carolus,' etc. I recommended this lest men should calumniate his
Majesty as wishing to introduce novelties in the matter of religion."

This edict, containing the provisions which have been laid before the
reader, was now to be enforced with the utmost rigor; every official
personage, from the stadholders down, having received the most stringent
instructions to that effect, under Philip's own hand. This was the first
gift of Philip and of Granvelle to the Netherlands; of the monarch who
said of himself that he had always, "from the beginning of his
government, followed the path of clemency, according to his natural
disposition, so well known to all the world;" of the prelate who said of
himself, "that he had ever combated the opinion that any thing could be
accomplished by terror, death, and violence."

During the period of the French and Papal war, it has been seen that the
execution of these edicts had been permitted to slacken. It was now
resumed with redoubled fury. Moreover, a new measure had increased the
disaffection and dismay of the people, already sufficiently filled with
apprehension. As an additional security for the supremacy of the ancient
religion, it had been thought desirable that the number of bishops should
be increased. There were but four sees in the Netherlands, those of
Arras, Cambray, Tournay, and Utrecht. That of Utrecht was within the
archiepiscopate of Cologne; the other three were within that of Rheims.
It seemed proper that the prelates of the Netherlands should owe no
extraprovincial allegiance. It was likewise thought that three millions
of souls required more than four spiritual superintendents. At any rate,
whatever might be the interest of the flocks, it was certain that those
broad and fertile pastures would sustain more than the present number of
shepherds. The wealth of the religious houses in the provinces was very
great. The abbey of Afflighem alone had a revenue of fifty thousand
florins, and there were many others scarcely inferior in wealth. But
these institutions were comparatively independent both of King and Pope.
Electing their own superiors from time to time, in nowise desirous of any
change by which their ease might be disturbed and their riches
endangered, the honest friars were not likely to engage in any very
vigorous crusade against heresy, nor for the sake of introducing or
strengthening Spanish institutions, which they knew to be abominated by
the people, to take the risk, of driving all their disciples into revolt
and apostacy. Comforting themselves with an Erasmian philosophy, which
they thought best suited to the times, they were as little likely as the
Sage of Rotterdam himself would have been, to make martyrs of themselves
for the sake of extirpating Calvinism. The abbots and monks were, in
political matters, very much under the influence of the great nobles, in
whose company they occupied the benches of the upper house of the
States-general.

Doctor Francis Sonnius had been sent on a mission to the Pope, for the
purpose of representing the necessity of an increase in the episcopal
force of the Netherlands. Just as the King was taking his departure, the
commissioner arrived, bringing with him the Bull of Paul the Fourth,
dated May 18, 1559. This was afterwards confirmed by that of Pius the
Fourth, in January of the following year. The document stated that "Paul
the Fourth, slave of slaves, wishing to provide for the welfare of the
provinces and the eternal salvation of their inhabitants, had determined
to plant in that fruitful field several new bishoprics. The enemy of
mankind being abroad," said the Bull, "in so many forms at that
particular time, and the Netherlands, then under the sway of that beloved
son of his holiness, Philip the Catholic, being compassed about with
heretic and schismatic nations, it was believed that the eternal welfare
of the land was in great danger. At the period of the original
establishment of Cathedral churches, the provinces had been sparsely
peopled; they had now become filled to overflowing, so that the original
ecclesiastical arrangement did not suffice. The harvest was plentiful,
but the laborers were few."

In consideration of these and other reasons, three archbishoprics were
accordingly appointed. That of Mechlin was to be principal, under which
were constituted six bishoprics, those, namely, of Antwerp, Bois le Due,
Rurmond, Ghent, Bruges and Ypres. That of Cambray was second, with the
four subordinate dioceses of Tournay, Arras, Saint Omer and Namur. The
third archbishopric was that of Utrecht, with the five sees of Haarlem,
Middelburg, Leeuwarden, Groningen and Deventer.

The nomination to these important offices was granted to the King,
subject to confirmation by the Pope. Moreover, it was ordained by the
Bull that "each bishop should appoint nine additional prebendaries, who
were to assist him in the matter of the inquisition throughout his
bishopric, two of whom were themselves to be inquisitors."

To sustain these two great measures, through which Philip hoped once and
forever to extinguish the Netherland heresy, it was considered desirable
that the Spanish troops still remaining in the provinces, should be kept
there indefinitely.

The force was not large, amounting hardly to four thousand men, but they
were unscrupulous, and admirably disciplined. As the entering wedge, by
which a military and ecclesiastical despotism was eventually to be forced
into the very heart of the land, they were invaluable. The moral effect
to be hoped from the regular presence of a Spanish standing army during a
time of peace in the Netherlands could hardly be exaggerated. Philip was
therefore determined to employ every argument and subterfuge to detain
the troops.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
     German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
     Govern under the appearance of obeying
     Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
     Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
     No calumny was too senseless to be invented
     Ruinous honors
     Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
     That vile and mischievous animal called the people
     Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
     Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
     William of Nassau, Prince of Orange




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 6.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1560-1561  [CHAPTER II.]

   Agitation in the Netherlands--The ancient charters resorted to as
   barriers against the measures of government--"Joyous entrance" of
   Brabant--Constitution of Holland--Growing unpopularity of Antony
   Perrenot, Archbishop of Mechlin--Opposition to the new bishoprics,
   by Orange, Egmont, and other influential nobles--Fury of the people
   at the continued presence of the foreign soldiery--Orange resigns
   the command of the legion--The troops recalled--Philip's personal
   attention to the details of persecution--Perrenot becomes Cardinal
   de Granvelle--All the power of government in his hands--His
   increasing unpopularity--Animosity and violence of Egmont towards
   the Cardinal--Relations between Orange and Granvelle--Ancient
   friendship gradually changing to enmity--Renewal of the magistracy
   at Antwerp--Quarrel between the Prince and Cardinal--Joint letter of
   Orange and Egmont to the King--Answer of the King--Indignation of
   Philip against Count Horn--Secret correspondence between the King
   and Cardinal--Remonstrances against the new bishoprics--Philip's
   private financial statements--Penury of the exchequer in Spain and
   in the provinces--Plan for debasing the coin--Marriage of William
   the Silent with the Princess of Lorraine circumvented--Negotiations
   for his matrimonial alliance with Princess Anna of Saxony--
   Correspondence between Granvelle and Philip upon the subject--
   Opposition of Landgrave Philip and of Philip the Second--Character
   and conduct of Elector Augustus--Mission of Count Schwartzburg--
   Communications of Orange to the King and to Duchess Margaret--
   Characteristic letter of Philip--Artful conduct of Granvelle and of
   the Regent--Visit of Orange to Dresden--Proposed "note" of Elector
   Augustus--Refusal of the Prince--Protest of the Landgrave against
   the marriage--Preparations for the wedding at Leipzig--Notarial
   instrument drawn up on the marriage day--Wedding ceremonies and
   festivities--Entrance of Granvelle into Mechlin as Archbishop--
   Compromise in Brabant between the abbeys and bishops.

The years 1560 and 1561 were mainly occupied with the agitation and
dismay produced by the causes set forth in the preceding chapter.

Against the arbitrary policy embodied in the edicts, the new bishoprics
and the foreign soldiery, the Netherlanders appealed to their ancient
constitutions. These charters were called "handvests" in the vernacular
Dutch and Flemish, because the sovereign made them fast with his hand. As
already stated, Philip had made them faster than any of the princes of
his house had ever done, so far as oath and signature could accomplish
that purpose, both as hereditary prince in 1549, and as monarch in 1555.
The reasons for the extensive and unconditional manner in which he swore
to support the provincial charters, have been already indicated.

Of these constitutions, that of Brabant, known by the title of the
'joyeuse entree, blyde inkomst', or blithe entrance, furnished the most
decisive barrier against the present wholesale tyranny. First and
foremost, the "joyous entry" provided "that the prince of the land should
not elevate the clerical state higher than of old has been customary and
by former princes settled; unless by consent of the other two estates,
the nobility and the cities."

Again; "the prince can prosecute no one of his subjects nor any foreign
resident, civilly or criminally, except in the ordinary and open courts
of justice in the province, where the accused may answer and defend
himself with the help of advocates."

Further; "the prince shall appoint no foreigners to office in Brabant."

Lastly; "should the prince, by force or otherwise, violate any of these
privileges, the inhabitants of Brabant, after regular protest entered,
are discharged of their oaths of allegiance, and as free, independent and
unbound people, may conduct themselves exactly as seems to them best."

Such were the leading features, so far as they regarded the points now at
issue, of that famous constitution which was so highly esteemed in the
Netherlands, that mothers came to the province in order to give birth to
their children, who might thus enjoy, as a birthright, the privileges of
Brabant. Yet the charters of the other provinces ought to have been as
effective against the arbitrary course of the government. "No foreigner,"
said the constitution of Holland, "is eligible as, councillor, financier,
magistrate, or member of a court. Justice can be administered only by the
ordinary tribunals and magistrates. The ancient laws and customs shall
remain inviolable. Should the prince infringe any of these provisions, no
one is bound to obey him."

These provisions, from the Brabant and Holland charters, are only cited
as illustrative of the general spirit of the provincial constitutions.
Nearly all the provinces possessed privileges equally ample, duly signed
and sealed. So far as ink and sealing wax could defend a land against
sword and fire, the Netherlands were impregnable against the edicts and
the renewed episcopal inquisition. Unfortunately, all history shows how
feeble are barriers of paper or lambskin, even when hallowed with a
monarch's oath, against the torrent of regal and ecclesiastical
absolutism. It was on the reception in the provinces of the new and
confirmatory Bull concerning the bishoprics, issued in January, 1560,
that the measure became known, and the dissatisfaction manifest. The
discontent was inevitable and universal. The ecclesiastical establishment
which was not to be enlarged or elevated but by consent of the estates,
was suddenly expanded into three archiepiscopates and fifteen bishoprics.
The administration of justice, which was only allowed in free and local
courts, distinct for each province, was to be placed, so far as regarded
the most important of human interests, in the hands of bishops and their
creatures, many of them foreigners and most of them monks. The lives and
property of the whole population were to be at the mercy of these utterly
irresponsible conclaves. All classes were outraged. The nobles were
offended because ecclesiastics, perhaps foreign ecclesiastics, were to be
empowered to sit in the provincial estates and to control their
proceedings in place of easy, indolent, ignorant abbots and friars, who
had generally accepted the influence of the great seignors. The priests
were enraged because the religious houses were thus taken out of their
control and confiscated to a bench of bishops, usurping the places of
those superiors who had formally been elected by and among themselves.
The people were alarmed because the monasteries, although not respected
nor popular, were at least charitable and without ambition to exercise
ecclesiastical cruelty; while, on the other hand, by the new episcopal
arrangements, a force of thirty new inquisitors was added to the
apparatus for enforcing orthodoxy already established. The odium of the
measure was placed upon the head of that churchman, already appointed
Archbishop of Mechlin, and soon to be known as Cardinal Granvelle. From
this time forth, this prelate began to be regarded with a daily
increasing aversion. He was looked upon as the incarnation of all the
odious measures which had been devised; as the source of that policy of
absolutism which revealed itself more and more rapidly after the King's
departure from the country. It was for this reason that so much stress
was laid by popular clamor upon the clause prohibiting foreigners from
office. Granvelle was a Burgundian; his father had passed most of his
active life in Spain, while both he and his more distinguished son were
identified in the general mind with Spanish politics. To this prelate,
then, were ascribed the edicts, the new bishoprics, and the continued
presence of the foreign troops. The people were right as regarded the
first accusation. They were mistaken as to the other charges.

The King had not consulted Anthony Perrenot with regard to the creation
of the new bishoprics. The measure, which had been successively
contemplated by Philip "the Good," by Charles the Bold, and by the
Emperor Charles, had now been carried out by Philip the Second, without
the knowledge of the new Archbishop of Mechlin. The King had for once
been able to deceive the astuteness of the prelate, and had concealed
from him the intended arrangement, until the arrival of Sonnius with the
Bulls. Granvelle gave the reasons for this mystery with much simplicity.
"His Majesty knew," he said, "that I should oppose it, as it was more
honorable and lucrative to be one of four than one of eighteen." In fact,
according to his own statement, he lost money by becoming archbishop of
Mechlin, and ceasing to be Bishop of Arras. For these reasons he
declined, more than once, the proffered dignity, and at last only
accepted it from fear of giving offence to the King, and after having
secured compensation for his alleged losses. In the same letter (of 29th
May, 1560) in which he thanked Philip for conferring upon him the rich
abbey of Saint Armand, which he had solicited, in addition to the
"merced" in ready money, concerning the safe investment of which he had
already sent directions, he observed that he was now willing to accept
the archbishopric of Mechlin; notwithstanding the odium attached to the
measure, notwithstanding his feeble powers, and notwithstanding that,
during the life of the Bishop of Tournay, who was then in rude health, he
could only receive three thousand ducats of the revenue, giving up Arras
and gaining nothing in Mechlin; notwithstanding all this, and a thousand
other things besides, he assured his Majesty that, "since the royal
desire was so strong that he should accept, he would consider nothing so
difficult that he would not at least attempt it." Having made up his mind
to take the see and support the new arrangements, he was resolved that
his profits should be as large as possible. We have seen how he had
already been enabled to indemnify himself. We shall find him soon
afterwards importuning the King for the Abbey of Afflighem, the enormous
revenue of which the prelate thought would make another handsome addition
to the rewards of his sacrifices. At the same time, he was most anxious
that the people, and particularly the great nobles, should not ascribe
the new establishment to him, as they persisted in doing. "They say that
the episcopates were devised to gratify my ambition," he wrote to Philip
two years later; "whereas your Majesty knows how steadily I refused the
see of Mechlin, and that I only accepted it in order not to live in
idleness, doing nothing for God and your Majesty." He therefore
instructed Philip, on several occasions, to make it known to the
government of the Regent, to the seignors, and to the country generally,
that the measure had been arranged without his knowledge; that the
Marquis Berghen had known of it first, and that the prelate had, in
truth, been kept in the dark on the subject until the arrival of Sonnius
with the Bulls. The King, always docile to his minister, accordingly
wrote to the Duchess the statements required, in almost the exact
phraseology suggested; taking pains to repeat the declarations on several
occasions, both by letter and by word of mouth, to many influential
persons.

The people, however, persisted in identifying the Bishop with the scheme.
They saw that he was the head of the new institutions; that he was to
receive the lion's share of the confiscated abbeys, and that he was
foremost in defending and carrying through the measure, in spite of all
opposition. That opposition waxed daily more bitter, till the Cardinal,
notwithstanding that he characterised the arrangement to the King as "a
holy work," and warmly assured Secretary Perez that he would contribute
his fortune, his blood, and his life, to its success, was yet obliged to
exclaim in the bitterness of his spirit, "Would to God that the erection
of these new sees had never been thought of. Amen! Amen!"

Foremost in resistance was the Prince of Orange. Although a Catholic, he
had no relish for the horrible persecution which had been determined
upon. The new bishoprics he characterized afterwards as parts "of one
grand scheme for establishing the cruel inquisition of Spain; the said
bishops to serve as inquisitors, burners of bodies; and tyrants of
conscience: two prebendaries in each see being actually constituted
inquisitors." For this reason he omitted no remonstrance on the subject
to the Duchess, to Granvelle, and by direct letters to the King. His
efforts were seconded by Egmont, Berghen, and other influential nobles.
Even Berlaymont was at first disposed to side with the opposition, but
upon the argument used by the Duchess, that the bishoprics and prebends
would furnish excellent places for his sons and other members of the
aristocracy, he began warmly to support the measure. Most of the labor,
however, and all the odium, of the business fell upon the Bishop's
shoulders. There was still a large fund of loyalty left in the popular
mind, which not even forty years of the Emperor's dominion had consumed,
and which Philip was destined to draw upon as prodigally as if the
treasure had been inexhaustible. For these reasons it still seemed most
decorous to load all the hatred upon the minister's back, and to retain
the consolatory formula, that Philip was a prince, "clement, benign, and
debonair."

The Bishop, true to his habitual conviction, that words, with the people,
are much more important than things, was disposed to have the word
"inquisitor" taken out of the text of the new decree. He was anxious at
this juncture to make things pleasant, and he saw no reason why men
should be unnecessarily startled. If the inquisition could be practised,
and the heretics burned, he was in favor of its being done comfortably.
The word "inquisitor" was unpopular, almost indecent. It was better to
suppress the term and retain the thing. "People are afraid to speak of
the new bishoprics," he wrote to Perez, "on account of the clause
providing that of nine canons one shall be inquisitor. Hence people fear
the Spanish inquisition."--He, therefore, had written to the King to
suggest instead, that the canons or graduates should be obliged to assist
the Bishop, according as he might command. Those terms would suffice,
because, although not expressly stated, it was clear that the Bishop was
an ordinary inquisitor; but it was necessary to expunge words that gave
offence.

It was difficult, however, with all the Bishop's eloquence and dexterity,
to construct an agreeable inquisition. The people did not like it, in any
shape, and there were indications, not to be mistaken, that one day there
would be a storm which it would be beyond human power to assuage. At
present the people directed their indignation only upon a part of the
machinery devised for their oppression. The Spanish troops were
considered as a portion of the apparatus by which the new bishoprics and
the edicts were to be forced into execution. Moreover, men were, weary of
the insolence and the pillage which these mercenaries had so long
exercised in the land. When the King had been first requested to withdraw
them, we have seen that he had burst into a violent passion. He had
afterward dissembled. Promising, at last, that they should all be sent
from the country within three or four months after his departure, he had
determined to use every artifice to detain them in the provinces. He had
succeeded, by various subterfuges, in keeping them there fourteen months;
but it was at last evident that their presence would no longer be
tolerated. Towards the close of 1560 they were quartered in Walcheren and
Brill. The Zelanders, however, had become so exasperated by their
presence that they resolutely refused to lay a single hand upon the
dykes, which, as usual at that season, required great repairs. Rather
than see their native soil profaned any longer by these hated foreign
mercenaries, they would see it sunk forever in the ocean. They swore to
perish-men, women, and children together-in the waves, rather than endure
longer the outrages which the soldiery daily inflicted. Such was the
temper of the Zelanders that it was not thought wise to trifle with their
irritation. The Bishop felt that it was no longer practicable to detain
the troops, and that all the pretext devised by Philip and his government
had become ineffectual. In a session of the State Council, held on the
25th October, 1560, he represented in the strongest terms to the Regent
the necessity for the final departure of the troops. Viglius, who knew
the character of his countrymen, strenuously seconded the proposal.
Orange briefly but firmly expressed the same opinion, declining any
longer to serve as commander of the legion, an office which, in
conjunction with Egmont, he had accepted provisionally, with the best of
motives, and on the pledge of Philip that the soldiers should be
withdrawn. The Duchess urged that the order should at least be deferred
until the arrival of Count Egmont, then in Spain, but the proposition was
unanimously negatived.

Letters were accordingly written, in the name of the Regent, to the King.
It was stated that the measure could no longer be delayed, that the
provinces all agreed in this point, that so long as the foreigners
remained not a stiver should be paid into the treasury; that if they had
once set sail, the necessary amount for their arrears would be furnished
to the government; but that if they should return it was probable that
they would be resisted by the inhabitants with main force, and that they
would only be allowed to enter the cities through a breach in their wall.
It was urged, moreover, that three or four thousand Spaniards would not
be sufficient to coerce all the provinces, and that there was not money
enough in the royal exchequer to pay the wages of a single company of the
troops. "It cuts me to the heart," wrote the Bishop to Philip, "to see
the Spanish infantry leave us; but go they must. Would to God that we
could devise any pretext, as your Majesty desires, under which to keep
them here! We have tried all means humanly possible for retaining them,
but I see no way to do it without putting the provinces in manifest
danger of sudden revolt."

Fortunately for the dignity of the government, or for the repose of the
country, a respectable motive was found for employing the legion
elsewhere. The important loss which Spain had recently met with in the
capture of Zerby made a reinforcement necessary in the army engaged in
the Southern service. Thus, the disaster in Barbary at last relieved the
Netherlands of the pest which had afflicted them so long. For a brief
breathing space the country was cleared of foreign mercenaries.

The growing unpopularity of the royal government, still typified,
however, in the increasing hatred entertained for the Bishop, was not
materially diminished by the departure of the Spaniards. The edicts and
the bishoprics were still there, even if the soldiers were gone. The
churchman worked faithfully to accomplish his master's business. Philip,
on his side, was industrious to bring about the consummation of his
measures. Ever occupied with details, the monarch, from his palace in
Spain, sent frequent informations against the humblest individuals in the
Netherlands. It is curious to observe the minute reticulations of tyranny
which he had begun already to spin about a whole, people, while cold,
venomous, and patient he watched his victims from the centre of his web.
He forwarded particular details to the Duchess and Cardinal concerning a
variety of men and women, sending their names, ages, personal appearance,
occupations, and residence, together with directions for their immediate
immolation. Even the inquisitors of Seville were set to work to increase,
by means of their branches or agencies in the provinces, the royal
information on this all-important subject. "There are but few of us left
in the world," he moralized in a letter to the Bishop, "who care for
religion. 'Tis necessary, therefore, for us to take the greater heed for
Christianity. We must lose our all, if need be, in order to do our duty;
in fine," added he, with his usual tautology, "it is right that a man
should do his duty."

Granvelle--as he must now be called, for his elevation to the
cardinalship will be immediately alluded to--wrote to assure the King
that every pains would be taken to ferret out and execute the individuals
complained of. He bewailed, however, the want of heartiness on the part
of the Netherland inquisitors and judges. "I find," said he, "that all
judicial officers go into the matter of executing the edicts with
reluctance, which I believe is caused by their fear of displeasing the
populace. When they do act they do it but languidly, and when these
matters are not taken in hand with the necessary liveliness, the fruit
desired is not gathered. We do not fail to exhort and to command them to
do their work." He added that Viglius and Berlaymont displayed laudable
zeal, but that he could not say as much for the Council of Brabant. Those
councillors "were forever prating," said he, "of the constitutional
rights of their province, and deserved much less commendation."

The popularity of the churchman, not increased by these desperate
exertions to force an inhuman policy upon an unfortunate nation, received
likewise no addition from his new elevation in rank. During the latter
part of the year 1560, Margaret of Parma, who still entertained a
profound admiration of the prelate, and had not yet begun to chafe under
his smooth but imperious dominion, had been busy in preparing for him a
delightful surprise. Without either his knowledge or that of the King,
she had corresponded with the Pope, and succeeded in obtaining, as a
personal favor to herself, the Cardinal's hat for Anthony Perrenot. In
February, 1561, Cardinal Borromeo wrote to announce that the coveted
dignity had been bestowed. The Duchess hastened, with joyous alacrity, to
communicate the intelligence to the Bishop, but was extremely hurt to
find that he steadily refused to assume his new dignity, until he had
written to the King to announce the appointment, and to ask his
permission to accept the honor. The Duchess, justly wounded at his
refusal to accept from her hands the favor which she, and she only, had
obtained for him, endeavored in vain to overcome his pertinacity. She
represented that although Philip was not aware of the application or the
appointment, he was certain to regard it as an agreeable surprise. She
urged, moreover, that his temporary refusal would be misconstrued at
Rome, where it would certainly excite ridicule, and very possibly give
offence in the highest quarter. The Bishop was inexorable. He feared,
says his panegyrist, that he might one day be on worse terms than at
present with the Duchess, and that then she might reproach him with her
former benefits. He feared also that the King might, in consequence of
the step, not look with satisfaction upon him at some future period, when
he might stand in need of his favors. He wrote, accordingly, a most
characteristic letter to Philip, in which he informed him that he had
been honored with the Cardinal's hat. He observed that many persons were
already congratulating him, but that before he made any demonstration of
accepting or refusing, he waited for his Majesty's orders: upon his will
he wished ever to depend. He also had the coolness, under the
circumstances, to express his conviction that "it was his Majesty who had
secretly procured this favor from his Holiness."

The King received the information very graciously, observing in reply,
that although he had never made any suggestion of the kind, he had "often
thought upon the subject." The royal command was of course at once
transmitted, that the dignity should be accepted. By special favor,
moreover, the Pope dispensed the new Cardinal from the duty of going to
Rome in person, and despatched his chamberlain, Theophilus Friso, to
Brussels, with the red hat and tabbard.

The prelate, having thus reached the dignity to which he had long
aspired, did not grow more humble in his deportment, or less zealous in
the work through which he had already gained so much wealth and
preferment. His conduct with regard to the edicts and bishoprics had
already brought him into relations which were far from amicable with his
colleagues in the council. More and more he began to take the control of
affairs into his own hand. The consulta, or secret committee of the state
council, constituted the real government of the country. Here the most
important affairs were decided upon without the concurrence of the other
seignors, Orange, Egmont, and Glayon, who, at the same time, were held
responsible for the action of government. The Cardinal was smooth in
manner, plausible of speech, generally even-tempered, but he was
overbearing and blandly insolent. Accustomed to control royal personages,
under the garb of extreme obsequiousness, he began, in his intercourse
with those of less exalted rank, to omit a portion of the subserviency
while claiming a still more undisguised authority. To nobles like Egmont
and Orange, who looked down upon the son of Nicolas Perrenot and Nicola
Bonvalot as a person immeasurably beneath themselves in the social
hierarchy, this conduct was sufficiently irritating. The Cardinal, placed
as far above Philip, and even Margaret, in mental power as he was beneath
them in worldly station, found it comparatively easy to deal with them
amicably. With such a man as Egmont, it was impossible for the churchman
to maintain friendly relations. The Count, who notwithstanding his
romantic appearance, his brilliant exploits, and his interesting destiny,
was but a commonplace character, soon conceived a mortal aversion to
Granvelle. A rude soldier, entertaining no respect for science or
letters, ignorant and overbearing, he was not the man to submit to the
airs of superiority which pierced daily more and more decidedly through
the conventional exterior of the Cardinal. Granvelle, on the other hand,
entertained a gentle contempt for Egmont, which manifested itself in all
his private letters to the King, and was sufficiently obvious in his
deportment. There had also been distinct causes of animosity between
them. The governorship of Hesdin having become vacant, Egmont, backed by
Orange and other nobles, had demanded it for the Count de Roeulx, a
gentleman of the Croy family, who, as well as his father, had rendered
many important services to the crown. The appointment was, however,
bestowed, through Granvelle's influence, upon the Seigneur d'Helfault, a
gentleman of mediocre station and character, who was thought to possess
no claims whatever to the office. Egmont, moreover, desired the abbey of
Trulle for a poor relation of his own; but the Cardinal, to whom nothing
in this way ever came amiss, had already obtained the King's permission
to, appropriate the abbey to himself Egmont was now furious against the
prelate, and omitted no opportunity of expressing his aversion, both in
his presence and behind his back. On one occasion, at least, his wrath
exploded in something more than words. Exasperated by Granvelle's
polished insolence in reply to his own violent language, he drew his
dagger upon him in the presence of the Regent herself, "and," says a
contemporary, "would certainly have sent the Cardinal into the next world
had he not been forcibly restrained by the Prince of Orange and other
persons present, who warmly represented to him that such griefs were to
be settled by deliberate advice, not by choler." At the same time, while
scenes like these were occurring in the very bosom of the state council,
Granvelle, in his confidential letters to secretary Perez, asserted
warmly that all reports of a want of harmony between himself and the
other seignors and councillors were false, and that the best relations
existed among them all. It was not his intention, before it should be
necessary, to let the King doubt his ability to govern the counsel
according to the secret commission with which he had been invested.

His relations with Orange were longer in changing from friendship to open
hostility. In the Prince the Cardinal met his match. He found himself
confronted by an intellect as subtle, an experience as fertile in
expedients, a temper as even, and a disposition sometimes as haughty as
his own. He never affected to undervalue the mind of Orange. "'Tis a man
of profound genius, vast ambition--dangerous, acute, politic," he wrote
to the King at a very early period. The original relations between
himself and the Prince bad been very amicable. It hardly needed the
prelate's great penetration to be aware that the friendship of so exalted
a personage as the youthful heir to the principality of Orange, and to
the vast possessions of the Chalons-Nassau house in Burgundy and the
Netherlands, would be advantageous to the ambitious son of the Burgundian
Councillor Granvelle. The young man was the favorite of the Emperor from
boyhood; his high rank, and his remarkable talents marked him
indisputably for one of the foremost men of the coming reign. Therefore
it was politic in Perrenot to seize every opportunity of making himself
useful to the Prince. He busied himself with securing, so far as it might
be necessary to secure, the succession of William to his cousin's
principality. It seems somewhat ludicrous for a merit to be made not only
for Granvelle but for the Emperor, that the Prince should have been
allowed to take an inheritance which the will of Rene de Nassau most
unequivocally conferred, and which no living creature disputed. Yet,
because some of the crown lawyers had propounded the dogma that "the son
Of a heretic ought not to succeed," it was gravely stated as an immense
act of clemency upon the part of Charles the Fifth that he had not
confiscated the whole of the young Prince's heritage. In return
Granvelle's brother Jerome had obtained the governorship of the youth,
upon whose majority he had received an honorable military appointment
from his attached pupil. The prelate had afterwards recommended the
marriage with the Count de Buren's heiress, and had used his influence
with the Emperor to overcome certain objections entertained by Charles,
that the Prince, by this great accession of wealth, might be growing too
powerful. On the other hand, there were always many poor relations and
dependents of Granvelle, eager to be benefitted by Orange's patronage,
who lived in the Prince's household, or received handsome appointments
from his generosity. Thus, there had been great intimacy, founded upon
various benefits mutually conferred; for it could hardly be asserted that
the debt of friendship was wholly upon one side.

When Orange arrived in Brussels from a journey, he would go to the
bishop's before alighting at his own house. When the churchman visited
the Prince, he entered his bed-chamber without ceremony before he had
risen; for it was William's custom, through life, to receive intimate
acquaintances, and even to attend to important negotiations of state,
while still in bed.

The show of this intimacy had lasted longer than its substance. Granvelle
was the most politic of men, and the Prince had not served his
apprenticeship at the court of Charles the Fifth to lay himself bare
prematurely to the criticism or the animosity of the Cardinal with the
recklessness of Horn and Egmont. An explosion came at last, however, and
very soon after an exceedingly amicable correspondence between the two
upon the subject of an edict of religious amnesty which Orange was
preparing for his principality, and which Granvelle had recommended him
not to make too lenient. A few weeks after this, the Antwerp magistracy
was to be renewed. The Prince, as hereditary burgrave of that city, was
entitled to a large share of the appointing power in these political
arrangements, which at the moment were of great importance. The citizens
of Antwerp were in a state of excitement on the subject of the new
bishops. They openly, and in the event, successfully resisted the
installation of the new prelate for whom their city had been constituted
a diocese. The Prince was known to be opposed to the measure, and to the
whole system of ecclesiastical persecution. When the nominations for the
new magistracy came before the Regent, she disposed of the whole matter
in the secret consulta, without the knowledge, and in a manner opposed to
the views of Orange. He was then furnished with a list of the new
magistrates, and was informed that he had been selected as commissioner
along with Count Aremberg, to see that the appointments were carried into
effect. The indignation of the Prince was extreme. He had already taken
offence at some insolent expressions upon this topic, which the Cardinal
had permitted himself. He now sent back the commission to the Duchess,
adding, it was said, that he was not her lackey, and that she might send
some one else with her errands. The words were repeated in the state
council. There was a violent altercation--Orange vehemently resenting his
appointment merely to carry out decisions in which he claimed an original
voice. His ancestors, he said, had often changed the whole of the Antwerp
magistracy by their own authority. It was a little too much that this
matter, as well as every other state affair, should be controlled by the
secret committee of which the Cardinal was the chief. Granvelle, on his
side, was also in a rage. He flung from the council-chamber, summoned the
Chancellor of Brabant, and demanded, amid bitter execrations against
Orange, what common and obscure gentleman there might be, whom he could
appoint to execute the commission thus refused by the Prince and by
Aremberg. He vowed that in all important matters he would, on future
occasions, make use of nobles less inflated by pride, and more tractable
than such grand seignors. The chancellor tried in vain to appease the
churchman's wrath, representing that the city of Antwerp would be highly
offended at the turn things were taking, and offering his services to
induce the withdrawal, on the part of the Prince, of the language which
had given so much offence. The Cardinal was inexorable and peremptory. "I
will have nothing to do with the Prince, Master Chancellor," said he,
"and these are matters which concern you not." Thus the conversation
ended, and thus began the open state of hostilities between the great
nobles and the Cardinal, which had been brooding so long.

On the 23rd July, 1561, a few weeks after the scenes lately described,
the Count of Egmont and the Prince of Orange addressed a joint letter to
the King. They reminded him in this despatch that, they had originally
been reluctant to take office in the state council, on account of their
previous experience of the manner in which business had been conducted
during the administration of the Duke of Savoy. They had feared that
important matters of state might be transacted without their concurrence.
The King had, however, assured them, when in Zeland, that all affairs
would be uniformly treated in full council. If the contrary should ever
prove the case, he had desired them to give him information to that
effect, that he might instantly apply the remedy. They accordingly now
gave him that information. They were consulted upon small matters:
momentous affairs were decided upon in their absence. Still they would
not even now have complained had not Cardinal Granvelle declared that all
the members of the state council were to be held responsible for its
measures, whether they were present at its decisions or not. Not liking
such responsibility, they requested the King either to accept their
resignation or to give orders that all affairs should be communicated to
the whole board and deliberated upon by all the councillors.

In a private letter, written some weeks later (August 15), Egmont begged
secretary Erasso to assure the King that their joint letter had not been
dictated by passion, but by zeal for his service. It was impossible, he
said, to imagine the insolence of the Cardinal, nor to form an idea of
the absolute authority which he arrogated.

In truth, Granvelle, with all his keenness, could not see that Orange,
Egmont, Berghen, Montigny and the rest, were no longer pages and young
captains of cavalry, while he was the politician and the statesman. By
six or seven years the senior of Egmont, and by sixteen years of Orange,
he did not divest himself of the superciliousness of superior wisdom, not
unjust nor so irritating when they had all been boys. In his deportment
towards them, and in the whole tone of his private correspondence with
Philip, there was revealed, almost in spite of himself, an affectation of
authority, against which Egmont rebelled and which the Prince was not the
man to acknowledge. Philip answered the letter of the two nobles in his
usual procrastinating manner. The Count of Horn, who was about leaving
Spain (whither he had accompanied the King) for the Netherlands, would be
entrusted with the resolution which he should think proper to take upon
the subject suggested. In the mean time, he assured them that he did not
doubt their zeal in his service.

As to Count Horn, Granvelle had already prejudiced the King against him.
Horn and the Cardinal had never been friends. A brother of the prelate
had been an aspirant for the hand of the Admiral's sister, and had been
somewhat contemptuously rejected. Horn, a bold, vehement, and not very
good-tempered personage, had long kept no terms with Granvelle, and did
not pretend a friendship which he had never felt. Granvelle had just
written to instruct the King that Horn was opposed bitterly to that
measure which was nearest the King's heart--the new bishoprics. He had
been using strong language, according to the Cardinal, in opposition to
the scheme, while still in Spain. He therefore advised that his Majesty,
concealing, of course, the source of the information, and speaking as it
were out of the royal mind itself, should expostulate with the Admiral
upon the subject. Thus prompted, Philip was in no gracious humor when he
received Count Horn, then about to leave Madrid for the Netherlands, and
to take with him the King's promised answer to the communication of
Orange and Egmont. His Majesty had rarely been known to exhibit so much
anger towards any person as he manifested upon that occasion. After a few
words from the Admiral, in which he expressed his sympathy with the other
Netherland nobles, and his aversion to Granvelle, in general terms, and
in reply to Philip's interrogatories, the King fiercely interrupted him:
"What! miserable man!" he vociferated, "you all complain of this
Cardinal, and always in vague language. Not one of you, in spite of all
my questions, can give me a single reason for your dissatisfaction." With
this the royal wrath boiled over in such unequivocal terms that the
Admiral changed color, and was so confused with indignation and
astonishment, that he was scarcely able to find his way out of the room.

This was the commencement of Granvelle's long mortal combat with Egmont,
Horn, and Orange. This was the first answer which the seignors were to
receive to their remonstrances against the churchman's arrogance. Philip
was enraged that any opposition should be made to his coercive measures,
particularly to the new bishoprics, the "holy work" which the Cardinal
was ready, to "consecrate his fortune and his blood" to advance.
Granvelle fed his master's anger by constant communications as to the
efforts made by distinguished individuals to delay the execution of the
scheme. Assonville had informed him, he wrote, that much complaint had
been made on the subject by several gentlemen, at a supper of Count
Egmont's. It was said that the King ought to have consulted them all, and
the state councillors especially. The present nominees to the new
episcopates were good enough, but it would be found, they said, that very
improper personages would be afterwards appointed. The estates ought not
to permit the execution of the scheme. In short, continued Granvelle,
"there is the same kind of talk which brought about the recall of the
Spanish troops." A few months later, he wrote to inform Philip that a
petition against the new bishoprics was about to be drawn up by "the two
lords.". They had two motives; according to the Cardinal, for this
step--first, to let the King know that he could do nothing without their
permission; secondly, because in the states' assembly they were then the
cocks of the walk. They did not choose, therefore, that in the clerical
branch of the estates any body should be above the abbots, whom they
could frighten into doing whatever they chose. At the end, of the year,
Granvelle again wrote to instruct his sovereign how to reply to the
letter which was about to be addressed to him by the Prince of Orange and
the Marquis Berghen on the subject of the bishoprics. They would tell
him, he said, that the incorporation of the Brabant abbeys into the new
bishoprics was contrary to the constitution of the "joyful entrance."
Philip was, however, to make answer that he had consulted the
universities, and those learned in the laws, and had satisfied himself
that it was entirely constitutional. He was therefore advised to send his
command that the Prince and Marquis should use all their influence to
promote the success of the measure. Thus fortified, the King was enabled
not only to deal with the petition of the nobles, but also with the
deputies from the estates of Brabant, who arrived about this time at
Madrid. To these envoys, who asked for the appointment of royal
commissioners, with whom they might treat on the subject of the
bishoprics, the abbeys, and the "joyful entrance," the King answered
proudly, "that in matters which concerned the service of God, he was his
own commissioner." He afterwards, accordingly, recited to them, with
great accuracy, the lesson which he had privately received from the
ubiquitous Cardinal. Philip was determined that no remonstrance from
great nobles or from private citizens should interfere with the thorough
execution of the grand scheme on which he was resolved, and of which the
new bishoprics formed an important part. Opposition irritated him more
and more, till his hatred of the opponents became deadly; but it, at the
same time, confirmed him in his purpose. "'Tis no time to temporize," he
wrote to Granvelle; "we must inflict chastisement with full rigor and
severity. These rascals can only be made to do right through fear, and
not always even by that means."

At the same time, the royal finances did not admit of any very active
measures, at the moment, to enforce obedience to a policy which was
already so bitterly opposed. A rough estimate, made in the King's own
handwriting, of the resources and obligations of his exchequer, a kind of
balance sheet for the years 1560 and 1561, drawn up much in the same
manner as that in which a simple individual would make a note of his
income and expenditure, gave but a dismal picture of his pecuniary,
condition. It served to show how intelligent a financier is despotism,
and how little available are the resources of a mighty empire when
regarded merely as private property, particularly when the owner chances
to have the vanity of attending to all details himself: "Twenty millions
of ducats," began the memorandum, "will be required to disengage my
revenues. But of this," added the King, with whimsical pathos for an
account-book, "we will not speak at present, as the matter is so entirely
impossible." He then proceeded to enter the various items of expense
which were to be met during the two years; such as so many millions due
to the Fuggers (the Rothschilds of the sixteenth century), so many to
merchants in Flanders, Seville, and other places, so much for Prince
Doria's galleys, so much for three years' pay due to his guards, so much
for his household expenditure, so much for the tuition of Don Carlos,
and Don Juan d'Austria, so much for salaries of ambassadors and
councillors--mixing personal and state expenses, petty items and great
loans, in one singular jumble, but arriving at a total demand upon his
purse of ten million nine hundred and ninety thousand ducats.

To meet this expenditure he painfully enumerated the funds upon which he
could reckon for the two years. His ordinary rents and taxes being all
deeply pledged, he could only calculate from that source upon two hundred
thousand ducats. The Indian revenue, so called, was nearly spent; still
it might yield him four hundred and twenty thousand ducats. The
quicksilver mines would produce something, but so little as hardly to
require mentioning. As to the other mines, they were equally unworthy of
notice, being so very uncertain, and not doing as well as they were wont.
The licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America were put
down at fifty thousand ducats for the two years. The product of the
"crozada" and "cuarta," or money paid to him in small sums by
individuals, with the permission of his Holiness, for the liberty of
abstaining from the Church fasts, was estimated at five hundred thousand
ducats. These and a few more meagre items only sufficed to stretch his
income to a total of one million three hundred and thirty thousand far
the two years, against an expenditure calculated at near eleven millions.
"Thus, there are nine millions, less three thousand ducats, deficient,"
he concluded ruefully (and making a mistake in his figures in his own
favor of six hundred and sixty-three thousand besides), "which I may look
for in the sky, or try to raise by inventions already exhausted."

Thus, the man who owned all America and half of Europe could only raise a
million ducats a year from his estates. The possessor of all Peru and
Mexico could reckon on "nothing worth mentioning" from his mines, and
derived a precarious income mainly from permissions granted his subjects
to carry on the slave-trade and to eat meat on Fridays. This was
certainly a gloomy condition of affairs for a monarch on the threshold of
a war which was to outlast his own life and that of his children; a war
in which the mere army expenses were to be half a million florins
monthly, in which about seventy per cent. of the annual disbursements was
to be regularly embezzled or appropriated by the hands through which it
passed, and in which for every four men on paper, enrolled and paid for,
only one, according to the average, was brought into the field.

Granvelle, on the other hand, gave his master but little consolation from
the aspect of financial affairs in the provinces. He assured him that
"the government was often in such embarrassment as not to know where to
look for ten ducats." He complained bitterly that the states would meddle
with the administration of money matters, and were slow in the granting
of subsidies. The Cardinal felt especially outraged by the interference
of these bodies with the disbursement of the sums which they voted. It
has been seen that the states had already compelled the government to
withdraw the troops, much to the regret of Granvelle. They continued,
however, to be intractable on the subject of supplies. "These are very
vile things," he wrote to Philip, "this authority which they assume, this
audacity with which they say whatever they think proper; and these
impudent conditions which they affix to every proposition for subsidies."
The Cardinal protested that he had in vain attempted to convince them of
their error, but that they remained perverse.

It was probably at this time that the plan for debasing the coin,
suggested to Philip some time before by a skilful chemist named Malen,
and always much approved of both by himself and Ruy Gomez, recurred to
his mind. "Another and an extraordinary source of revenue, although
perhaps not a very honorable one," wrote Suriano, "has hitherto been kept
secret; and on account of differences of opinion between the King and his
confessor, has been discontinued." This source of revenue, it seemed, was
found in "a certain powder, of which one ounce mixed with six ounces of
quicksilver would make six ounces of silver." The composition was said to
stand the test of the hammer, but not of the fire. Partly in consequence
of theological scruples and partly on account of opposition from the
states, a project formed by the King to pay his army with this kind of
silver was reluctantly abandoned. The invention, however, was so very
agreeable to the King, and the inventor had received such liberal
rewards, that it was supposed, according to the envoy, that in time of
scarcity his Majesty would make use of such coin without reluctance.

It is necessary, before concluding this chapter, which relates the events
of the years 1560 and 1561, to allude to an important affair which
occupied much attention during the whole of this period. This is the
celebrated marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Princess Anna of
Saxony. By many superficial writers; a moving cause of the great
Netherland revolt was found in the connexion of the great chieftain with
this distinguished Lutheran house. One must have studied the characters
and the times to very little purpose, however, to believe it possible
that much influence could be exerted on the mind of William of Orange by
such natures as those of Anna of Saxony, or of her uncle the Elector
Augustus, surnamed "the Pious."

The Prince had become a widower in 1558, at the age of twenty-five.
Granvelle, who was said to have been influential in arranging his first
marriage, now proposed to him, after the year of mourning had expired, an
alliance with Mademoiselle Renee, daughter of the Duchess de Lorraine,
and granddaughter of Christiern the Third of Denmark, and his wife
Isabella, sister of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. Such a connexion, not
only with the royal house of Spain but with that of France--for, the
young Duke of Lorraine, brother of the lady, had espoused the daughter of
Henry the considered highly desirable by the Prince. Philip and the
Duchess Margaret of Parma both approved, or pretended to approve, the
match. At the same time the Dowager Duchess of Lorraine, mother of the
intended bride, was a candidate, and a very urgent one, for the Regency
of the Netherlands. Being a woman of restless ambition, and intriguing
character, she naturally saw in a man of William's station and talents a
most desirable ally in her present and future schemes. On the other hand,
Philip--who had made open protestation of his desire to connect the
Prince thus closely with his own blood, and had warmly recommended the
match to the young lady's mother--soon afterwards, while walking one day
with the Prince in the park at Brussels, announced to him that the
Duchess of Lorraine had declined his proposals. Such a result astonished
the Prince, who was on the best of terms with the mother, and had been
urging her appointment to the Regency with all his-influence, having
entirely withdrawn his own claims to that office. No satisfactory
explanation was ever given of this singular conclusion to a courtship,
begun with the apparent consent of all parties. It was hinted that the
young lady did not fancy the Prince; but, as it was not known that a word
had ever been exchanged between them, as the Prince, in appearance and
reputation, was one of the most brilliant cavaliers of the age, and as
the approval of the bride was not usually a matter of primary consequence
in such marriages of state, the mystery seemed to require a further
solution. The Prince suspected Granvelle and the King, who were believed
to have held mature and secret deliberation together, of insincerity. The
Bishop was said to have expressed the opinion, that although the
friendship he bore the Prince would induce him to urge the marriage, yet
his duty to his master made him think it questionable whether it were
right to advance a personage already placed so high by birth, wealth, and
popularity, still higher by so near an alliance with his Majesty's
family. The King, in consequence, secretly instructed the Duchess of
Lorraine to decline the proposal, while at the same time he continued
openly to advocate the connexion. The Prince is said to have discovered
this double dealing, and to have found in it the only reasonable
explanation of the whole transaction. Moreover, the Duchess of Lorraine,
finding herself equally duped, and her own ambitious scheme equally
foiled by her unscrupulous cousin--who now, to the surprise of every one,
appointed Margaret of Parma to be Regent, with the Bishop for her prime
minister--had as little reason to be satisfied with the combinations of
royal and ecclesiastical intrigue as the Prince of Orange himself. Soon
after this unsatisfactory mystification, William turned his attentions to
Germany. Anna of Saxony, daughter of the celebrated Elector Maurice,
lived at the court of her uncle, the Elector Augustus. A musket-ball,
perhaps a traitorous one, in an obscure action with Albert of
Brandenbourg, had closed the adventurous career of her father seven years
before. The young lady, who was thought to have inherited much of his
restless, stormy character, was sixteen years of age. She was far from
handsome, was somewhat deformed, and limped. Her marriage-portion was
deemed, for the times, an ample one; she had seventy thousand rix dollars
in hand, and the reversion of thirty thousand on the death of John
Frederic the Second, who had married her mother after the death of
Maurice. Her rank was accounted far higher in Germany than that of
William of Nassau, and in this respect, rather than for pecuniary
considerations, the marriage seemed a desirable one for him. The man who
held the great Nassau-Chalons property, together with the heritage of
Count Maximilian de Buren, could hardly have been tempted by 100,000
thalers. His own provision for the children who might spring from the
proposed marriage was to be a settlement of seventy thousand florins
annually. The fortune which permitted of such liberality was not one to
be very materially increased by a dowry which might seem enormous to many
of the pauper princes of Germany. "The bride's portion," says a
contemporary, "after all, scarcely paid for the banquets and magnificent
festivals which celebrated the marriage. When the wedding was paid for,
there was not a thaler remaining of the whole sum." Nothing, then, could
be more puerile than to accuse the Prince of mercenary motives in seeking
this alliance; an accusation, however, which did not fail to be brought.

There were difficulties on both sides to be arranged before this marriage
could take place. The bride was a Lutheran, the Prince was a Catholic.
With regard to the religion of Orange not the slightest doubt existed,
nor was any deception attempted. Granvelle himself gave the most entire
attestation of the Prince's orthodoxy. "This proposed marriage gives me
great pain," he wrote to Philip, "but I have never had reason to suspect
his principles." In another letter he observed that he wished the
marriage could be broken off; but that he hoped so much from the virtue
of the Prince that nothing could suffice to separate him from the true
religion. On the other side there was as little doubt as to his creed.
Old Landgrave Philip of Hesse, grandfather of the young lady, was
bitterly opposed to the match. "'Tis a papist," said he, "who goes to
mass, and eats no meat on fast days." He had no great objection to his
character, but insurmountable ones to his religion. "Old Count William,"
said he, "was an evangelical lord to his dying day. This man is a
papist!" The marriage, then, was to be a mixed marriage. It is necessary,
however, to beware of anachronisms upon the subject. Lutherans were not
yet formally denounced as heretics. On the contrary, it was exactly at
this epoch that the Pope was inviting the Protestant princes of Germany
to the Trent Council, where the schism was to be closed, and all the
erring lambs to be received again into the bosom of the fold. So far from
manifesting an outward hostility, the papal demeanor was conciliating.
The letters of invitation from the Pope to the princes were sent by a
legate, each commencing with the exordium, "To my beloved son," and were
all sent back to his Holiness, contemptuously, with the coarse jest for
answer, "We believe our mothers to have been honest women, and hope that
we had better fathers." The great council had not yet given its
decisions. Marriages were of continual occurrence, especially among
princes and potentates, between the adherents of Rome and of the new
religion. Even Philip had been most anxious to marry the Protestant
Elizabeth, whom, had she been a peasant, he would unquestionably have
burned, if in his power. Throughout Germany, also, especially in high
places, there was a disposition to cover up the religious controversy; to
abstain from disturbing the ashes where devastation still glowed, and was
one day to rekindle itself. It was exceedingly difficult for any man,
from the Archduke Maximilian down, to define his creed. A marriage,
therefore; between a man and woman of discordant views upon this topic
was not startling, although in general not considered desirable.

There were, however, especial reasons why this alliance should be
distasteful, both to Philip of Spain upon one side, and to the Landgrave
Philip of Hesse on the other. The bride was the daughter of the elector
Maurice. In that one name were concentrated nearly all the disasters,
disgrace, and disappointment of the Emperor's reign. It was Maurice who
had hunted the Emperor through the Tyrolean mountains; it was Maurice who
had compelled the peace of Passau; it was Maurice who had overthrown the
Catholic Church in Germany, it was Maurice who had frustrated Philip's
election as king of the Romans. If William of Orange must seek a wife
among the pagans, could no other bride be found for him than the daughter
of such a man?

Anna's grandfather, on the other hand, Landgrave Philip, was the
celebrated victim to the force and fraud of Charles the Fifth. He saw in
the proposed bridegroom, a youth who had been from childhood, the petted
page and confidant of the hated Emperor, to whom he owed his long
imprisonment. He saw in him too, the intimate friend and ally--for the
brooding quarrels of the state council were not yet patent to the
world--of the still more deeply detested Granvelle; the crafty priest
whose substitution of "einig" for "ewig" had inveigled him into that
terrible captivity. These considerations alone would have made him
unfriendly to the Prince, even had he not been a Catholic.

The Elector Augustus, however, uncle and guardian to the bride, was not
only well-disposed but eager for the marriage, and determined to overcome
all obstacles, including the opposition of the Landgrave, without whose
consent he was long pledged not to bestow the hand of Anna. For this
there were more than one reason. Augustus, who, in the words of one of
the most acute historical critics of our day, was "a Byzantine Emperor of
the lowest class, re-appearing in electoral hat and mantle," was not firm
in his rights to the dignity he held. He had inherited from his brother,
but his brother had dispossessed John Frederic. Maurice, when turning
against the Emperor, who had placed him in his cousin's seat, had not
thought it expedient to restore to the rightful owner the rank which he
himself owed to the violence of Charles. Those claims might be
revindicated, and Augustus be degraded in his turn, by a possible
marriage of the Princess Anna, with some turbulent or intriguing German
potentate. Out of the land she was less likely to give trouble. The
alliance, if not particularly desirable on the score of rank, was, in
other worldly respects, a most brilliant one for his niece. As for the
religious point, if he could overcome or circumvent the scruples of the
Landgrave, he foresaw little difficulty in conquering his own conscience.

The Prince of Orange, it is evident, was placed in such a position, that
it would be difficult for him to satisfy all parties. He intended that
the marriage, like all marriages among persons in high places at that
day, should be upon the "uti possidetis" principle, which was the
foundation of the religious peace of Germany. His wife, after marriage
and removal to the Netherlands, would "live Catholically;" she would be
considered as belonging to the same Church with her husband, was to give
no offence to the government, and bring no suspicion upon himself, by
violating any of the religious decencies. Further than this, William, who
at that day was an easy, indifferent Catholic, averse to papal
persecutions, but almost equally averse to long, puritanical prayers and
faces, taking far more pleasure in worldly matters than in ecclesiastical
controversies, was not disposed to advance in this thorny path. Having a
stern bigot to deal with, in Madrid, and another in Cassel, he soon
convinced himself that he was not likely entirely to satisfy either, and
thought it wiser simply to satisfy himself.

Early in 1560, Count Gunther de Schwartzburg, betrothed to the Prince's
sister Catharine, together with Colonel George Von Holl, were despatched
to Germany to open the marriage negotiations. They found the Elector
Augustus already ripe and anxious for the connexion. It was easy for the
envoys to satisfy all his requirements on the religious question. If, as
the Elector afterwards stated to the Landgrave, they really promised that
the young lady should be allowed to have an evangelical preacher in her
own apartments, together with the befitting sacraments, it is very
certain that they travelled a good way out of their instructions, for
such concessions were steadily refused by William in person. It is,
however, more probable that Augustus, whose slippery feet were disposed
to slide smoothly and swiftly over this dangerous ground, had represented
the Prince's communications under a favorable gloss of his own. At any
rate, nothing in the subsequent proceedings justified the conclusions
thus hastily formed.

The Landgrave Philip, from the beginning, manifested his repugnance to
the match. As soon as the proposition had been received by Augustus, that
potentate despatched Hans von Carlowitz to the grandfather at Cassel. The
Prince of Orange, it was represented, was young, handsome, wealthy, a
favorite of the Spanish monarch; the Princess Anna, on the other hand,
said her uncle was not likely to grow straighter or better proportioned
in body, nor was her crooked and perverse character likely to improve
with years. It was therefore desirable to find a settlement for her as
soon as possible. The Elector, however, would decide upon nothing without
the Landgrave's consent.

To this frank, and not very flattering statement, so far as the young
lady was concerned, the Landgrave answered stoutly and characteristically.
The Prince was a Spanish subject, he said, and would not be able to
protect Anna in her belief, who would sooner or later become a fugitive:
he was but a Count in Germany, and no fitting match for an Elector's
daughter; moreover, the lady herself ought to be consulted, who had not
even seen the Prince. If she were crooked in body, as the Elector stated,
it was a shame to expose her; to conceal it, however, was questionable, as
the Prince might complain afterwards that a straight princess had been
promised, and a crooked one fraudulently substituted,--and so on, though a
good deal more of such quaint casuistry, in which the Landgrave was
accomplished. The amount of his answer, however, to the marriage proposal
was an unequivocal negative, from which he never wavered.

In consequence of this opposition, the negotiations were for a time
suspended. Augustus implored the Prince not to abandon the project,
promising that every effort should be made to gain over the Landgrave,
hinting that the old man might "go to his long rest soon," and even
suggesting that if the worst came to the worst, he had bound himself to
do nothing without the knowledge of the Landgrave, but was not obliged to
wait for his consent.

On the other hand, the Prince had communicated to the King of Spain the
fact of the proposed marriage. He had also held many long conversations
with the Regent and with Granvelle. In all these interviews he had
uniformly used one language: his future wife was to "live as a Catholic,"
and if that point were not conceded, he would break off the negotiations.
He did not pretend that she was to abjure her Protestant faith. The
Duchess, in describing to Philip the conditions, as sketched to her by
the Prince, stated expressly that Augustus of Saxony was to consent that
his niece "should live Catholically after the marriage," but that it was
quite improbable that "before the nuptials she would be permitted to
abjure her errors, and receive necessary absolution, according to the
rules of the Church." The Duchess, while stating her full confidence in
the orthodoxy of the Prince, expressed at the same time her fears that
attempts might be made in the future by his new connexions "to pervert
him to their depraved opinions."

A silence of many months ensued on the part of the sovereign, during
which he was going through the laborious process of making up his mind,
or rather of having it made up for him by people a thousand miles off. In
the autumn Granvelle wrote to say that the Prince was very much surprised
to have been kept so long waiting for a definite reply to his
communications, made at the beginning of the year concerning his intended
marriage, and to learn at last that his Majesty had sent no answer, upon
the ground that the match had been broken off; the fact being, that the
negotiations were proceeding more earnestly than ever.

Nothing could be more helpless and more characteristic than the letter
which Philip sent, thus pushed for a decision. "You wrote me," said he,
"that you had hopes that this matter of the Prince's marriage would go no
further, and seeing that you did not write oftener on the subject, I
thought certainly that it had been terminated. This pleased me not a
little, because it was the best thing that could be done. Likewise,"
continued the most tautological of monarchs, "I was much pleased that it
should be done. Nevertheless;" he added, "if the marriage is to be
proceeded with, I really don't know what to say about it, except to refer
it to my sister, inasmuch as a person being upon the spot can see better
what can be done with regard to it; whether it be possible to prevent it,
or whether it be best, if there be no remedy, to give permission. But if
there be a remedy, it would be better to take it, because," concluded the
King, pathetically, "I don't see how the Prince could think of marrying
with the daughter of the man who did to his majesty, now in glory, that
which Duke Maurice did."

Armed with this luminous epistle, which, if it meant any thing, meant a
reluctant affirmation to the demand of the Prince for the royal consent,
the Regent and Granvelle proceeded to summon William of Orange, and to
catechise him in a manner most galling to the pride, and with a latitude
not at all justified by any reasonable interpretation of the royal
instructions. They even informed him that his Majesty had assembled
"certain persons learned in cases of conscience, and versed in theology,"
according to whose advice a final decision, not yet possible, would be
given at some future period. This assembly of learned conscience-keepers
and theologians had no existence save in the imaginations of Granvelle
and Margaret. The King's letter, blind and blundering as it was, gave the
Duchess the right to decide in the affirmative on her own responsibility;
yet fictions like these formed a part of the "dissimulation," which was
accounted profound statesmanship by the disciples of Machiavelli. The
Prince, however irritated, maintained his steadiness; assured the Regent
that the negotiation had advanced too far to be abandoned, and repeated
his assurance that the future Princess of Orange was to "live as a
Catholic."

In December, 1560, William made a visit to Dresden, where he was received
by the Elector with great cordiality. This visit was conclusive as to the
marriage. The appearance and accomplishments of the distinguished suitor
made a profound impression upon the lady. Her heart was carried by storm.
Finding, or fancying herself very desperately enamored of the proposed
bridegroom, she soon manifested as much eagerness for the marriage as did
her uncle, and expressed herself frequently with the violence which
belonged to her character. "What God had decreed," she said, "the Devil
should not hinder."

The Prince was said to have exhibited much diligence in his attention to
the services of the Protestant Church during his visit at Dreaden. As
that visit lasted, however, but ten or eleven days, there was no great
opportunity for shewing much zeal.

At the same period one William Knuttel was despatched by Orange on the
forlorn hope of gaining the old Landgrave's consent, without making any
vital concessions. "Will the Prince," asked the Landgrave, "permit my
granddaughter to have an evangelical preacher in the house?"--"No,"
answered Knuttel. "May she at least receive the sacrament of the Lord's
Supper in her own chamber, according to the Lutheran form?"--"No,"
answered Knuttel, "neither in Breda, nor any where else in the
Netherlands. If she imperatively requires such sacraments, she must go
over the border for them, to the nearest Protestant sovereign."

Upon the 14th April, 1561, the Elector, returning to the charge, caused a
little note to be drawn up on the religious point, which he forwarded, in
the hope that the Prince would copy and sign it. He added a promise that
the memorandum should never be made public to the signer's disadvantage.

At the same time he observed to Count Louis, verbally, "that he had been
satisfied with the declarations made by the Prince when in Dresden, upon
all points, except that concerning religion. He therefore felt obliged to
beg for a little agreement in writing."--"By no means! by no means!"
interrupted Louis promptly, at the very first word, "the Prince can give
your electoral highness no such assurance. 'T would be risking life,
honor, and fortune to do so, as your grace is well aware." The Elector
protested that the declaration, if signed, should never come into the
Spanish monarch's hands, and insisted upon sending it to the Prince.
Louis, in a letter to his brother, characterized the document as
"singular, prolix and artful," and strongly advised the Prince to have
nothing to do with it.

This note, which the Prince was thus requested to sign, and which his
brother Louis thus strenuously advised him not to sign, the Prince never
did sign. Its tenor was to the following effect:--The Princess, after
marriage, was, neither by menace nor persuasion; to be turned from the
true and pure Word of God, or the use of the sacrament according to the
doctrines of the Augsburg Confession. The Prince was to allow her to read
books written in accordance with the Augsburg Confession. The prince was
to permit her, as often, annually, as she required it, to go out of the
Netherlands to some place where she could receive the sacrament according
to the Augsburg Confession. In case she were in sickness or perils of
childbirth, the Prince, if necessary, would call to her an evangelical
preacher, who might administer to her the holy sacrament in her chamber.
The children who might spring from the marriage were to be instructed as
to the doctrines of the Augsburg Confession.

Even if executed, this celebrated memorandum would hardly have been at
variance with the declarations made by the Prince to the Spanish
government. He had never pretended that his bride was to become a
Catholic, but only to live as a Catholic. All that he had promised, or
was expected to promise, was that his wife should conform to the law in
the Netherlands. The paper, in a general way, recognized that law. In
case of absolute necessity, however, it was stipulated that the Princess
should have the advantage of private sacraments. This certainly would
have been a mortal offence in a Calvinist or Anabaptist, but for
Lutherans the practise had never been so strict. Moreover, the Prince
already repudiated the doctrines of the edicts, and rebelled against the
command to administer them within his government. A general promise,
therefore, made by him privately, in the sense of the memorandum drawn up
by the Elector, would have been neither hypocritical nor deceitful, but
worthy the man who looked over such grovelling heads as Granvelle and
Philip on the one side, or Augustus of Saxony on the other, and estimated
their religious pretences at exactly what they were worth. A formal
document, however, technically according all these demands made by the
Elector, would certainly be regarded by the Spanish government as a very
culpable instrument. The Prince never signed the note, but, as we shall
have occasion to state in its proper place, he gave a verbal declaration,
favorable to its tenor, but in very vague and brief terms, before a
notary, on the day of the marriage.

If the reader be of opinion that too much time has been expended upon the
elucidation of this point, he should remember that the character of a
great and good man is too precious a possession of history to be lightly
abandoned. It is of no great consequence to ascertain the precise creed
of Augustus of Saxony, or of his niece; it is of comparatively little
moment to fix the point at which William of Orange ceased to be an
honest, but liberal Catholic, and opened his heart to the light of the
Reformation; but it is of very grave interest that his name should be
cleared of the charge of deliberate fraud and hypocrisy. It has therefore
been thought necessary to prove conclusively that the Prince never gave,
in Dresden or Cassel, any assurance inconsistent with his assertions to
King and Cardinal. The whole tone of his language and demeanor on the
religious subject was exhibited in his reply to the Electress, who,
immediately after the marriage, entreated that he would not pervert her
niece from the paths of the true religion. "She shall not be troubled,"
said the Prince, "with such melancholy things. Instead of holy writ she
shall read 'Amadis de Gaule,' and such books of pastime which discourse
de amore; and instead of knitting and sewing she shall learn to dance a
galdiarde, and such courtoisies as are the mode of our country and
suitable to her rank."

The reply was careless, flippant, almost contemptuous. It is very certain
that William of Orange was not yet the "father William" he was destined
to become--grave, self-sacrificing, deeply religious, heroic; but it was
equally evident from this language that he had small sympathy, either in
public or private, with Lutheranism or theological controversy. Landgrave
William was not far from right when he added, in his quaint style, after
recalling this well-known reply, "Your grace will observe, therefore,
that when the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play."

So great was the excitement at the little court of Cassel, that many
Protestant princes and nobles declared that "they would sooner give their
daughters to a boor or a swineherd than to a Papist." The Landgrave was
equally vigorous in his protest, drawn up in due form on the 26th April,
1561. He was not used, he said, "to flatter or to tickle with a foxtail."
He was sorry if his language gave offense, nevertheless "the marriage was
odious, and that was enough." He had no especial objection to the Prince,
"who before the world was a brave and honorable man." He conceded that
his estates were large, although he hinted that his debts also were
ample; allowed that he lived in magnificent style, had even heard "of one
of his banquets, where all the table-cloths, plates, and every thing
else, were made of sugar," but thought he might be even a little too
extravagant; concluding, after a good deal of skimble-skamble of this
nature, with "protesting before God, the world, and all pious Christians,
that he was not responsible for the marriage, but only the Elector
Augustus and others, who therefore would one day have to render account
thereof to the Lord."

Meantime the wedding had been fixed to take place on Sunday, the 24th
August, 1561. This was St. Bartholomew's, a nuptial day which was not
destined to be a happy one in the sixteenth century. The Landgrave and
his family declined to be present at the wedding, but a large and
brilliant company were invited. The King of Spain sent a bill of exchange
to the Regent, that she might purchase a ring worth three thousand
crowns, as a present on his part to the bride. Beside this liberal
evidence that his opposition to the marriage was withdrawn, he authorized
his sister to appoint envoys from among the most distinguished nobles to
represent him on the occasion. The Baron de Montigny, accordingly, with a
brilliant company of gentlemen, was deputed by the Duchess, although she
declined sending all the governors of the provinces, according to the
request of the Prince. The marriage was to take place at Leipsic. A
slight picture of the wedding festivities, derived entirely from
unpublished sources, may give some insight into the manners and customs
of high life in Germany and the Netherlands at this epoch.

The Kings of Spain and Denmark were invited, and were represented by
special ambassadors. The Dukes of Brunswick, Lauenburg, Mecklenburg, the
Elector and Margraves of Brandenburg, the Archbishop of Cologne, the Duke
of Cleves, the Bishops of Naumburg, Meneburg, Meissen, with many other
potentates, accepted the invitations, and came generally in person, a few
only being represented by envoys. The town councils of Erfurt, Leipsic,
Magdeburg, and other cities, were also bidden. The bridegroom was
personally accompanied by his brothers John, Adolphus, and Louis; by the
Burens, the Leuchtenbergs, and various other distinguished personages.

As the electoral residence at Leipsic was not completely finished,
separate dwellings were arranged for each of the sovereign families
invited, in private houses, mostly on the market-place. Here they were to
be furnished with provisions by the Elector's officials, but they were to
cook for themselves. For this purpose all the princes had been requested
to bring their own cooks and butlers, together with their plate and
kitchen utensils. The sovereigns themselves were to dine daily with the
Elector at the town-house, but the attendants and suite were to take
their meals in their own lodgings. A brilliant collection of gentlemen
and pages, appointed by the Elector to wait at his table, were ordered to
assemble at Leipsic on the 22d, the guests having been all invited for
the 23d. Many regulations were given to these noble youths, that they
might discharge their duties with befitting decorum. Among other orders,
they received particular injunctions that they were to abstain from all
drinking among themselves, and from all riotous conduct whatever, while
the sovereigns and potentates should be at dinner. "It would be a
shameful indecency," it was urged, "if the great people sitting at table
should be unable to hear themselves talk on account of the screaming of
the attendants." This provision did not seem unreasonable. They were also
instructed that if invited to drink by any personage at the great tables
they were respectfully to decline the challenge, and to explain the cause
after the repast.

Particular arrangements were also made for the safety of the city.
Besides the regular guard of Leipsic, two hundred and twenty
arquebuseers, spearsmen, and halberdmen, were ordered from the
neighboring towns. These were to be all dressed in uniform; one arm, side
and leg in black, and the other in yellow, according to a painting
distributed beforehand to the various authorities. As a mounted patrole,
Leipsic had a regular force of two men. These were now increased to ten,
and received orders to ride with their lanterns up and down all the
streets and lanes, to accost all persons whom they might find abroad
without lights in their hands, to ask them their business in courteous
language, and at the same time to see generally to the peace and safety
of the town.

Fifty arquebuseers were appointed to protect the town-house, and a
burgher watch of six hundred was distributed in different quarters,
especially to guard against fire.

On Saturday, the day before the wedding, the guests had all arrived at
Leipsic, and the Prince of Orange, with his friends, at Meneburg. On
Sunday, the 24th August, the Elector at the head of his guests and
attendants, in splendid array, rode forth to receive the bridegroom. His
cavalcade numbered four thousand. William of Orange had arrived,
accompanied by one thousand mounted men. The whole troop now entered the
city together, escorting the Prince to the town-house. Here he
dismounted, and was received on the staircase by the Princess Anna,
attended by her ladies. She immediately afterwards withdrew to her
apartments.

It was at this point, between 4 and 5 P.M., that the Elector and
Electress, with the bride and bridegroom, accompanied also by the Dame
Sophia von Miltitz and the Councillors Hans von Ponika and Ubrich
Woltersdorff upon one side, and by Count John of Nassau and Heinrich von
Wiltberg upon the other, as witnesses, appeared before Wolf Seidel,
notary, in a corner room of the upper story of the town-house. One of the
councillors, on the part of the Elector, then addressed the bridegroom.
He observed that his highness would remember, no doubt, the contents of a
memorandum or billet, sent by the Elector on the 14th April of that year,
by the terms of which the Prince was to agree that he would, neither by
threat nor persuasion, prevent his future wife from continuing in the
Augsburg Confession; that he would allow her to go to places where she
might receive the Augsburg sacraments; that in case of extreme need she
should receive them in her chamber; and that the children who might
spring from the marriage should be instructed as to the Augsburg
doctrines. As, however, continued the councillor, his highness the Prince
of Orange has, for various reasons, declined giving any such agreement in
writing, as therefore it had been arranged that before the marriage
ceremony the Prince should, in the presence of the bride and of the other
witnesses, make a verbal promise on the subject, and as the parties were
now to be immediately united in marriage, therefore the Elector had no
doubt that the Prince would make no objection in presence of those
witnesses to give his consent to maintain the agreements comprised in the
memorandum or note. The note was then read. Thereupon, the Prince
answered verbally. "Gracious Elector; I remember the writing which you
sent me on the 14th April. All the point: just narrated by the Doctor
were contained in it. I now state to your highness that I will keep it
all as becomes a prince, and conform to it." Thereupon he gave the
Elector his hand.--

What now was the amount and meaning of this promise on the part of the
Prince? Almost nothing. He would conform to the demands of the Elector,
exactly as he had hitherto said he would conform to them. Taken in
connexion with his steady objections to sign and seal any instrument on
the subject--with his distinct refusal to the Landgrave (through Knuttel)
to allow the Princess an evangelical preacher or to receive the
sacraments in the Netherlands--with the vehement, formal, and public
protest, on the part of the Landgrave, against the marriage--with the
Prince's declarations to the Elector at Dresden, which were satisfactory
on all points save the religious point,--what meaning could this verbal
promise have, save that the Prince would do exactly as much with regard
to the religious question as he had always promised, and no more? This
was precisely what did happen. There was no pretence on the part of the
Elector, afterwards, that any other arrangement had been contemplated.
The Princess lived catholically from the moment of her marriage, exactly
as Orange had stated to the Duchess Margaret, and as the Elector knew
would be the case. The first and the following children born of the
marriage were baptized by Catholic priests, with very elaborate Catholic
ceremonies, and this with the full consent of the Elector, who sent
deputies and officiated as sponsor on one remarkable occasion.

Who, of all those guileless lambs then, Philip of Spain, the Elector of
Saxony, or Cardinal Granvelle, had been deceived by the language or
actions of the Prince? Not one. It may be boldly asserted that the
Prince, placed in a transition epoch, both of the age and of his own
character, surrounded by the most artful and intriguing personages known
to history, and involved in a network of most intricate and difficult
circumstances, acquitted himself in a manner as honorable as it was
prudent. It is difficult to regard the notarial instrument otherwise than
as a memorandum, filed rather by Augustus than by wise William, in order
to put upon record for his own justification, his repeated though
unsuccessful efforts to procure from the Prince a regularly signed,
sealed, and holographic act, upon the points stated in the famous note.

After the delay occasioned by these private formalities, the bridal
procession, headed by the court musicians, followed by the court
marshals, councillors, great officers of state, and the electoral family,
entered the grand hall of the town-house. The nuptial ceremony was then
performed by "the Superintendent Doctor Pfeffinger." Immediately
afterwards, and in the same hall, the bride and bridegroom were placed
publicly upon a splendid, gilded bed, with gold-embroidered curtains, the
Princess being conducted thither by the Elector and Electress. Confects
and spiced drinks were then served to them and to the assembled company.
After this ceremony they were conducted to their separate chambers, to
dress for dinner. Before they left the hall, however, Margrave Hans of
Brandenburg, on part of the Elector of Saxony, solemnly recommended the
bride to her husband, exhorting him to cherish her with faith and
affection, and "to leave her undisturbed in the recognized truth of the
holy gospel and the right use of the sacraments."

Five round tables were laid in the same hall immediately afterwards--each
accommodating ten guests. As soon as the first course of twenty-five
dishes had been put upon the chief table, the bride and bridegroom, the
Elector and Electress, the Spanish and Danish envoys and others, were
escorted to it, and the banquet began. During the repast, the Elector's
choir and all the other bands discoursed the "merriest and most ingenious
music." The noble vassals handed the water, the napkins, and the wine,
and every thing was conducted decorously and appropriately. As soon as
the dinner was brought to a close, the tables were cleared away, and the
ball began in the same apartment. Dances, previously arranged, were
performed, after which "confects and drinks" were again distributed, and
the bridal pair were then conducted to the nuptial chamber.

The wedding, according to the Lutheran custom of the epoch, had thus
taken place not in a church, but in a private dwelling; the hall of the
town-house, representing, on this occasion, the Elector's own saloons. On
the following morning, however, a procession was formed at seven o'clock
to conduct the newly-married couple to the church of St. Nicholas, there
to receive an additional exhortation and benediction. Two separate
companies of gentlemen, attended by a great number of "fifers, drummers,
and trumpeters," escorted the bride and the bridegroom, "twelve counts
wearing each a scarf of the Princess Anna's colors, with golden garlands
on their heads and lighted torches in their hands," preceding her to the
choir, where seats had been provided for the more illustrious portion of
the company. The church had been magnificently decked in tapestry, and,
as the company entered, a full orchestra performed several fine motettos.
After listening to a long address from Dr. Pfeffinger, and receiving a
blessing before the altar, the Prince and Princess of Orange returned,
with their attendant processions, to the town-house.

After dinner, upon the same and the three following days, a tournament
was held. The lists were on the market-place, on the side nearest the
town-house; the Electress and the other ladies looking down from balcony
and window to "rain influence and adjudge the prize." The chief hero of
these jousts, according to the accounts in the Archives, was the Elector
of Saxony. He "comported himself with such especial chivalry" that his
far-famed namesake and remote successor, Augustus the Strong, could
hardly have evinced more knightly prowess. On the first day he
encountered George Von Wiedebach, and unhorsed him so handsomely that the
discomfited cavalier's shoulder was dislocated. On the following day he
tilted with Michael von Denstedt, and was again victorious, hitting his
adversary full in the target, and "bearing him off over his horse's tail
so neatly, that the knight came down, heels over head, upon the earth."

On Wednesday, there was what was called the palliatourney. The Prince of
Orange, at the head of six bands, amounting in all to twenty-nine men;
the Margrave George of Brandenburg, with seven bands, comprising
thirty-four men, and the Elector Augustus, with one band of four men,
besides himself, all entered the lists. Lots were drawn for the "gate of
honor," and gained by the Margrave, who accordingly defended it with his
band. Twenty courses were then run between these champions and the Prince
of Orange, with his men. The Brandenburgs broke seven lances, the
Prince's party only six, so that Orange was obliged to leave the lists
discomfited. The ever-victorious Augustus then took the field, and ran
twenty courses against the defenders, breaking fourteen spears to the
Brandenburg's ten. The Margrave, thus defeated, surrendered the "gate of
honor" to the Elector, who maintained, it the rest of the day against all
comers. It is fair to suppose, although the fact is not recorded, that
the Elector's original band had received some reinforcement. Otherwise,
it would be difficult to account for these constant victories, except by
ascribing more than mortal strength, as well as valor, to Augustus and
his four champions. His party broke one hundred and fifty-six lances, of
which number the Elector himself broke thirty-eight and a half. He
received the first prize, but declined other guerdons adjudged to him.
The reward for the hardest hitting was conferred on Wolf Von Schonberg,
"who thrust Kurt Von Arnim clean out of the saddle, so that he fell
against the barriers."

On Thursday was the riding at the ring. The knights who partook of this
sport wore various strange garbs over their armor. Some were disguised as
hussars, some as miners, come as lansquenettes; others as Tartans,
pilgrims, fools, bird-catchers, hunters, monks; peasants, or Netherland
cuirassiers. Each party was attended by a party of musicians, attired in
similar costume. Moreover, Count Gunter Von Schwartzburg made, his
appearance in the lists, accompanied "by five remarkable giants of
wonderful proportions and appearance, very ludicrous to behold, who
performed all kind of odd antics on horseback."

The next day there was a foot tourney, followed in the evening by
"mummeries," or masquerades. These masques were repeated on the following
evening, and afforded great entertainment. The costumes were magnificent,
"with golden and pearl embroidery," the dances were very merry and
artistic, and the musicians, who formed a part of the company, exhibited
remarkable talent. These "mummeries" had been brought by William of
Orange from the Netherlands, at the express request of the Elector, on
the ground that such matters were much better understood in the provinces
than in Germany.

Such is a slight sketch of the revels by which this ill-fated Bartholomew
marriage was celebrated. While William of Orange was thus employed in
Germany, Granvelle seized the opportunity to make his entry into the city
of Mechlin, as archbishop; believing that such a step would be better
accomplished in the absence of the Prince from the country. The Cardinal
found no one in the city to welcome him. None of the great nobles were
there. "The people looked upon the procession with silent hatred. No man
cried, God bless him." He wrote to the King that he should push forward
the whole matter of the bishoprics as fast as possible, adding the
ridiculous assertion that the opposition came entirely from the nobility,
and that "if the seigniors did not talk so much, not a man of the people
would open his mouth on the subject."

The remonstrance offered by the three estates of Brabant against the
scheme had not influenced Philip. He had replied in a peremptory tone. He
had assured them that he had no intention of receding, and that the
province of Brabant ought to feel itself indebted to him for having given
them prelates instead of abbots to take care of their eternal interests,
and for having erected their religious houses into episcopates. The
abbeys made what resistance they could, but were soon fain to come to a
compromise with the bishops, who, according to the arrangement thus made,
were to receive a certain portion of the abbey revenues, while the
remainder was to belong to the institutions, together with a continuance
of their right to elect their own chiefs, subordinate, however, to the
approbation of the respective prelates of the diocese. Thus was the
episcopal matter settled in Brabant. In many of the other bishoprics the
new dignitaries were treated with disrespect, as they made their entrance
into their cities, while they experienced endless opposition and
annoyance on attempting to take possession of the revenue assigned to
them.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
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     We believe our mothers to have been honest women
     When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
     Wiser simply to satisfy himself




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 7.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1561-1562  [CHAPTER III.]

   The inquisition the great cause of the revolt--The three varieties
   of the institution--The Spanish inquisition described--The Episcopal
   inquisition in the Netherlands--The Papal inquisition established in
   the provinces by Charles V.--His instructions to the inquisitors--
   They are renewed by Philip--Inquisitor Titelmann--Instances of his
   manner of proceeding--Spanish and Netherland inquisitions compared--
   Conduct of Granvelle--Faveau and Mallart condemned at Valenciennes--
   "Journee des maubrulea"--Severe measures at Valenciennes--Attack of
   the Rhetoric Clubs Upon Granvelle--Granvelle's insinuations against
   Egmont and Simon Renard--Timidity of Viglius--Universal hatred
   toward the Cardinal--Buffoonery of Brederode and Lumey--Courage of
   Granvelle--Philip taxes the Netherlands for the suppression of the
   Huguenots in France--Meeting of the Knights of the Fleece--Assembly
   at the house of Orange--Demand upon the estates for supplies--
   Montigny appointed envoy to Spain--Open and determined opposition to
   Granvelle--Secret representations by the Cardinal to Philip,
   concerning Egmont and other Seigniors--Line of conduct traced out
   for the King--Montigny's representations in Spain--Unsatisfactory
   result of his mission.

The great cause of the revolt which, within a few years, was to break
forth throughout the Netherlands; was the inquisition. It is almost
puerile to look further or deeper, when such a source of convulsion lies
at the very outset of any investigation. During the war there had been,
for reasons already indicated, an occasional pause in the religious
persecution. Philip had now returned to Spain, having arranged, with
great precision, a comprehensive scheme for exterminating that religious
belief which was already accepted by a very large portion of his
Netherland Subjects. From afar there rose upon the provinces the
prophetic vision of a coming evil still more terrible than any which had
yet oppressed them. As across the bright plains of Sicily, when the sun
is rising, the vast pyramidal shadow of Mount Etna is definitely and
visibly projected--the phantom of that ever-present enemy, which holds
fire and devastation in its bosom--so, in the morning hour of Philip's
reign, the shadow of the inquisition was cast from afar across those warm
and smiling provinces--a spectre menacing fiercer flames and wider
desolation than those which mere physical agencies could ever compass.

There has been a good deal of somewhat superfluous discussion concerning
the different kinds of inquisition. The distinction drawn between the
papal, the episcopal, and the Spanish inquisitions, did not, in the
sixteenth century, convince many unsophisticated minds of the merits of
the establishment in any of its shapes. However classified or entitled,
it was a machine for inquiring into a man's thoughts, and for burning him
if the result was not satisfactory.

The Spanish inquisition, strictly so called, that is to say, the modern
or later institution established by Pope Alexander the Sixth and
Ferdinand the Catholic, was doubtless invested with a more complete
apparatus for inflicting human misery, and for appalling human
imagination, than any of the other less artfully arranged inquisitions,
whether papal or episcopal. It had been originally devised for Jews or
Moors, whom the Christianity of the age did not regard as human beings,
but who could not be banished without depopulating certain districts. It
was soon, however, extended from pagans to heretics. The Dominican
Torquemada was the first Moloch to be placed upon this pedestal of blood
and fire, and from that day forward the "holy office" was almost
exclusively in the hands of that band of brothers. In the eighteen years
of Torquemada's administration; ten thousand two hundred and twenty
individuals were burned alive, and ninety-seven thousand three hundred
and twenty-one punished with infamy, confiscation of property, or
perpetual imprisonment, so that the total number of families destroyed by
this one friar alone amounted to one hundred and fourteen thousand four
hundred and one. In course of time the jurisdiction of the office was
extended. It taught the savages of India and America to shudder at the
name of Christianity. The fear of its introduction froze the earlier
heretics of Italy, France, and Ger many into orthodoxy. It was a court
owning allegiance to no temporal authority, superior to all other
tribunals. It was a bench of monks without appeal, having its familiars
in every house, diving into the secrets of every fireside, judging, and
executing its horrible decrees without responsibility. It condemned not
deeds, but thoughts. It affected to descend into individual conscience,
and to punish the crimes which it pretended to discover. Its process was
reduced to a horrible simplicity. It arrested on suspicion, tortured till
confession, and then punished by fire. Two witnesses, and those to
separate facts, were sufficient to consign the victim to a loathsome
dungeon. Here he was sparingly supplied with food, forbidden to speak, or
even to sing to which pastime it could hardly be thought he would feel
much inclination--and then left to himself, till famine and misery should
break his spirit. When that time was supposed to have arrived he was
examined. Did he confess, and forswear his heresy, whether actually
innocent or not, he might then assume the sacred shirt, and escape with
confiscation of all his property. Did he persist in the avowal of his
innocence, two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack.
He was informed of the testimony against him, but never confronted with
the witness. That accuser might be his son, father, or the wife of his
bosom, for all were enjoined, under the death penalty, to inform the
inquisitors of every suspicious word which might fall from their nearest
relatives. The indictment being thus supported, the prisoner was tried by
torture. The rack was the court of justice; the criminal's only advocate
was his fortitude--for the nominal counsellor, who was permitted no
communication with the prisoner, and was furnished neither with documents
nor with power to procure evidence, was a puppet, aggravating the
lawlessness of the proceedings by the mockery of legal forms: The torture
took place at midnight, in a gloomy dungeon, dimly, lighted by torches.
The victim--whether man, matron, or tender virgin--was stripped naked,
and stretched upon the wooden bench. Water, weights, fires, pulleys,
screws--all the apparatus by which the sinews could be strained without
cracking, the bones crushed without breaking, and the body racked
exquisitely without giving up its ghost, was now put into operation. The
executioner, enveloped in a black robe from head to foot, with his eyes
glaring at his victim through holes cut in the hood which muffled his
face, practised successively all the forms of torture which the devilish
ingenuity of the monks had invented. The imagination sickens when
striving to keep pace with these dreadful realities. Those who wish to
indulge their curiosity concerning the details of the system, may easily
satisfy themselves at the present day. The flood of light which has been
poured upon the subject more than justifies the horror and the rebellion
of the Netherlanders.

The period during which torture might be inflicted from day to day was
unlimited in duration. It could only be terminated by confession; so that
the scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack. Individuals have borne
the torture and the dungeon fifteen years, and have been burned at the
stake at last.

Execution followed confession, but the number of condemned prisoners was
allowed to accumulate, that a multitude of victims might grace each great
gala-day. The auto-da fe was a solemn festival. The monarch, the high
functionaries of the land, the reverend clergy, the populace regarded it
as an inspiring and delightful recreation. When the appointed morning
arrived, the victim was taken from his dungeon. He was then attired in a
yellow robe without sleeves, like a herald's coat, embroidered all over
with black figures of devils. A large conical paper mitre was placed upon
his head, upon which was represented a human being in the midst of
flames, surrounded by imps. His tongue was then painfully gagged, so that
he could neither open nor shut his mouth. After he was thus accoutred,
and just as he was leaving his cell, a breakfast, consisting of every
delicacy, was placed before him, and he was urged, with ironical
politeness, to satisfy his hunger. He was then led forth into the public
square. The procession was formed with great pomp. It was headed by the
little school children, who were immediately followed by the band of
prisoners, each attired in the horrible yet ludicrous manner described.
Then came the magistrates and nobility, the prelates and other
dignitaries of the Church: the holy inquisitors, with their officials and
familiars, followed, all on horseback, with the blood-red flag of the
"sacred office" waving above them, blazoned upon either side with the
portraits of Alexander and of Ferdinand, the pair of brothers who had
established the institution. After the procession came the rabble. When
all had reached the neighborhood of the scaffold, and had been arranged
in order, a sermon was preached to the assembled multitude. It was filled
with laudations of the inquisition, and with blasphemous revilings
against the condemned prisoners. Then the sentences were read to the
individual victims. Then the clergy chanted the fifty-first psalm, the
whole vast throng uniting in one tremendous miserere. If a priest
happened to be among the culprits, he was now stripped of the canonicals
which he had hitherto worn; while his hands, lips, and shaven crown were
scraped with a bit of glass, by which process the oil of his consecration
was supposed to be removed. He was then thrown into the common herd.
Those of the prisoners who were reconciled, and those whose execution was
not yet appointed, were now separated from the others. The rest were
compelled to mount a scaffold, where the executioner stood ready to
conduct them to the fire. The inquisitors then delivered them into his
hands, with an ironical request that he would deal with them tenderly,
and without blood-letting or injury. Those who remained steadfast to the
last were then burned at the stake; they who in the last extremity
renounced their faith were strangled before being thrown into the flames.
Such was the Spanish inquisition--technically--so called: It was,
according' to the biographer of Philip the Second, a "heavenly remedy, a
guardian angel of Paradise, a lions' den in which Daniel and other just
men could sustain no injury, but in which perverse sinners were torn to
pieces." It was a tribunal superior to all human law, without appeal, and
certainly owing no allegiance to the powers of earth or heaven. No rank,
high or humble, was safe from its jurisdiction. The royal family were not
sacred, nor, the pauper's hovel. Even death afforded no protection. The
holy office invaded the prince in his palace and the beggar in his
shroud. The corpses of dead heretics were mutilated and burned. The
inquisitors preyed upon carcases and rifled graves. A gorgeous festival
of the holy office had, as we have seen, welcomed Philip to his native
land. The news of these tremendous autos-da fe, in which so many
illustrious victims had been sacrificed before their sovereign's eyes,
had reached the Netherlands almost simultaneously with the bulls creating
the new bishoprics in the provinces. It was not likely that the measure
would be rendered more palatable by this intelligence of the royal
amusements.

The Spanish inquisition had never flourished in any soil but that of the
peninsula. It is possible that the King and Granvelle were sincere in
their protestations of entertaining no intention of introducing it into
the Netherlands, although the protestations of such men are entitled to
but little weight. The truth was, that the inquisition existed already in
the provinces. It was the main object of the government to confirm and
extend the institution. The episcopal inquisition, as we have already
seen, had been enlarged by the enormous increase in the number of
bishops, each of whom was to be head inquisitor in his diocese, with two
special inquisitors under him. With this apparatus and with the edicts,
as already described, it might seem that enough had already been done for
the suppression of heresy. But more had been done. A regular papal
inquisition also existed in the Netherlands. This establishment, like the
edicts, was the gift of Charles the Fifth. A word of introduction is here
again necessary--nor let the reader deem that too much time is devoted to
this painful subject. On the contrary, no definite idea can be formed as
to the character of the Netherland revolt without a thorough
understanding of this great cause--the religious persecution in which the
country had lived, breathed, and had its being, for half a century, and
in which, had the rebellion not broken out at last, the population must
have been either exterminated or entirely embruted. The few years which
are immediately to occupy us in the present and succeeding chapter,
present the country in a daily increasing ferment from the action of
causes which had existed long before, but which received an additional
stimulus as the policy of the new reign developed itself.

Previously to the accession of Charles V., it can not be said that an
inquisition had ever been established in the provinces. Isolated
instances to the contrary, adduced by the canonists who gave their advice
to Margaret of Parma, rather proved the absence than the existence of the
system. In the reign of Philip the Good, the vicar of the
inquisitor-general gave sentence against some heretics, who were burned
in Lille (1448). In 1459, Pierre Troussart, a Jacobin monk, condemned
many Waldenses, together with some leading citizens of Artois, accused of
sorcery and heresy. He did this, however, as inquisitor for the Bishop of
Arras, so that it was an act of episcopal, and not papal inquisition. In
general, when inquisitors were wanted in the provinces, it was necessary
to borrow them from France or Germany. The exigencies of persecution
making a domestic staff desirable, Charles the Fifth, in the year 1522,
applied to his ancient tutor, whom he had placed on the papal throne.

Charles had, however, already, in the previous year appointed Francis Van
der Hulst to be inquisitor-general for the Netherlands. This man, whom
Erasmus called a "wonderful enemy to learning," was also provided with a
coadjutor, Nicholas of Egmond by name, a Carmelite monk, who was
characterized by the same authority as "a madman armed with a sword." The
inquisitor-general received full powers to cite, arrest, imprison,
torture heretics without observing the ordinary forms of law, and to
cause his sentences to be executed without appeal. He was, however, in
pronouncing definite judgments, to take the advice of Laurens, president
of the grand council of Mechlin, a coarse, cruel and ignorant man, who
"hated learning with a more than deadly hatred," and who might certainly
be relied upon to sustain the severest judgments which the inquisitor
might fulminate. Adrian; accordingly, commissioned Van der Hulst to be
universal and general inquisitor for all the Netherlands. At the same
time it was expressly stated that his functions were not to supersede
those exercised by the bishops as inquisitors in their own sees. Thus the
papal inquisition was established in the provinces. Van der Hulst, a
person of infamous character, was not the man to render the institution
less odious than it was by its nature. Before he had fulfilled his duties
two years, however, he was degraded from his office by the Emperor for
having forged a document. In 1525, Buedens, Houseau and Coppin were
confirmed by Clement the Seventh as inquisitors in the room of Van der
Hulst. In 1531, Ruard Tapper and Michael Drutius were appointed by Paul
the Third, on the decease of Coppin, the other two remaining in office.
The powers of the papal inquisitors had been gradually extended, and they
were, by 1545, not only entirely independent of the episcopal
inquisition, but had acquired right of jurisdiction over bishops and
archbishops, whom they were empowered to arrest and imprison. They had
also received and exercised the privilege of appointing delegates, or
sub-inquisitors, on their own authority. Much of the work was, indeed,
performed by these officials, the most notorious of whom were Barbier, De
Monte, Titelmann, Fabry, Campo de Zon, and Stryen. In 1545, and again in
1550, a stringent set of instructions were drawn up by the Emperor for
the guidance of these papal inquisitors. A glance at their context shows
that the establishment was not intended to be an empty form.

They were empowered to inquire, proceed against, and chastise all
heretics, all persons suspected of heresy, and their protectors.
Accompanied by a notary, they were to collect written information
concerning every person in the provinces, "infected or vehemently
suspected." They were authorized to summon all subjects of his Majesty,
whatever their rank, quality, or station, and to compel them to give
evidence, or to communicate suspicions. They were to punish all who
pertinaciously refused such depositions with death. The Emperor commanded
his presidents, judges, sheriffs, and all other judicial and executive
officers to render all "assistance to the inquisitors and their familiars
in their holy and pious inquisition, whenever required so to do," on pain
of being punished as encouragers of heresy, that is to say, with death.
Whenever the inquisitors should be satisfied as to the heresy of any
individual, they were to order his arrest and detention by the judge of
the place, or by others arbitrarily to be selected by them. The judges or
persons thus chosen, were enjoined to fulfil the order, on pain of being
punished as protectors of heresy, that is to say, with death, by sword or
fire. If the prisoner were an ecclesiastic, the inquisitor was to deal
summarily with the case "without noise or form in the process--selecting
an imperial councillor to render the sentence of absolution or
condemnation." If the prisoner were a lay person, the inquisitor was to
order his punishment, according to the edicts, by the council of the
province. In case of lay persons suspected but not convicted of heresy,
the inquisitor was to proceed to their chastisement, "with the advice of
a counsellor or some other expert." In conclusion, the Emperor ordered
the "inquisitors to make it known that they were not doing their own
work, but that of Christ, and to persuade all persons of this fact." This
clause of their instructions seemed difficult of accomplishment, for no
reasonable person could doubt that Christ, had he re-appeared in human
form, would have been instantly crucified again, or burned alive in any
place within the dominions of Charles or Philip. The blasphemy with which
the name of Jesus was used by such men to sanctify all these nameless
horrors, is certainly not the least of their crimes.

In addition to these instructions, a special edict had been issued on the
26th April, 1550, according to which all judicial officers, at the
requisition of the inquisitors, were to render them all assistance in the
execution of their office, by arresting and detaining all persons
suspected of heresy, according to the instructions issued to said
inquisitors; and this, notwithstanding any privileges or charters to the
contrary. In short, the inquisitors were not subject to the civil
authority, but the civil authority to them. The imperial edict empowered
them "to chastise, degrade, denounce, and deliver over heretics to the
secular judges for punishment; to make use of gaols, and to make arrests,
without ordinary warrant, but merely with notice given to a single
counselor, who was obliged to give sentence according to their desire,
without application to the ordinary judge."

These instructions to the inquisitors had been renewed and confirmed by
Philip, in the very first month of his reign (28th Nov. 1555). As in the
case of the edicts, it had been thought desirable by Granvelle to make
use of the supposed magic of the Emperor's name to hallow the whole
machinery of persecution. The action of the system during the greater
part of the imperial period had been terrible. Suffered for a time to
languish during the French war, it had lately been renewed with
additional vigor. Among all the inquisitors, the name of Peter Titelmann
was now pre-eminent. He executed his infamous functions throughout
Flanders, Douay, and Tournay, the most thriving and populous portions of
the Netherlands, with a swiftness, precision, and even with a jocularity
which hardly seemed human. There was a kind of grim humor about the man.
The woman who, according to Lear's fool, was wont to thrust her live eels
into the hot paste, "rapping them o' the coxcombs with a stick and crying
reproachfully, Wantons, lie down!" had the spirit of a true inquisitor.
Even so dealt Titelmann with his heretics writhing on the rack or in the
flames. Cotemporary chronicles give a picture of him as of some grotesque
yet terrible goblin, careering through the country by night or day,
alone, on horseback, smiting the trembling peasants on the head with a
great club, spreading dismay far and wide, dragging suspected persons
from their firesides or their beds, and thrusting them into dungeons,
arresting, torturing, strangling, burning, with hardly the shadow of
warrant, information, or process.

The secular sheriff, familiarly called Red-Rod, from the color of his
wand of office, meeting this inquisitor Titelmann one day upon the high
road, thus wonderingly addressed him--"How can you venture to go about
alone, or at most with an attendant or two, arresting people on every
side, while I dare not attempt to execute my office, except at the head
of a strong force, armed in proof; and then only at the peril of my
life?"

"Ah! Red-Rod," answered Peter, jocosely, "you deal with bad people. I
have nothing to fear, for I seize only the innocent and virtuous, who
make no resistance, and let themselves be taken like lambs."

"Mighty well," said the other; "but if you arrest all the good people and
I all the bad, 'tis difficult to say who in the world is to escape
chastisement." The reply of the inquisitor has not been recorded, but
there is no doubt that he proceeded like a strong man to run his day's
course.

He was the most active of all the agents in the religious persecution at
the epoch of which we are now treating, but he had been inquisitor for
many years. The martyrology of the provinces reeks with his murders. He
burned men for idle words or suspected thoughts; he rarely waited,
according to his frank confession, for deeds. Hearing once that a certain
schoolmaster, named Geleyn de Muler, of Audenarde, "was addicted to
reading the Bible," he summoned the culprit before him and accused him of
heresy. The schoolmaster claimed, if he were guilty of any crime, to be
tried before the judges of his town. "You are my prisoner," said
Titelmann, "and are to answer me and none other." The inquisitor
proceeded accordingly to catechize him, and soon satisfied himself of the
schoolmaster's heresy. He commanded him to make immediate recantation.
The schoolmaster refused. "Do you not love your wife and children?" asked
the demoniac Titelmann. "God knows," answered the heretic, "that if the
whole world were of gold, and my own, I would give it all only to have
them with me, even had I to live on bread and water and in bondage." "You
have then," answered the inquisitor, "only to renounce the error of your
opinions."--"Neither for wife, children, nor all the world, can I
renounce my God and religious truth," answered the prisoner. Thereupon
Titelmann sentenced him to the stake. He was strangled and then thrown
into the flames.

At about the same-time, Thomas Calberg, tapestry weaver, of Tournay,
within the jurisdiction of this same inquisitor, was convicted of having
copied some hymns from a book printed in Geneva. He was burned alive.
Another man, whose name has perished, was hacked to death with seven
blows of a rusty sword, in presence of his wife, who was so
horror-stricken that she died on the spot before her husband. His crime,
to be sure, was anabaptism, the most deadly offence in the calendar. In
the same year, one Walter Kapell was burned at the stake for heretical
opinions. He was a man of some property, and beloved by the poor people
of Dixmuyde, in Flanders, where he resided, for his many charities. A
poor idiot, who had been often fed by his bounty, called out to the
inquisitor's subalterns, as they bound his patron to the stake, "ye are
bloody murderers; that man has done no wrong; but has given me bread to
eat." With these words, he cast himself headlong into the flames to
perish with his protector, but was with difficulty rescued by the
officers. A day or two afterwards, he made his way to the stake, where
the half-burnt skeleton of Walter Kapell still remained, took the body
upon his shoulders, and carried it through the streets to the house of
the chief burgomaster, where several other magistrates happened then to
be in session. Forcing his way into their presence, he laid his burthen
at their feet, crying, "There, murderers! ye have eaten his flesh, now
eat his bones!" It has not been recorded whether Titelmann sent him to
keep company with his friend in the next world. The fate of so obscure a
victim could hardly find room on the crowded pages of the Netherland
martyrdom.

This kind of work, which went on daily, did not increase the love of the
people for the inquisition or the edicts. It terrified many, but it
inspired more with that noble resistance to oppression, particularly to
religious oppression, which is the sublimest instinct of human nature.
Men confronted the terrible inquisitors with a courage equal to their
cruelty: At Tournay, one of the chief cities of Titelmann's district, and
almost before his eyes, one Bertrand le Blas, a velvet manufacturer,
committed what was held an almost incredible crime. Having begged his
wife and children to pray for a blessing upon what he was about to
undertake, he went on Christmas-day to the Cathedral of Tournay and
stationed himself near the altar. Having awaited the moment in which the
priest held on high the consecrated host, Le Blas then forced his way
through the crowd, snatched the wafer from the hands of the astonished
ecclesiastic, and broke it into bits, crying aloud, as he did so,
"Misguided men, do ye take this thing to be Jesus Christ, your Lord and
Saviour?" With these words, he threw the fragments on the ground and
trampled them with his feet.

   [Histoire des Martyrs, f. 356, exev.; apud Brandt, i. 171,172.
   It may be well supposed that this would be regarded as a crime of
   almost inconceivable magnitude. It was death even to refuse to
   kneel in the streets when the wafer was carried by. Thus, for
   example, a poor huckster, named Simon, at Bergen-op-Zoom, who
   neglected to prostrate himself before his booth at the passage of
   the host, was immediately burned. Instances of the same punishment
   for that offence might be multiplied. In this particular case, it
   is recorded that the sheriff who was present at the execution was so
   much affected by the courage and fervor of the simple-minded victim,
   that he went home, took to his bed, became delirious, crying
   constantly, Ah, Simon! Simon! and died miserably, "notwithstanding
   all that the monks could do to console him."]

The amazement and horror were so universal at such an appalling offence,
that not a finger was raised to arrest the criminal. Priests and
congregation were alike paralyzed, so that he would have found no
difficulty in making his escape. Ho did not stir, however; he had come to
the church determined to execute what he considered a sacred duty, and to
abide the consequences. After a time, he was apprehended. The inquisitor
demanded if he repented of what he had done. He protested, on the
contrary, that he gloried in the deed, and that he would die a hundred
deaths to rescue from such daily profanation the name of his Redeemer,
Christ. He was then put thrice to the torture, that he might be forced to
reveal his accomplices. It did not seem in human power for one man to
accomplish such a deed of darkness without confederates. Bertrand had
none, however, and could denounce none. A frantic sentence was then
devised as a feeble punishment for so much wickedness. He was dragged on
a hurdle, with his mouth closed with an iron gag, to the market-place.
Here his right hand and foot were burned and twisted off between two
red-hot irons. His tongue was then torn out by the roots, and because he
still endeavored to call upon the name of God, the iron gag was again
applied. With his arms and legs fastened together behind his back, he was
then hooked by the middle of his body to an iron chain, and made to swing
to and fro over a slow fire till he was entirely roasted. His life lasted
almost to the end of these ingenious tortures, but his fortitude lasted
as long as his life.

In the next year, Titelmann caused one Robert Ogier, of Ryssel, in
Flanders, to be arrested, together with his wife and two sons. Their
crime consisted in not going to mass, and in practising private worship
at home. They confessed the offence, for they protested that they could
not endure to see the profanation of their Saviour's name in the
idolatrous sacraments. They were asked what rites they practised in their
own house. One of the sons, a mere boy, answered, "We fall on our knees,
and pray to God that he may enlighten our hearts, and forgive our sins.
We pray for our sovereign, that his reign may be prosperous, and his life
peaceful. We also pray for the magistrates and others in authority, that
God may protect and preserve them all." The boy's simple eloquence drew
tears even from the eyes of some of his judges; for the inquisitor had
placed the case before the civil tribunal. The father and eldest son
were, however, condemned to the flames. "Oh God!" prayed the youth at the
stake, "Eternal Father, accept the sacrifice of our lives, in the name of
thy beloved Son."--"Thou liest, scoundrel!" fiercely interrupted a monk,
who was lighting the fire; "God is not your father; ye are the devil's
children." As the flames rose about them, the boy cried out once more,
"Look, my father, all heaven is opening, and I see ten hundred thousand
angels rejoicing over us. Let us be glad, for we are dying for the
truth."--"Thou liest! thou liest!" again screamed the monk; "all hell
is opening, and you see ten thousand devils thrusting you into eternal
fire." Eight days afterwards, the wife of Ogier and his other son were
burned; so that there was an end of that family.

Such are a few isolated specimens of the manner of proceeding in a single
district of the Netherlands. The inquisitor Titelmann certainly deserved
his terrible reputation. Men called him Saul the persecutor, and it was
well known that he had been originally tainted with the heresy which he
had, for so many years, been furiously chastising. At the epoch which now
engages our attention, he felt stimulated by the avowed policy of the
government to fresh exertions, by which all his previous achievements
should be cast into the shade. In one day he broke into a house in
Ryssel, seized John de Swarte, his wife and four children, together with
two newly-married couples, and two other persons, convicted them of
reading the Bible, and of praying in their own doors, and had them all
immediately burned.

Are these things related merely to excite superfluous horror? Are the
sufferings of these obscure Christians beneath the dignity of history? Is
it not better to deal with murder and oppression in the abstract, without
entering into trivial details? The answer is, that these things are the
history of the Netherlands at this epoch; that these hideous details
furnish the causes of that immense movement, out of which a great
republic was born and an ancient tyranny destroyed; and that Cardinal
Granvelle was ridiculous when he asserted that the people would not open
their mouths if the seigniors did not make such a noise. Because the
great lords "owed their very souls"--because convulsions might help to
pay their debts, and furnish forth their masquerades and
banquets--because the Prince of Orange was ambitious, and Egmont jealous
of the Cardinal--therefore superficial writers found it quite natural
that the country should be disturbed, although that "vile and mischievous
animal, the people," might have no objection to a continuance of the
system which had been at work so long. On the contrary, it was exactly
because the movement was a popular and a religious movement that it will
always retain its place among the most important events of history.
Dignified documents, state papers, solemn treaties, are often of no more
value than the lambskin on which they are engrossed. Ten thousand
nameless victims, in the cause of religious and civil freedom, may build
up great states and alter the aspect of whole continents.

The nobles, no doubt, were conspicuous, and it was well for the cause of
the right that, as in the early hours of English liberty, the crown and
mitre were opposed by the baron's sword and shield. Had all the seigniors
made common cause with Philip and Granvelle, instead of setting their
breasts against the inquisition, the cause of truth and liberty would
have been still more desperate. Nevertheless they were directed and
controlled, under Providence, by humbler, but more powerful agencies than
their own. The nobles were but the gilded hands on the outside of the
dial--the hour to strike was determined by the obscure but weighty
movements within.

Nor is it, perhaps, always better to rely upon abstract phraseology, to
produce a necessary impression. Upon some minds, declamation concerning
liberty of conscience and religious tyranny makes but a vague impression,
while an effect may be produced upon them, for example by a dry,
concrete, cynical entry in an account book, such as the following, taken
at hazard from the register of municipal expenses at Tournay, during the
years with which we are now occupied:

   "To Mr. Jacques Barra, executioner, for having tortured, twice, Jean
   de Lannoy, ten sous.

   "To the same, for having executed, by fire, said Lannoy, sixty sous.
   For having thrown his cinders into the river, eight sous."

This was the treatment to which thousands, and tens of thousands, had
been subjected in the provinces. Men, women, and children were burned,
and their "cinders" thrown away, for idle words against Rome, spoken
years before, for praying alone in their closets, for not kneeling to a
wafer when they met it in the streets, for thoughts to which they had
never given utterance, but which, on inquiry, they were too honest to
deny. Certainly with this work going on year after year in every city in
the Netherlands, and now set into renewed and vigorous action by a man
who wore a crown only that he might the better torture his
fellow-creatures, it was time that the very stones in the streets should
be moved to mutiny.

Thus it may be seen of how much value were the protestations of Philip
and of Granvelle, on which much stress has latterly been laid, that it
was not their intention to introduce the Spanish inquisition. With the
edicts and the Netherland inquisition, such as we have described them,
the step was hardly necessary.

In fact, the main difference between the two institutions consisted in
the greater efficiency of the Spanish in discovering such of its victims
as were disposed to deny their faith. Devised originally for more
timorous and less conscientious infidels who were often disposed to skulk
in obscure places and to renounce without really abandoning their errors,
it was provided with a set of venomous familiars who glided through every
chamber and coiled themselves at every fireside. The secret details of
each household in the realm being therefore known to the holy office and
to the monarch, no infidel or heretic could escape discovery. This
invisible machinery was less requisite for the Netherlands. There was
comparatively little difficulty in ferreting out the "vermin"--to use the
expression of a Walloon historian of that age--so that it was only
necessary to maintain in good working order the apparatus for destroying
the noxious creatures when unearthed. The heretics of the provinces
assembled at each other's houses to practise those rites described in
such simple language by Baldwin Ogier, and denounced under such horrible
penalties by the edicts. The inquisitorial system of Spain was hardly
necessary for men who had but little prudence in concealing, and no
inclination to disavow their creed. "It is quite a laughable matter,"
wrote Granvelle, who occasionally took a comic view of the inquisition,
"that the King should send us depositions made in Spain by which we are
to hunt for heretics here, as if we did not know of thousands already.
Would that I had as many doubloons of annual income," he added, "as there
are public and professed heretics in the provinces." No doubt the
inquisition was in such eyes a most desirable establishment. "To speak
without passion," says the Walloon, "the inquisition well administered is
a laudable institution, and not less necessary than all the other offices
of spirituality and temporality belonging both to the bishops and to the
commissioners of the Roman see." The papal and episcopal establishments,
in co-operation with the edicts, were enough, if thoroughly exercised and
completely extended. The edicts alone were sufficient. "The edicts and
the inquisition are one and the same thing," said the Prince of Orange.
The circumstance, that the civil authorities were not as entirely
superseded by the Netherland, as by the Spanish system, was rather a
difference of form than of fact. We have seen that the secular officers
of justice were at the command of the inquisitors. Sheriff, gaoler,
judge, and hangman, were all required, under the most terrible penalties,
to do their bidding. The reader knows what the edicts were. He knows also
the instructions to the corps of papal inquisitors, delivered by Charles
and Philip: He knows that Philip, both in person and by letter, had done
his utmost to sharpen those instructions, during the latter portion of
his sojourn in the Netherlands. Fourteen new bishops, each with two
special inquisitors under him, had also been appointed to carry out the
great work to which the sovereign had consecrated his existence. The
manner in which the hunters of heretics performed their office has been
exemplified by slightly sketching the career of a single one of the
sub-inquisitors, Peter Titelmann. The monarch and his minister scarcely
needed, therefore, to transplant the peninsular exotic. Why should they
do so? Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words, once
expressed the whole truth of the matter in a single sentence: "Wherefore
introduce the Spanish inquisition?" said he; "the inquisition of the
Netherlands is much more pitiless than that of Spain."

Such was the system of religious persecution commenced by Charles, and
perfected by Philip. The King could not claim the merit of the invention,
which justly belonged to the Emperor. At the same time, his
responsibility for the unutterable woe caused by the continuance of the
scheme is not a jot diminished. There was a time when the whole system
had fallen into comparative desuetude. It was utterly abhorrent to the
institutions and the manners of the Netherlanders. Even a great number of
the Catholics in the provinces were averse to it. Many of the leading
grandees, every one of whom was Catholic were foremost in denouncing its
continuance. In short, the inquisition had been partially endured, but
never accepted. Moreover, it had never been introduced into Luxemburg or
Groningen. In Gelderland it had been prohibited by the treaty through
which that province had been annexed to the emperor's dominions, and it
had been uniformly and successfully resisted in Brabant. Therefore,
although Philip, taking the artful advice of Granvelle, had sheltered
himself under the Emperor's name by re-enacting, word for word, his
decrees, and re-issuing his instructions, he can not be allowed any such
protection at the bar of history. Such a defence for crimes so enormous
is worse than futile. In truth, both father and son recognized
instinctively the intimate connexion between ideas of religious and of
civil freedom. "The authority of God and the supremacy of his Majesty"
was the formula used with perpetual iteration to sanction the constant
recourse to scaffold and funeral pile. Philip, bigoted in religion, and
fanatical in his creed of the absolute power of kings, identified himself
willingly with the Deity, that he might more easily punish crimes against
his own sacred person. Granvelle carefully sustained him in these
convictions, and fed his suspicions as to the motives of those who
opposed his measures. The minister constantly represented the great
seigniors as influenced by ambition and pride. They had only disapproved
of the new bishoprics, he insinuated, because they were angry that his
Majesty should dare to do anything without their concurrence, and because
their own influence in the states would be diminished. It was their
object, he said, to keep the King "in tutelage"--to make him a "shadow
and a cipher," while they should themselves exercise all authority in the
provinces. It is impossible to exaggerate the effect of such suggestions
upon the dull and gloomy mind to which they were addressed. It is easy,
however, to see that a minister with such views was likely to be as
congenial to his master as he was odious to the people. For already, in
the beginning of 1562, Granvelle was extremely unpopular. "The Cardinal
is hated of all men," wrote Sir Thomas Gresham. The great struggle
between him and the leading nobles had already commenced. The people
justly identified him with the whole infamous machinery of persecution,
which had either originated or warmly made his own. Viglius and
Berlaymont were his creatures. With the other members of the state
council, according to their solemn statement, already recorded, he did
not deign to consult, while he affected to hold them responsible for the
measures of the administration. Even the Regent herself complained that
the Cardinal took affairs quite out of her hands, and that he decided
upon many important matters without her cognizance. She already began to
feel herself the puppet which it had been intended she should become; she
already felt a diminution of the respectful attachment for the
ecclesiastic which had inspired her when she procured his red hat.

Granvelle was, however, most resolute in carrying out the intentions of
his master. We have seen how vigorously he had already set himself to the
inauguration of the new bishoprics, despite of opposition and obloquy. He
was now encouraging or rebuking the inquisitors in their "pious office"
throughout all the provinces. Notwithstanding his exertions, however,
heresy continued to spread. In the Walloon provinces the infection was
most prevalent, while judges and executioners were appalled by the
mutinous demonstrations which each successive sacrifice provoked. The
victims were cheered on their way to the scaffold. The hymns of Marot
were sung in the very faces of the inquisitors. Two ministers, Faveau and
Mallart, were particularly conspicuous at this moment at Valenciennes.
The governor of the province, Marquis Berghen, was constantly absent, for
he hated with his whole soul the system of persecution. For this
negligence Granvelle denounced him secretly and perpetually to Philip,
"The Marquis says openly," said the Cardinal, "that 'tis not right to
shed blood for matters of faith. With such men to aid us, your Majesty
can judge how much progress we can make." It was, however, important, in
Granvelle's opinion, that these two ministers at Valenciennes should be
at once put to death. They were avowed heretics, and they preached to
their disciples, although they certainly were not doctors of divinity.
Moreover, they were accused, most absurdly, no doubt, of pretending to
work miracles. It was said that, in presence of several witnesses, they
had undertaken to cast out devils; and they had been apprehended on an
accusation of this nature.

   ["Histoire des choses les plus memorables qui se sent passees en la
   ville et Compte de Valenciennes depuis le commencement des troubles
   des Pays-Bas sons le regne de Phil. II., jusqu' a l'annee 1621."--
   MS. (Collect. Gerard).--This is a contemporary manuscript belonging
   to the Gerard collection in the Royal Library at the Hague. Its
   author was a citizen of Valenciennes, and a personal witness of most
   of the events which he describes. He appears to have attained to a
   great age, as he minutely narrates, from personal observation, many
   scenes which occurred before 1566, and his work is continued till
   the year 1621. It is a mere sketch, without much literary merit,
   but containing many local anecdotes of interest. Its anonymous
   author was a very sincere Catholic.]

Their offence really consisted in reading the Bible to a few of their
friends. Granvelle sent Philibert de Bruxelles to Valenciennes to procure
their immediate condemnation and execution. He rebuked the judges and
inquisitors, he sent express orders to Marquis Berghen to repair at once
to the scene of his duties. The prisoners were condemned in the autumn of
1561. The magistrates were, however, afraid to carry the sentence into
effect. Granvelle did not cease to censure them for their pusillanimity,
and wrote almost daily letters, accusing the magistrates of being
themselves the cause of the tumults by which they were appalled. The
popular commotion was, however, not lightly to be braved. Six or seven
months long the culprits remained in confinement, while daily and nightly
the people crowded the streets, hurling threats and defiance at the
authorities, or pressed about the prison windows, encouraging their
beloved ministers, and promising to rescue them in case the attempt
should be made to fulfil the sentence. At last Granvelle sent down a
peremptory order to execute the culprits by fire. On the 27th of April,
1562, Faveau and Mallart were accordingly taken from their jail and
carried to the market-place, where arrangements had been made for burning
them. Simon Faveau, as the executioner was binding him to the stake,
uttered the invocation, "O! Eternal Father!" A woman in the crowd, at the
same instant, took off her shoe and threw it at the funeral pile. This
was a preconcerted signal. A movement was at once visible in the crowd.
Men in great numbers dashed upon the barriers which had been erected in
the square around the place of execution. Some seized the fagots, which
had been already lighted, and scattered them in every direction; some
tore up the pavements; others broke in pieces the barriers. The
executioners were prevented from carrying out the sentence, but the guard
were enabled, with great celerity and determination, to bring off the
culprits and to place them in their dungeon again. The authorities were
in doubt and dismay. The inquisitors were for putting the ministers to
death in prison, and hurling their heads upon the street. Evening
approached while the officials were still pondering. The people who had
been chanting the Psalms of David through the town, without having
decided what should be their course of action, at last determined to
rescue the victims. A vast throng, after much hesitation, accordingly
directed their steps to the prison. "You should have seen this vile
populace," says an eye-witness, "moving, pausing, recoiling, sweeping
forward, swaying to and fro like the waves of the sea when it is agitated
by contending winds." The attack was vigorous, the defence was weak--for
the authorities had expected no such fierce demonstration,
notwithstanding the menacing language which had been so often uttered.
The prisoners were rescued, and succeeded in making their escape from the
city. The day in which the execution had been thus prevented was called,
thenceforward, the "day of the ill-burned," (Journee des mau-brulez). One
of the ministers, however, Simon Faveau, not discouraged by this near
approach to martyrdom, persisted in his heretical labors, and was a few
years afterwards again apprehended. "He was then," says the chronicler,
cheerfully, "burned well and finally" in the same place whence he had
formerly been rescued. [Valenciennes MS.]

This desperate resistance to tyranny was for a moment successful,
because, notwithstanding the murmurs and menaces by which the storm had
been preceded, the authorities had not believed the people capable of
proceeding to such lengths. Had not the heretics--in the words of
Inquisitor Titelmann--allowed themselves, year after year, to be taken
and slaughtered like lambs? The consternation of the magistrates was soon
succeeded by anger. The government at Brussels was in a frenzy of rage
when informed of the occurrence. A bloody vengeance was instantly
prepared, to vindicate the insult to the inquisition. On the 29th of
April, detachments of Bossu's and of Berghen's "band of ordonnance" were
sent into Valenciennes, together with a company of the Duke of Aerschot's
regiment. The prisons were instantly filled to overflowing with men and
women arrested for actual or suspected participation in the tumult.
Orders had been sent down from the capital to make a short process and a
sharp execution for all the criminals. On the 16th of May, the slaughter
commenced. Some were burned at the stake, some were beheaded: the number
of victims was frightful. "Nothing was left undone by the magistrates,"
says an eyewitness, with great approbation, "which could serve for the
correction and amendment of the poor people." It was long before the
judges and hangmen rested from their labors. When at last the havoc was
complete, it might be supposed that a sufficient vengeance had been taken
for the "day of the ill-burned," and an adequate amount of "amendment"
provided for the "poor people."

Such scenes as these did not tend to increase the loyalty of the nation,
nor the popularity of the government. On Granvelle's head was poured a
daily increasing torrent of hatred. He was looked upon in the provinces
as the impersonation of that religious oppression which became every
moment more intolerable. The King and the Regent escaped much of the
odium which belonged to them, because the people chose to bestow all
their maledictions upon the Cardinal. There was, however, no great
injustice in this embodiment. Granvelle was the government. As the people
of that day were extremely reverent to royalty, they vented all their
rage upon the minister, while maintaining still a conventional respect
for the sovereign. The prelate had already become the constant butt of
the "Rhetoric Chambers." These popular clubs for the manufacture of
homespun poetry and street farces out of the raw material of public
sentiment, occupied the place which has been more effectively filled in
succeeding ages, and in free countries by the daily press. Before the
invention of that most tremendous weapon, which liberty has ever wielded
against tyranny, these humble but influential associations shared with
the pulpit the only power which existed of moving the passions or
directing the opinions of the people. They were eminently liberal in
their tendencies. The authors and the actors of their comedies, poems,
and pasquils were mostly artisans or tradesmen, belonging to the class
out of which proceeded the early victims, and the later soldiers of the
Reformation. Their bold farces and truculent satire had already effected
much in spreading among the people a detestation of Church abuses. They
were particularly severe upon monastic licentiousness. "These corrupt
comedians, called rhetoricians," says the Walloon contemporary already
cited, "afforded much amusement to the people." Always some poor little
nuns or honest monks were made a part of the farce. It seemed as if the
people could take no pleasure except in ridiculing God and the Church.
The people, however, persisted in the opinion that the ideas of a monk
and of God were not inseparable. Certainly the piety of the early
reformers was sufficiently fervent, and had been proved by the steadiness
with which they confronted torture and death, but they knew no measure in
the ridicule which they heaped upon the men by whom they were daily
murdered in droves. The rhetoric comedies were not admirable in an
aesthetic point of view, but they were wrathful and sincere. Therefore
they cost many thousand lives, but they sowed the seed of resistance to
religious tyranny, to spring up one day in a hundredfold harvest. It was
natural that the authorities should have long sought to suppress these
perambulating dramas. "There was at that tyme," wrote honest Richard
Clough to Sir Thomas Gresham, "syche playes (of Reteryke) played thet
hath cost many a 1000 man's lyves, for in these plays was the Word of God
first opened in thys country. Weche playes were and are forbidden moche
more strictly than any of the bookes of Martin Luther."

These rhetoricians were now particularly inflamed against Granvelle. They
were personally excited against him, because he had procured the
suppression of their religious dramas. "These rhetoricians who make
farces and street plays," wrote the Cardinal to Philip, "are particularly
angry with me, because two years ago I prevented them from ridiculing the
holy Scriptures." Nevertheless, these institutions continued to pursue
their opposition to the course of the government. Their uncouth gambols,
their awkward but stunning blows rendered daily service to the cause of
religious freedom. Upon the newly-appointed bishops they poured out an
endless succession of rhymes and rebuses, epigrams, caricatures and
extravaganzas. Poems were pasted upon the walls of every house, and
passed from hand to hand. Farces were enacted in every street; the odious
ecclesiastics figuring as the principal buffoons. These representations
gave so much offence, that renewed edicts were issued to suppress them.
The prohibition was resisted, and even ridiculed in many provinces,
particularly in Holland. The tyranny which was able to drown a nation in
blood and tears, was powerless to prevent them from laughing most
bitterly at their oppressors. The tanner, Cleon, was never belabored more
soundly by the wits of Athens, than the prelate by these Flemish
"rhetoricians." With infinitely less Attic salt, but with as much
heartiness as Aristophanes could have done, the popular rhymers gave the
minister ample opportunity to understand the position which he occupied
in the Netherlands. One day a petitioner placed a paper in his hand and
vanished. It contained some scurrilous verses upon himself, together with
a caricature of his person. In this he was represented as a hen seated
upon a pile of eggs, out of which he was hatching a brood of bishops.
Some of these were clipping the shell, some thrusting forth an arm, some
a leg, while others were running about with mitres on their heads, all
bearing whimsical resemblance to various prelates who had been
newly-appointed. Above the Cardinal's head the Devil was represented
hovering, with these words issuing from his mouth: "This is my beloved
Son, listen to him, my people."

There was another lampoon of a similar nature, which was so well
executed, that it especially excited Granvelle's anger. It was a rhymed
satire of a general nature, like the rest, but so delicate and so
stinging, that the Cardinal ascribed it to his old friend and present
enemy, Simon Renard. This man, a Burgundian by birth, and college
associate of Granvelle, had been befriended both by himself and his
father. Aided by their patronage and his own abilities, he had arrived at
distinguished posts; having been Spanish envoy both in France and
England, and one of the negotiators of the truce of Vaucelles. He had
latterly been disappointed in his ambition to become a councillor of
state, and had vowed vengeance upon the Cardinal, to whom he attributed
his ill success. He was certainly guilty of much ingratitude, for he had
been under early obligations to the man in whose side he now became a
perpetual thorn. It must be confessed, on the other hand, that Granvelle
repaid the enmity of his old associate with a malevolence equal to his
own, and if Renard did not lose his head as well as his political
station, it was not for want of sufficient insinuation on the part of the
minister. Especially did Granvelle denounce him to "the master" as the
perverter of Egmont, while he usually described that nobleman himself, as
weak, vain, "a friend of smoke," easily misguided, but in the main
well-intentioned and loyal. At the same time, with all these vague
commendations, he never omitted to supply the suspicious King with an
account of every fact or every rumor to the Count's discredit. In the
case of this particular satire, he informed Philip that he could swear it
came from the pen of Renard, although, for the sake of deception, the
rhetoric comedians had been employed. He described the production as
filled with "false, abominable, and infernal things," and as treating not
only himself, but the Pope and the whole ecclesiastical order with as
much contumely as could be showed in Germany. He then proceeded to
insinuate, in the subtle manner which was peculiarly his own, that Egmont
was a party to the publication of the pasquil. Renard visited at that
house, he said, and was received there on a much more intimate footing
than was becoming. Eight days before the satire was circulated, there had
been a conversation in Egmont's house, of a nature exactly similar to the
substance of the pamphlet. The man, in whose hands it was first seen,
continued Granvelle, was a sword cutler, a godson of the Count. This
person said that he had torn it from the gate of the city hall, but God
grant, prayed the Cardinal, that it was not he who had first posted it up
there. 'Tis said that Egmont and Mansfeld, he added, have sent many times
to the cutler to procure copies of the satire, all which augments the
suspicion against them.

With the nobles he was on no better terms than with the people. The great
seigniors, Orange, Egmont, Horn, and others, openly avowed their
hostility to him, and had already given their reasons to the King.
Mansfeld and his son at that time were both with the opposition. Aerschot
and Aremberg kept aloof from the league which was forming against the
prelate, but had small sympathy for his person. Even Berlaymont began to
listen to overtures from the leading nobles, who, among other
inducements, promised to supply his children with bishoprics. There were
none truly faithful and submissive to the Cardinal but such men as the
Prevot Morillon, who had received much advancement from him.

This distinguished pluralist was popularly called "double A, B, C," to
indicate that he had twice as many benefices as there were letters in the
alphabet. He had, however, no objection to more, and was faithful to the
dispensing power. The same course was pursued by Secretary Bave, Esquire
Bordey, and other expectants and dependents. Viglius, always remarkable
for his pusillanimity, was at this period already anxious to retire. The
erudite and opulent Frisian preferred a less tempestuous career. He was
in favor of the edicts, but he trembled at the uproar which their literal
execution was daily exciting, for he knew the temper of his countrymen.
On the other hand, he was too sagacious not to know the inevitable
consequence of opposition to the will of Philip. He was therefore most
eager to escape the dilemma. He was a scholar, and could find more
agreeable employment among his books. He had accumulated vast wealth, and
was desirous to retain it as long as possible. He had a learned head and
was anxious to keep it upon his shoulders. These simple objects could be
better attained in a life of privacy. The post of president of the privy
council and member of the "Consulta" was a dangerous one. He knew that
the King was sincere in his purposes. He foresaw that the people would
one day be terribly in earnest. Of ancient Frisian blood himself, he knew
that the spirit of the ancient Batavians and Frisians had not wholly
deserted their descendants. He knew that they were not easily roused,
that they were patient, but that they would strike at last and would
endure. He urgently solicited the King to release him, and pleaded his
infirmities of body in excuse. Philip, however, would not listen to his
retirement, and made use of the most convincing arguments to induce him
to remain. Four hundred and fifty annual florins, secured by good
reclaimed swamps in Friesland, two thousand more in hand, with a promise
of still larger emoluments when the King should come to the Netherlands,
were reasons which the learned doctor honestly confessed himself unable
to resist. Fortified by these arguments, he remained at his post,
continued the avowed friend and adherent of Granvelle, and sustained with
magnanimity the invectives of nobles and people. To do him justice, he
did what he could to conciliate antagonists and to compromise principles.
If it had ever been possible to find the exact path between right and
wrong, the President would have found it, and walked in it with
respectability and complacency.

In the council, however, the Cardinal continued to carry it with a high
hand; turning his back on Orange and Egmont, and retiring with the
Duchess and President to consult, after every session. Proud and
important personages, like the Prince and Count, could ill brook such
insolence; moreover, they suspected the Cardinal of prejudicing the mind
of their sovereign against them. A report was very current, and obtained
almost universal belief, that Granvelle had expressly advised his Majesty
to take off the heads of at least half a dozen of the principal nobles in
the land. This was an error; "These two seigniors," wrote the Cardinal to
Philip, "have been informed that I have written to your Majesty, that you
will never be master of these provinces without taking off at least half
a dozen heads, and that because it would be difficult, on account of the
probable tumults which such a course would occasion, to do it here, your
Majesty means to call them to Spain and do it there. Your Majesty can
judge whether such a thing has ever entered my thoughts. I have laughed
at it as a ridiculous invention. This gross forgery is one of Renard's."
The Cardinal further stated to his Majesty that he had been informed by
these same nobles that the Duke of Alva, when a hostage for the treaty of
Cateau Cambresis, had negotiated an alliance between the crowns of France
and Spain for the extirpation of heresy by the sword. He added, that he
intended to deal with the nobles with all gentleness, and that he should
do his best to please them. The only thing which he could not yield was
the authority of his Majesty; to sustain that, he would sacrifice his
life, if necessary. At the same time Granvelle carefully impressed upon
the King the necessity of contradicting the report alluded to, a request
which he took care should also be made through the Regent in person. He
had already, both in his own person and in that of the Duchess, begged
for a formal denial, on the King's part, that there was any intention of
introducing the Spanish inquisition into the Netherlands, and that the
Cardinal had counselled, originally, the bishoprics. Thus instructed, the
King accordingly wrote to Margaret of Parma to furnish the required
contradictions. In so doing, he made a pithy remark. "The Cardinal had
not counselled the cutting off the half a dozen heads," said the monarch,
"but perhaps it would not be so bad to do it!" Time was to show whether
Philip was likely to profit by the hint conveyed in the Cardinal's
disclaimer, and whether the factor "half dozen" were to be used or not as
a simple multiplier in the terrible account preparing.

The contradictions, however sincere, were not believed by the persons
most interested. Nearly all the nobles continued to regard the Cardinal
with suspicion and aversion. Many of the ruder and more reckless class
vied with the rhetoricians and popular caricaturists in the practical
jests which they played off almost daily against the common foe.
Especially Count Brederode, "a madman, if there ever were one," as a
contemporary expressed himself, was most untiring in his efforts to make
Granvelle ridiculous. He went almost nightly to masquerades, dressed as a
cardinal or a monk; and as he was rarely known to be sober on these or
any other occasions, the wildness of his demonstrations may easily be
imagined. He was seconded on all these occasions by his cousin Robert de
la Marck, Seigneur de Lumey, a worthy descendant of the famous "Wild Boar
of Ardennes;" a man brave to temerity, but utterly depraved, licentious,
and sanguinary. These two men, both to be widely notorious, from their
prominence in many of the most striking scenes by which the great revolt
was ushered in, had vowed the most determined animosity to the Cardinal,
which was manifested in the reckless, buffooning way which belonged to
their characters. Besides the ecclesiastical costumes in which they
always attired themselves at their frequent festivities, they also wore
fog-tails in their hats instead of plumes. They decked their servants
also with the same ornaments; openly stating, that by these symbols they
meant to signify that the old fox Granvelle, and his cubs, Viglius,
Berlaymont, and the rest, should soon be hunted down by them, and the
brush placed in their hats as a trophy.

Moreover, there is no doubt that frequent threats of personal violence
were made against the Cardinal. Granvelle informed the King that his life
was continually menaced by, the nobles, but that he feared them little,
"for he believed them too prudent to attempt any thing of the kind."
There is no doubt, when his position with regard to the upper and lower
classes in the country is considered, that there was enough to alarm a
timid man; but Granvelle was constitutionally brave. He was accused of
wearing a secret shirt of mail, of living in perpetual trepidation, of
having gone on his knees to Egmont and Orange, of having sent Richardot,
Bishop of Arras, to intercede for him in the same humiliating manner with
Egmont. All these stories were fables. Bold as he was arrogant, he
affected at this time to look down with a forgiving contempt on the
animosity of the nobles. He passed much of his time alone, writing his
eternal dispatches to the King. He had a country-house, called La
Fontaine, surrounded by beautiful gardens, a little way outside the gates
of Brussels, where he generally resided, and whence, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of his friends, he often returned to town, after sunset,
alone, or with but a few attendants. He avowed that he feared no attempts
at assassination, for, if the seigniors took his life, they would destroy
the best friend they ever had. This villa, where most of his plans were
matured and his state papers drawn up, was called by the people, in
derision of his supposed ancestry, "The Smithy." Here, as they believed,
was the anvil upon which the chains of their slavery were forging; here,
mostly deserted by those who had been his earlier, associates, he assumed
a philosophical demeanor which exasperated, without deceiving his
adversaries. Over the great gate of his house he had placed the marble
statue of a female. It held an empty wine-cup in one hand, and an urn of
flowing water in the other. The single word "Durate" was engraved upon
the pedestal. By the motto, which was his habitual device, he was
supposed, in this application, to signify that his power would outlast
that of the nobles, and that perennial and pure as living water, it would
flow tranquilly on, long after the wine of their life had been drunk to
the lees. The fiery extravagance of his adversaries, and the calm and
limpid moderation of his own character, thus symbolized, were supposed to
convey a moral lesson to the world. The hieroglyphics, thus interpreted,
were not relished by the nobles--all avoided his society, and declined
his invitations. He consoled himself with the company of the lesser
gentry,--a class which he now began to patronize, and which he urgently
recommended to the favor of the King,--hinting that military and civil
offices bestowed upon their inferiors would be a means of lowering the
pride of the grandees. He also affected to surround himself with even
humbler individuals. "It makes me laugh," he wrote to Philip, "to see the
great seigniors absenting themselves from my dinners; nevertheless, I can
always get plenty of guests at my table, gentlemen and councillors. I
sometimes invite even citizens, in order to gain their good will."

The Regent was well aware of the anger excited in the breasts of the
leading nobles by the cool manner in which they had been thrust out of
their share in the administration of affairs. She defended herself with
acrimony in her letters to the King, although a defence was hardly needed
in that quarter for implicit obedience to the royal commands. She
confessed her unwillingness to consult with her enemies.

She avowed her determination to conceal the secrets of the government
from those who were capable of abusing her confidence. She represented
that there were members of the council who would willingly take advantage
of the trepidation which she really felt, and which she should exhibit if
she expressed herself without reserve before them. For this reason she
confined herself, as Philip had always intended, exclusively to the
Consulta. It was not difficult to recognize the hand which wrote the
letter thus signed by Margaret of Parma.

Both nobles and people were at this moment irritated by another
circumstance. The civil war having again broken out in France, Philip,
according to the promise made by him to Catharine de Medici, when he took
her daughter in marriage, was called upon to assist the Catholic party
with auxiliaries. He sent three thousand infantry, accordingly, which he
had levied in Italy, as many more collected in Spain, and gave immediate
orders that the Duchess of Parma should despatch at least two thousand
cavalry, from the Netherlands. Great was the indignation in the council
when the commands were produced. Sore was the dismay of Margaret. It was
impossible to obey the King. The idea of sending the famous mounted
gendarmerie of the provinces to fight against the French Huguenots could
not be tolerated for an instant. The "bands of ordonnance" were very few
in number, and were to guard the frontier. They were purely for domestic
purposes. It formed no part of their duty to go upon crusades in foreign
lands; still less to take a share in a religious quarrel, and least of
all to assist a monarch against a nation. These views were so cogently
presented to the Duchess in council, that she saw the impossibility of
complying with her brother's commands. She wrote to Philip to that
effect. Meantime, another letter arrived out of Spain, chiding her delay,
and impatiently calling upon her to furnish the required cavalry at once.
The Duchess was in a dilemma. She feared to provoke another storm in the
council, for there was already sufficient wrangling there upon domestic
subjects. She knew it was impossible to obtain the consent, even of
Berlaymont and Viglius, to such an odious measure as the one proposed.
She was, however, in great trepidation at the peremptory tone of the
King's despatch. Under the advice of Granvelle, she had recourse to a
trick. A private and confidential letter of Philip was read to the
council, but with alterations suggested and interpolated by the Cardinal.
The King was represented as being furious at the delay, but as willing
that a sum of money should be furnished instead of the cavalry, as
originally required. This compromise, after considerable opposition, was
accepted. The Duchess wrote to Philip, explaining and apologizing for the
transaction. The King received the substitution with as good a grace as
could have been expected, and sent fifteen hundred troopers from Spain to
his Medicean mother-in-law, drawing upon the Duchess of Parma for the
money to pay their expenses. Thus was the industry of the Netherlands
taxed that the French might be persecuted by their own monarch.

The Regent had been forbidden, by her brother, to convoke the
states-general; a body which the Prince of Orange, sustained by Berghen,
Montigny, and other nobles, was desirous of having assembled. It may be
easily understood that Granvelle would take the best care that the royal
prohibition should be enforced. The Duchess, however, who, as already
hinted, was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable under the Cardinal's
dominion, was desirous of consulting some larger council than that with
which she held her daily deliberations. A meeting of the Knights of the
Fleece was accordingly summoned. They assembled in Brussels, in the month
of May, 1562. The learned Viglius addressed them in a long and eloquent
speech, in which he discussed the troubled and dangerous condition of the
provinces, alluded to some of its causes, and suggested various remedies.
It may be easily conceived, however, that the inquisition was not stated
among the causes, nor its suppression included among the remedies. A
discourse, in which the fundamental topic was thus conscientiously
omitted, was not likely, with all its concinnities, to make much
impression upon the disaffected knights, or to exert a soothing influence
upon the people. The orator was, however, delighted with his own
performance. He informs us, moreover, that the Duchess was equally
charmed, and that she protested she had never in her whole life heard any
thing more "delicate, more suitable, or more eloquent." The Prince of
Orange, however, did not sympathize with her admiration. The President's
elegant periods produced but little effect upon his mind. The meeting
adjourned, after a few additional words from the Duchess, in which she
begged the knights to ponder well the causes of the increasing
discontent, and to meet her again, prepared to announce what, in their
opinion, would be the course best adapted to maintain the honor of the
King, the safety of the provinces, and the glory of God.

Soon after the separation of the assembly, the Prince of Orange issued
invitations to most of the knights, to meet at his house for the purpose
of private deliberation. The President and Cardinal were not included in
these invitations. The meeting was, in fact, what we should call a
caucus, rather than a general gathering. Nevertheless, there were many of
the government party present--men who differed from the Prince, and were
inclined to support Granvelle. The meeting was a stormy one. Two subjects
were discussed. The first was the proposition of the Duchess, to
investigate the general causes of the popular dissatisfaction; the second
was an inquiry how it could be rendered practicable to discuss political
matters in future--a proceeding now impossible, in consequence of the
perverseness and arrogance of certain functionaries, and one which,
whenever attempted, always led to the same inevitable result. This direct
assault upon the Cardinal produced a furious debate. His enemies were
delighted with the opportunity of venting their long-suppressed spleen.
They indulged in savage invectives against the man whom they so sincerely
hated. His adherents, on the other hand--Bossu, Berlaymont,
Courieres--were as warm in his defence. They replied by indignant denials
of the charge against him, and by bitter insinuations against the Prince
of Orange. They charged him with nourishing the desire of being appointed
governor of Brabant, an office considered inseparable from the general
stadholderate of all the provinces. They protested for themselves that
they were actuated by no ambitious designs--that they were satisfied with
their own position, and not inspired by jealousy of personages more
powerful than themselves. It is obvious that such charges and
recriminations could excite no healing result, and that the lines between
Cardinalists and their opponents would be defined in consequence more
sharply than ever. The adjourned meeting of the Chevaliers of the Fleece
took place a few days afterwards. The Duchess exerted herself as much as
possible to reconcile the contending factions, without being able,
however, to apply the only remedy which could be effective. The man who
was already fast becoming the great statesman of the country knew that
the evil was beyond healing, unless by a change of purpose on the part of
the government. The Regent, on the other hand, who it must be confessed
never exhibited any remarkable proof of intellectual ability during the
period of her residence in the Netherlands, was often inspired by a
feeble and indefinite hope that the matter might be arranged by a
compromise between the views of conflicting parties. Unfortunately the
inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise.

Nothing of radical importance was accomplished by the Assembly of the
Fleece. It was decided that an application should be made to the
different states for a giant of money, and that, furthermore, a special
envoy should be despatched to Spain. It was supposed by the Duchess and
her advisers that more satisfactory information concerning the provinces
could be conveyed to Philip by word of mouth than by the most elaborate
epistles. The meeting was dissolved after these two measures had been
agreed upon. Doctor Viglius, upon whom devolved the duty of making the
report and petition to the states, proceeded to draw up the necessary
application. This he did with his customary elegance, and, as usual, very
much to his own satisfaction. On returning to his house, however, after
having discharged this duty, he was very much troubled at finding that a
large mulberry-tree; which stood in his garden, had been torn up by the
roots in a violent hurricane. The disaster was considered ominous by the
President, and he was accordingly less surprised than mortified when he
found, subsequently, that his demand upon the orders had remained as
fruitless as his ruined tree. The tempest which had swept his garden he
considered typical of the storm which was soon to rage through the land,
and he felt increased anxiety to reach a haven while it was yet
comparatively calm.

The estates rejected the request for supplies, on various grounds; among
others, that the civil war was drawing to a conclusion in France, and
that less danger was to be apprehended from that source than had lately
been the case. Thus, the "cup of bitterness," of which Granvelle had
already complained; was again commended to his lips, and there was more
reason than ever for the government to regret that the national
representatives had contracted the habit of meddling with financial
matters.

Florence de Montmorency, Seigneur de Montigny, was selected by the Regent
for the mission which had been decided upon for Spain. This gentleman was
brother to Count Horn, but possessed of higher talents and a more amiable
character than those of the Admiral. He was a warm friend of Orange, and
a bitter enemy to Granvelle. He was a sincere Catholic, but a determined
foe to the inquisition. His brother had declined to act as envoy. This
refusal can excite but little surprise, when Philip's wrath at their
parting interview is recalled, and when it is also remembered that the
new mission would necessarily lay bare fresh complaints against the
Cardinal, still more extensive than those which had produced the former
explosion of royal indignation. Montigny, likewise, would have preferred
to remain at home, but he was overruled. It had been written in his
destiny that he should go twice into the angry lion's den, and that he
should come forth once, alive.

Thus it has been shown that there was an open, avowed hostility on the
part of the grand seignors and most of the lesser nobility to the
Cardinal and his measures. The people fully and enthusiastically
sustained the Prince of Orange in his course. There was nothing underhand
in the opposition made to the government. The Netherlands did not
constitute an absolute monarchy. They did not even constitute a monarchy.
There was no king in the provinces. Philip was King of Spain, Naples,
Jerusalem, but he was only Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, Lord of
Friesland, hereditary chief, in short, under various titles, of seventeen
states, each one of which, although not republican, possessed
constitutions as sacred as, and much more ancient than, the Crown. The
resistance to the absolutism of Granvelle and Philip was, therefore,
logical, legal, constitutional. It was no cabal, no secret league, as the
Cardinal had the effrontery to term it, but a legitimate exercise of
powers which belonged of old to those who wielded them, and which only an
unrighteous innovation could destroy.

Granvelle's course was secret and subtle. During the whole course of the
proceedings which have just been described, he was; in daily confidential
correspondence with the King, besides being the actual author of the
multitudinous despatches which were sent with the signature of the
Duchess. He openly asserted his right to monopolize all the powers of the
Government; he did his utmost to force upon the reluctant and almost
rebellious people the odious measures which the King had resolved upon,
while in his secret letters he uniformly represented the nobles who
opposed him, as being influenced, not by an honest hatred of oppression
and attachment to ancient rights, but by resentment, and jealousy of
their own importance. He assumed, in his letters to his master, that the
absolutism already existed of right and in fact, which it was the
intention of Philip to establish. While he was depriving the nobles, the
states and the nation of their privileges, and even of their natural
rights (a slender heritage in those days), he assured the King that there
was an evident determination to reduce his authority to a cipher.

The estates, he wrote, had usurped the whole administration of the
finances, and had farmed it out to Antony Van Stralen and others, who
were making enormous profits in the business. "The seignors," he said,
"declare at their dinner parties that I wish to make them subject to the
absolute despotism of your Majesty. In point of fact, however, they
really exercise a great deal more power than the governors of particular
provinces ever did before; and it lacks but little that Madame and your
Majesty should become mere ciphers, while the grandees monopolize the
whole power. This," he continued, "is the principal motive of their
opposition to the new bishoprics. They were angry that your Majesty
should have dared to solicit such an arrangement at Rome, without, first
obtaining their consent. They wish to reduce your Majesty's authority to
so low a point that you can do nothing unless they desire it. Their
object is the destruction of the royal authority and of the
administration of justice, in order to avoid the payment of their debts;
telling their creditors constantly that they, have spent their all in
your Majesty's service, and that they have never received recompence or
salary. This they do to make your Majesty odious."

As a matter of course, he attributed the resistance on the part of the
great nobles, every man of whom was Catholic, to base motives. They were
mere demagogues, who refused to burn their fellow-creatures, not from any
natural repugnance to the task, but in order to gain favor with the
populace. "This talk about the inquisition," said he, "is all a pretext.
'Tis only to throw dust in the eyes of the vulgar, and to persuade them
into tumultuous demonstrations, while the real reason is, that they
choose that your Majesty should do nothing without their permission, and
through their hands."

He assumed sometimes, however, a tone of indulgence toward the
seignors--who formed the main topics of his letters--an affectation which
might, perhaps, have offended them almost as much as more open and
sincere denunciation. He could forgive offences against himself. It was
for Philip to decide as to their merits or crimes so far as the Crown was
concerned. His language often was befitting a wise man who was speaking
of very little children. "Assonleville has told me, as coming from
Egmont," he wrote, "that many of the nobles are dissatisfied with me;
hearing from Spain that I am endeavoring to prejudice your Majesty
against them." Certainly the tone of the Cardinal's daily letters would
have justified such suspicion, could the nobles have seen them. Granvelle
begged the King, however, to disabuse them upon this point. "Would to
God," said he, piously, "that they all would decide to sustain the
authority of your Majesty, and to procure such measures as tend to the
service of God and the security of the states. May I cease to exist if I
do not desire to render good service to the very least of these
gentlemen. Your Majesty knows that, when they do any thing for the
benefit of your service, I am never silent. Nevertheless, thus they are
constituted. I hope, however, that this flurry will blow over, and that
when your Majesty comes they will all be found to deserve rewards of
merit."

Of Egmont, especially, he often spoke in terms of vague, but somewhat
condescending commendation. He never manifested resentment in his
letters, although, as already stated, the Count had occasionally
indulged, not only in words, but in deeds of extreme violence against
him. But the Cardinal was too forgiving a Christian, or too keen a
politician not to pass by such offences, so long as there was a chance of
so great a noble's remaining or becoming his friend. He, accordingly,
described him, in general, as a man whose principles, in the main, were
good, but who was easily led by his own vanity and the perverse counsels
of others. He represented him as having been originally a warm supporter
of the new bishoprics, and as having expressed satisfaction that two of
them, those of Bruges and Ypres, should have been within his own
stadholderate. He regretted, however; to inform the King that the Count
was latterly growing lukewarm, perhaps from fear of finding himself
separated from the other nobles. On the whole, he was tractable enough,
said the Cardinal, if he were not easily persuaded by the vile; but one
day, perhaps, he might open his eyes again. Notwithstanding these vague
expressions of approbation, which Granvelle permitted himself in his
letters to Philip, he never failed to transmit to the monarch every fact,
every rumor, every inuendo which might prejudice the royal mind against
that nobleman or against any of the noblemen, whose characters he at the
same time protested he was most unwilling to injure.

It is true that he dealt mainly by insinuation, while he was apt to
conclude his statements with disclaimers upon his own part, and with
hopes of improvement in the conduct of the seignors. At this particular
point of time he furnished Philip with a long and most circumstantial
account of a treasonable correspondence which was thought to be going on
between the leading nobles and the future emperor, Maximilian. The
narrative was a good specimen of the masterly style of inuendo in which
the Cardinal excelled, and by which he was often enabled to convince his
master of the truth of certain statements while affecting to discredit
them. He had heard a story, he said, which he felt bound to communicate
to his Majesty, although he did not himself implicitly believe it. He
felt himself the more bound to speak upon the subject because it tallied
exactly with intelligence which he had received from another source. The
story was that one of these seigniors (the Cardinal did not know which,
for he had not yet thought proper to investigate the matter) had said
that rather than consent that the King should act in this matter of the
bishoprics against the privileges of Brabant, the nobles would elect for
their sovereign some other prince of the blood. This, said the Cardinal,
was perhaps a fantasy rather than an actual determination. Count Egmont,
to be sure, he said, was constantly exchanging letters with the King of
Bohemia (Maximilian), and it was supposed, therefore, that he was the
prince of the blood who was to be elected to govern the provinces. It was
determined that he should be chosen King of the Romans, by fair means or
by force, that he should assemble an army to attack the Netherlands, that
a corresponding movement should be made within the states, and that the
people should be made to rise, by giving them the reins in the matter of
religion. The Cardinal, after recounting all the particulars of this
fiction with great minuteness, added, with apparent frankness, that the
correspondence between Egmont and Maximilian did not astonish him,
because there had been much intimacy between them in the time of the late
Emperor. He did not feel convinced, therefore, from the frequency of the
letters exchanged, that there was a scheme to raise an army to attack the
provinces and to have him elected by force. On the contrary, Maximilian
could never accomplish such a scheme without the assistance of his
imperial father the Emperor, whom Granvelle was convinced would rather
die than be mixed up with such villany against Philip. Moreover, unless
the people should become still more corrupted by the bad counsels
constantly given them, the Cardinal did not believe that any of the great
nobles had the power to dispose in this way of the provinces at their
pleasure. Therefore, he concluded that the story was to be rejected as
improbable, although it had come to him directly from the house of the
said Count Egmont. It is remarkable that, at the commencement of his
narrative, the Cardinal had expressed his ignorance of the name of the
seignior who was hatching all this treason, while at the end of it he
gave a local habitation to the plot in the palace of Egmont. It is also
quite characteristic that he should add that, after all, he considered
that nobleman one of the most honest of all, if appearances did not
deceive.

It may be supposed, however, that all these details of a plot which was
quite imaginary, were likely to produce more effect upon a mind so narrow
and so suspicious as that of Philip, than could the vague assertions of
the Cardinal, that in spite of all, he would dare be sworn that he
thought the Count honest, and that men should be what they seemed.

Notwithstanding the conspiracy, which, according to Granvelle's letters,
had been formed against him, notwithstanding that his life was daily
threatened, he did not advise the King at this period to avenge him by
any public explosion of wrath. He remembered, he piously observed, that
vengeance belonged to God, and that He would repay. Therefore he passed
over insults meekly, because that comported best with his Majesty's
service. Therefore, too, he instructed Philip to make no demonstration at
that time, in order not to damage his own affairs. He advised him to
dissemble, and to pretend not to know what was going on in the provinces.
Knowing that his master looked to him daily for instructions, always
obeyed them with entire docility, and, in fact, could not move a step in
Netherland matters without them, he proceeded to dictate to him the terms
in which he was to write to the nobles, and especially laid down rules
for his guidance in his coming interviews with the Seigneur de Montigny.
Philip, whose only talent consisted in the capacity to learn such lessons
with laborious effort, was at this juncture particularly in need of
tuition. The Cardinal instructed him, accordingly, that he was to
disabuse all men of the impression that the Spanish inquisition was to be
introduced into the provinces. He was to write to the seigniors,
promising to pay them their arrears of salary; he was to exhort them to
do all in their power for the advancement of religion and maintenance of
the royal authority; and he was to suggest to them that, by his answer to
the Antwerp deputation, it was proved that there was no intention of
establishing the inquisition of Spain, under pretext of the new
bishoprics.

The King was, furthermore, to signify his desire that all the nobles
should exert themselves to efface this false impression from the popular
mind. He was also to express himself to the same effect concerning the
Spanish inquisition, the bishoprics, and the religious question, in the
public letters to Madame de Parma, which were to be read in full council.
The Cardinal also renewed his instructions to the King as to the manner
in which the Antwerp deputies were to be answered, by giving them,
namely, assurances that to transplant the Spanish inquisition into the
provinces would be as hopeless as to attempt its establishment in Naples.
He renewed his desire that Philip should contradict the story about the
half dozen heads, and he especially directed him to inform Montigny that
Berghen had known of the new bishoprics before the Cardinal. This, urged
Granvelle, was particularly necessary, because the seigniors were
irritated that so important a matter should have been decided upon
without their advice, and because the Marquis Berghen was now the "cock
of the opposition."

At about the same time, it was decided by Granvelle and the Regent, in
conjunction with the King, to sow distrust and jealousy among the nobles,
by giving greater "mercedes" to some than to others, although large sums
were really due to all. In particular, the attempt was made in this
paltry manner, to humiliate William of Orange. A considerable sum was
paid to Egmont, and a trifling one to the Prince, in consideration of
their large claims upon the treasury. Moreover the Duke of Aerschot was
selected as envoy to the Frankfort Diet, where the King of the Romans was
to be elected, with the express intention, as Margaret wrote to Philip,
of creating divisions among the nobles, as he had suggested. The Duchess
at the same time informed her brother that, according to, Berlaymont, the
Prince of Orange was revolving some great design, prejudicial to his
Majesty's service.

Philip, who already began to suspect that a man who thought so much must
be dangerous, was eager to find out the scheme over which William the
Silent was supposed to be brooding, and wrote for fresh intelligence to
the Duchess.

Neither Margaret nor the Cardinal, however, could discover any thing
against the Prince--who, meantime, although disappointed of the mission
to Frankfort, had gone to that city in his private capacity--saving that
he had been heard to say, "one day we shall be the stronger." Granvelle
and Madame de Parma both communicated this report upon the same day, but
this was all that they were able to discover of the latent plot.

In the autumn of this year (1562) Montigny made his visit to Spain, as
confidential envoy from the Regent. The King being fully prepared as to
the manner in which he was to deal with him, received the ambassador with
great cordiality. He informed him in the course of their interviews, that
Granvelle had never attempted to create prejudice against the nobles,
that he was incapable of the malice attributed to him, and that even were
it otherwise, his evil representations against other public servants
would produce no effect. The King furthermore protested that he had no
intention of introducing the Spanish inquisition into the Netherlands,
and that the new bishops were not intended as agents for such a design,
but had been appointed solely with a view of smoothing religious
difficulties in the provinces, and of leading his people back into the
fold of the faithful. He added, that as long ago as his visit to England
for the purpose of espousing Queen Mary, he had entertained the project
of the new episcopates, as the Marquis Berghen, with whom he had
conversed freely upon the subject, could bear witness. With regard to the
connexion of Granvelle with the scheme, he assured Montigny that the
Cardinal had not been previously consulted, but had first learned the
plan after the mission of Sonnius.

Such was the purport of the King's communications to the envoy, as
appears from memoranda in the royal handwriting and from the
correspondence of Margaret of Parma. Philip's exactness in conforming to
his instructions is sufficiently apparent, on comparing his statements
with the letters previously received from the omnipresent Cardinal.
Beyond the limits of those directions the King hardly hazarded a
syllable. He was merely the plenipotentiary of the Cardinal, as Montigny
was of the Regent. So long as Granvelle's power lasted, he was absolute
and infallible. Such, then, was the amount of satisfaction derived from
the mission of Montigny. There was to be no diminution of the religious
persecution, but the people were assured upon royal authority, that the
inquisition, by which they were daily burned and beheaded, could not be
logically denominated the Spanish inquisition. In addition to the
comfort, whatever it might be, which the nation could derive from this
statement, they were also consoled with the information that Granvelle
was not the inventor of the bishoprics. Although he had violently
supported the measure as soon as published, secretly denouncing as
traitors and demagogues, all those who lifted their voices against it,
although he was the originator of the renewed edicts, although he took,
daily, personal pains that this Netherland inquisition, "more pitiless
than the Spanish," should be enforced in its rigor, and although he, at
the last, opposed the slightest mitigation of its horrors, he was to be
represented to the nobles and the people as a man of mild and
unprejudiced character, incapable of injuring even his enemies. "I will
deal with the seigniors most blandly," the Cardinal had written to
Philip, "and will do them pleasure, even if they do not wish it, for the
sake of God and your Majesty." It was in this light, accordingly, that
Philip drew the picture of his favorite minister to the envoy. Montigny,
although somewhat influenced by the King's hypocritical assurances of
the benignity with which he regarded the Netherlands, was, nevertheless,
not to be deceived by this flattering portraiture of a man whom he knew
so well and detested so cordially as he did Granvelle. Solicited by the
King, at their parting interview, to express his candid opinion as to the
causes of the dissatisfaction in the provinces, Montigny very frankly and
most imprudently gave vent to his private animosity towards the Cardinal.
He spoke of his licentiousness, greediness, ostentation, despotism, and
assured the monarch that nearly all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
entertained the same opinion concerning him. He then dilated upon the
general horror inspired by the inquisition and the great repugnance felt
to the establishment of the new episcopates. These three evils,
Granvelle, the inquisition, and the bishoprics, he maintained were the
real and sufficient causes of the increasing popular discontent. Time was
to reveal whether the open-hearted envoy was to escape punishment for his
frankness, and whether vengeance for these crimes against Granvelle and
Philip were to be left wholly, as the Cardinal had lately suggested, in
the hands of the Lord.

Montigny returned late in December. His report concerning the results of
his mission was made in the state council, and was received with great
indignation. The professions of benevolent intentions on the part of the
sovereign made no impression on the mind of Orange, who was already in
the habit of receiving secret information from Spain with regard to the
intentions of the government. He knew very well that the plot revealed to
him by Henry the Second in the wood of Vincennes was still the royal
program, so far as the Spanish monarch was concerned. Moreover, his anger
was heightened by information received from Montigny that the names of
Orange, Egmont and their adherents, were cited to him as he passed
through France as the avowed defenders of the Huguenots, in politics and
religion. The Prince, who was still a sincere Catholic, while he hated
the persecutions of the inquisition, was furious at the statement. A
violent scene occurred in the council. Orange openly denounced the report
as a new slander of Granvelle, while Margaret defended the Cardinal and
denied the accusation, but at the same time endeavored with the utmost
earnestness to reconcile the conflicting parties.

It had now become certain, however, that the government could no longer
be continued on its present footing. Either Granvelle or the seigniors
must succumb. The Prince of Orange was resolved that the Cardinal should
fall or that he would himself withdraw from all participation in the
affairs of government. In this decision he was sustained by Egmont, Horn,
Montigny, Berghen, and the other leading nobles.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Affecting to discredit them
     An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
     Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
     Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
     Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
     Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
     Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
     Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
     Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
     Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
     Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
     Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 8.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1563-1564 [CHAPTER IV.]

   Joint letter to Philip, from Orange, Egmont, and Horn--Egmont's
   quarrel with Aerschot and with Aremberg--Philip's answer to the
   three nobles--His instructions to the Duchess--Egmont declines the
   King's invitation to visit Spain--Second letter of the three
   seigniors--Mission of Armenteros--Letter of Alva--Secret letters of
   Granvelle to Philip--The Cardinal's insinuations and instructions--
   His complaints as to the lukewarmness of Berghen and Montigny in the
   cause of the inquisition--Anecdotes to their discredit privately
   chronicled by Granvelle--Supposed necessity for the King's presence
   in the provinces--Correspondence of Lazarus Schwendi--Approaching
   crisis--Anxiety of Granvelle to retire--Banquet of Caspar Schetz--
   Invention of the foolscap livery--Correspondence of the Duchess and
   of the Cardinal with Philip upon the subject--Entire withdrawal of
   the three seigniors from the state council--the King advises with
   Alva concerning the recall of Granvelle--Elaborate duplicity of
   Philip's arrangements--His secret note to the Cardinal--His
   dissembling letters to others--Departure of Granvelle from the
   Netherlands--Various opinions as to its cause--Ludicrous conduct of
   Brederode and Hoogstraaten--Fabulous statements in Granvelle's
   correspondence concerning his recall--Universal mystification--The
   Cardinal deceived by the King--Granvelle in retirement--His
   epicureanism--Fears in the provinces as to his return--Universal joy
   at his departure--Representations to his discredit made by the
   Duchess to Philip--Her hypocritical letters to the Cardinal--
   Masquerade at Count Mansfeld's--Chantonnay's advice to his brother--
   Review of Granvelle's administration and estimate of his character.

On the 11th March, 1563, Orange, Horn, and Egmont united in a remarkable
letter to the King. They said that as their longer "taciturnity" might
cause the ruin of his Majesty's affairs, they were at last compelled to
break silence. They hoped that the King would receive with benignity a
communication which was pure, frank, and free from all passion. The
leading personages of the province, they continued, having thoroughly
examined the nature and extent of Cardinal Granvelle's authority, had
arrived at the conclusion that every thing was in his hands. This
persuasion, they said, was rooted in the hearts of all his Majesty's
subjects, and particularly in their own, so deeply, that it could not be
eradicated as long as the Cardinal remained. The King was therefore
implored to consider the necessity of remedying the evil. The royal
affairs, it was affirmed, would never be successfully conducted so long
as they were entrusted to Granvelle, because he was so odious to so many
people. If the danger were not imminent, they should not feel obliged to
write to his Majesty with so much vehemence. It was, however, an affair
which allowed neither delay nor dissimulation. They therefore prayed the
King, if they had ever deserved credence in things of weight, to believe
them now. By so doing, his Majesty would avoid great mischief. Many grand
seigniors, governors, and others, had thought it necessary to give this
notice, in order that the King might prevent the ruin of the country. If,
however, his Majesty were willing, as they hoped, to avoid discontenting
all for the sake of satisfying one, it was possible that affairs might
yet prosper. That they might not be thought influenced by ambition or by
hope of private profit, the writers asked leave to retire from the state
council. Neither their reputation, they said, nor the interests of the
royal service would permit them to act with the Cardinal. They professed
themselves dutiful subjects and Catholic vassals. Had it not been for the
zeal of the leading seigniors, the nobility, and other well-disposed
persons, affairs would not at that moment be so tranquil; the common
people having been so much injured, and the manner of life pursued by the
Cardinal not being calculated to give more satisfaction than was afforded
by his unlimited authority. In conclusion, the writers begged his Majesty
not to throw the blame upon them, if mischance should follow the neglect
of this warning. This memorable letter was signed by Guillaume, de
Nassau, Lamoral d'Egmont, and Philippes de Montmorency (Count Horn). It
was despatched undercover to Charles de Tisnacq, a Belgian, and
procurator for the affairs of the Netherlands at Madrid, a man whose
relations with Count Egmont were of a friendly character. It was
impossible, however, to keep the matter a secret from the person most
interested. The Cardinal wrote to the King the day before the letter was
written, and many weeks before it was sent, to apprize him that it was
coming, and to instruct him as to the answer he was to make. Nearly all
the leading nobles and governors had adhered to the substance of the
letter, save the Duke of Aerschot, Count Aremberg, and Baron Berlaymont.
The Duke and Count had refused to join the league; violent scenes having
occurred upon the subject between them and the leaders of the opposition
party. Egmont, being with a large shooting party at Aerschot's country
place, Beaumont, had taken occasion to urge the Duke to join in the
general demonstration against the Cardinal, arguing the matter in the
rough, off-hand, reckless manner which was habitual with him. His
arguments offended the nobleman thus addressed, who was vain and
irascible. He replied by affirming that he was a friend to Egmont, but
would not have him for his master. He would have nothing to do, he said,
with their league against the Cardinal, who had never given him cause of
enmity. He had no disposition to dictate to the King as to his choice of
ministers, and his Majesty was quite right to select his servants at his
own pleasure. The Duke added that if the seigniors did not wish him for a
friend, it was a matter of indifference to him. Not one of them was his
superior; he had as large a band of noble followers and friends as the
best of them, and he had no disposition to accept the supremacy of any
nobleman in the land. The conversation carried on in this key soon became
a quarrel, and from words the two gentlemen would soon have come to
blows, but for the interposition of Aremberg and Robles, who were present
at the scene. The Duchess of Parma, narrating the occurrence to the King,
added that a duel had been the expected result of the affair, but that
the two nobles had eventually been reconciled. It was characteristic of
Aerschot that he continued afterward to associate with the nobles upon
friendly terms, while maintaining an increased intimacy with the
Cardinal.

The gentlemen who sent the letter were annoyed at the premature publicity
which it seemed to have attained. Orange had in vain solicited Count
Aremberg to join the league, and had quarrelled with him in consequence.
Egmont, in the presence of Madame de Parma, openly charged Aremberg with
having divulged the secret which had been confided to him. The Count
fiercely denied that he had uttered a syllable on the subject to a human
being; but added that any communication on his part would have been quite
superfluous, while Egmont and his friends were daily boasting of what
they were to accomplish. Egmont reiterated the charge of a breach of
faith by Aremberg. That nobleman replied by laying his hand upon his
sword, denouncing as liars all persons who should dare to charge him
again with such an offence, and offering to fight out the quarrel upon
the instant. Here, again, personal combat was, with much difficulty,
averted.

Egmont, rude, reckless, and indiscreet, was already making manifest that
he was more at home on a battle-field than in a political controversy
where prudence and knowledge of human nature were as requisite as
courage. He was at this period more liberal in his sentiments than at any
moment of his life. Inflamed by his hatred of Granvelle, and determined
to compass the overthrow of that minister, he conversed freely with all
kinds of people, sought popularity among the burghers, and descanted to
every one with much imprudence upon the necessity of union for the sake
of liberty and the national good. The Regent, while faithfully recording
in her despatches every thing of this nature which reached her ears,
expressed her astonishment at Egmont's course, because, as she had often
taken occasion to inform the King, she had always considered the Count
most sincerely attached to his Majesty's service.

Berlaymont, the only other noble of prominence who did not approve the
11th of March letter, was at this period attempting to "swim in two
waters," and, as usual in such cases, found it very difficult to keep
himself afloat. He had refused to join the league, but he stood aloof
from Granvelle. On a hope held out by the seigniors that his son should
be made Bishop of Liege, he had ceased during a whole year from visiting
the Cardinal, and had never spoken to him at the council-board.
Granvelle, in narrating these circumstances to the King, expressed the
opinion that Berlaymont, by thus attempting to please both parties, had
thoroughly discredited himself with both.

The famous epistle, although a most reasonable and manly statement of an
incontrovertible fact, was nevertheless a document which it required much
boldness to sign. The minister at that moment seemed omnipotent, and it
was obvious that the King was determined upon a course of political and
religious absolutism. It is, therefore, not surprising that, although
many sustained its principles, few were willing to affix their names to a
paper which might prove a death-warrant to the signers. Even Montigny and
Berghen, although they had been active in conducting the whole cabal, if
cabal it could be called, refused to subscribe the letter. Egmont and
Horn were men of reckless daring, but they were not keen-sighted enough
to perceive fully the consequences of their acts.

Orange was often accused by his enemies of timidity, but no man ever
doubted his profound capacity to look quite through the deeds of men. His
political foresight enabled him to measure the dangerous precipice which
they were deliberately approaching, while the abyss might perhaps be
shrouded to the vision of his companions. He was too tranquil of nature
to be hurried, by passions into a grave political step, which in cooler
moments he might regret. He resolutely, therefore, and with his eyes
open, placed himself in open and recorded enmity with the most powerful
and dangerous man in the whole Spanish realm, and incurred the resentment
of a King who never forgave. It may be safely averred that as much
courage was requisite thus to confront a cold and malignant despotism,
and to maintain afterwards, without flinching, during a whole lifetime,
the cause of national rights and liberty of conscience, as to head the
most brilliant charge of cavalry that ever made hero famous.

Philip answered the letter of the three nobles on the 6th June following.
In this reply, which was brief, he acknowledged the zeal and affection by
which the writers had been actuated. He suggested, nevertheless, that, as
they had mentioned no particular cause for adopting the advice contained
in their letter, it would be better that one of them should come to
Madrid to confer with him. Such matters, he said, could be better treated
by word of mouth. He might thus receive sufficient information to enable
him to form a decision, for, said he in conclusion, it was not his custom
to aggrieve any of his ministers without cause.

This was a fine phrase, but under the circumstances of its application,
quite ridiculous. There was no question of aggrieving the minister. The
letter of the three nobles was very simple. It consisted of a fact and a
deduction. The fact stated was, that the Cardinal was odious to all
classes of the nation. The deduction drawn was, that the government could
no longer be carried on by him without imminent danger of ruinous
convulsions. The fact was indisputable. The person most interested
confirmed it in his private letters. "'Tis said," wrote Granvelle to
Philip, "that grandees, nobles, and people, all abhor me, nor am I
surprised to find that grandees, nobles, and people are all openly
against me, since each and all have been invited to join in the league."
The Cardinal's reasons for the existence of the unpopularity, which he
admitted to the full, have no bearing upon the point in the letter. The
fact was relied upon to sustain a simple, although a momentous inference.
It was for Philip to decide upon the propriety of the deduction, and to
abide by the consequences of his resolution when taken. As usual,
however, the monarch was not capable of making up his mind. He knew very
well that the Cardinal was odious and infamous, because he was the
willing impersonation of the royal policy. Philip was, therefore,
logically called upon to abandon the policy or to sustain the minister.
He could make up his mind to do neither the one nor the other. In the
mean time a well-turned period of mock magnanimity had been furnished
him. This he accordingly transmitted as his first answer to a most
important communication upon a subject which, in the words of the
writers, "admitted neither of dissimulation nor delay." To deprive Philip
of dissimulation and delay, however, was to take away his all. They were
the two weapons with which he fought his long life's battle. They summed
up the whole of his intellectual resources. It was inevitable, therefore,
that he should at once have recourse to both on such an emergency as the
present one.

At the same time that he sent his answer to the nobles, he wrote an
explanatory letter to the Regent. He informed her that he had received
the communication of the three seigniors, but instructed her that she was
to appear to know nothing of the matter until Egmont should speak to her
upon the subject. He added that, although he had signified his wish to
the three nobles, that one of them, without specifying which, should come
to Madrid, he in reality desired that Egmont, who seemed the most
tractable of the three, should be the one deputed. The King added, that
his object was to divide the nobles, and to gain time.

It was certainly superfluous upon Philip's part to inform his sister that
his object was to gain time. Procrastination was always his first refuge,
as if the march of the world's events would pause indefinitely while he
sat in his cabinet and pondered. It was, however, sufficiently puerile to
recommend to his sister an affectation of ignorance on a subject
concerning which nobles had wrangled, and almost drawn their swords in
her presence. This, however, was the King's statesmanship when left to
his unaided exertions. Granvelle, who was both Philip and Margaret when
either had to address or to respond to the world at large, did not always
find it necessary to regulate the correspondence of his puppets between
themselves. In order more fully to divide the nobles, the King also
transmitted to Egmont a private note, in his own handwriting, expressing
his desire that he should visit Spain in person, that they might confer
together upon the whole subject.

These letters, as might be supposed, produced any thing but a
satisfactory effect. The discontent and rage of the gentlemen who had
written or sustained the 11th of March communication, was much increased.
The answer was, in truth, no answer at all. "'Tis a cold and bad reply,"
wrote Louis of Nassau, "to send after so long a delay. 'Tis easy to see
that the letter came from the Cardinal's smithy. In summa it is a vile
business, if the gentlemen are all to be governed by one person. I hope
to God his power will come soon to an end. Nevertheless," added Louis,
"the gentlemen are all wide awake, for they trust the red fellow not a
bit more than he deserves."

The reader has already seen that the letter was indeed "from the
Cardinal's smithy," Granvelle having instructed his master how to reply
to the seigniors before the communication had been despatched.

The Duchess wrote immediately to inform her brother that Egmont had
expressed himself willing enough to go to Spain, but had added that he
must first consult Orange and Horn. As soon as that step had been taken,
she had been informed that it was necessary for them to advise with all
the gentlemen who had sanctioned their letter. The Duchess had then tried
in vain to prevent such an assembly, but finding that, even if forbidden,
it would still take place, she had permitted the meeting in Brussels, as
she could better penetrate into their proceedings there, than if it
should be held at a distance. She added, that she should soon send her
secretary Armenteros to Spain, that the King might be thoroughly
acquainted with what was occurring.

Egmont soon afterwards wrote to Philip, declining to visit Spain
expressly on account of the Cardinal. He added, that he was ready to
undertake the journey, should the King command his presence for any other
object. The same decision was formally communicated to the Regent by
those Chevaliers of the Fleece who had approved the 11th of March
letter--Montigny; Berghen, Meghem, Mansfeld, Ligne, Hoogstraaten, Orange,
Egmont, and Horn. The Prince of Orange, speaking in the name of all,
informed her that they did not consider it consistent with their
reputation, nor with the interest of his Majesty, that any one of them
should make so long and troublesome a journey, in order to accuse the
Cardinal. For any other purpose, they all held themselves ready to go to
Spain at once. The Duchess expressed her regret at this resolution. The
Prince replied by affirming that, in all their proceedings, they had been
governed, not by hatred of Granvelle but by a sense of duty to his
Majesty. It was now, he added, for the King to pursue what course it
pleased him.

Four days after this interview with the Regent, Orange, Egmont, and Horn
addressed a second letter to the King. In this communication they stated
that they had consulted with all the gentlemen with whose approbation
their first letter had been written. As to the journey of one of them to
Spain,--as suggested, they pronounced it very dangerous for any seignior
to absent himself, in the condition of affairs which then existed. It was
not a sufficient cause to go thither on account of Granvelle. They
disclaimed any intention of making themselves parties to a process
against the Cardinal. They had thought that their simple, brief
announcement would have sufficed to induce his Majesty to employ that
personage in other places, where his talents would be more fruitful. As
to "aggrieving the Cardinal without cause," there was no question of
aggrieving him at all, but of relieving him of an office which could not
remain in his hands without disaster. As to "no particular cause having
been mentioned," they said the omission was from no lack of many such.
They had charged none, however, because, from their past services and
their fidelity to his Majesty, they expected to be believed on their
honor, without further witnesses or evidence. They had no intention of
making themselves accusers. They had purposely abstained from
specifications. If his Majesty should proceed to ampler information,
causes enough would be found. It was better, however, that they should be
furnished by others than by themselves. His Majesty would then find that
the public and general complaint was not without adequate motives. They
renewed their prayer to be excused from serving in the council of state,
in order that they might not be afterwards inculpated for the faults of
others. Feeling that the controversy between themselves and the Cardinal
de Granvelle in the state council produced no fruit for his Majesty's
affairs, they preferred to yield to him. In conclusion, they begged the
King to excuse the simplicity of their letters, the rather that they were
not by nature great orators, but more accustomed to do well than to speak
well, which was also more becoming to persons of their quality.

On the 4th of August, Count Horn also addressed a private letter to the
King, written in the same spirit as that which characterized the joint
letter just cited. He assured his Majesty that the Cardinal could render
no valuable service to the crown on account of the hatred which the whole
nation bore him, but that, as far as regarded the maintenance of the
ancient religion, all the nobles were willing to do their duty.

The Regent now despatched, according to promise, her private secretary,
Thomas de Armenteros, to Spain. His instructions, which were very
elaborate, showed that Granvelle was not mistaken when he charged her
with being entirely changed in regard to him, and when he addressed her a
reproachful letter, protesting his astonishment that his conduct had
become auspicious, and his inability to divine the cause of the weariness
and dissatisfaction which she manifested in regard to him.

Armenteros, a man of low, mercenary, and deceitful character, but a
favorite of the Regent, and already beginning to acquire that influence
over her mind which was soon to become so predominant, was no friend of
the Cardinal. It was not probable that he would diminish the effect of
that vague censure mingled with faint commendation, which characterized
Margaret's instructions by any laudatory suggestions of his own. He was
directed to speak in general terms of the advance of heresy, and the
increasing penury of the exchequer. He was to request two hundred
thousand crowns toward the lottery, which the Regent proposed to set up
as a financial scheme. He was to represent that the Duchess had tried,
unsuccessfully, every conceivable means of accommodating the quarrel
between the Cardinal and the seigniors. She recognized Granvelle's great
capacity, experience, zeal, and devotion--for all which qualities she
made much of him--while on the other hand she felt that it would be a
great inconvenience, and might cause a revolt of the country, were she to
retain him in the Netherlands against the will of the seigniors. These
motives had compelled her, the messenger was to add, to place both views
of the subject before the eyes of the King. Armenteros was, furthermore,
to narrate the circumstances of the interviews which had recently taken
place between herself and the leaders of the opposition party.

From the tenor of these instructions, it was sufficiently obvious that
Margaret of Parma was not anxious to retain the Cardinal, but that, on
the contrary, she was beginning already to feel alarm at the dangerous
position in which she found herself. A few days after the three nobles
had despatched their last letter to the King, they had handed her a
formal remonstrance. In this document they stated their conviction that
the country was on the high road to ruin, both as regarded his Majesty's
service and the common weal. The bare, the popular discontent daily
increasing, the fortresses on the frontier in a dilapidated condition. It
was to be apprehended daily that merchants and other inhabitants of the
provinces would be arrested in foreign countries, to satisfy the debts
owed by his Majesty. To provide against all these evils, but one course,
it was suggested, remained to the government--to summon the
states-general, and to rely upon their counsel and support. The nobles,
however, forbore to press this point, by reason of the prohibition which
the Regent had received from the King. They suggested, however, that such
an interdiction could have been dictated only by a distrust created
between his Majesty and the estates by persons having no love for either,
and who were determined to leave no resource by which the distress of the
country could be prevented. The nobles, therefore, begged her highness
not to take it amiss if, so long as the King was indisposed to make other
arrangements for the administration of the provinces, they should abstain
from appearing at the state council. They preferred to cause the shadow
at last to disappear, which they had so long personated. In conclusion,
however, they expressed their determination to do their duty in their
several governments, and to serve the Regent to the best of their
abilities.

After this remonstrance had been delivered, the Prince of Orange, Count
Horn, and Count Egmont abstained entirely from the sessions of the state
council. She was left alone with the Cardinal, whom she already hated,
and with his two shadows, Viglius and Berlaymont.

Armenteros, after a month spent on his journey, arrived in Spain, and was
soon admitted to an audience by Philip. In his first interview, which
lasted four hours, he read to the King all the statements and documents
with which he had come provided, and humbly requested a prompt decision.
Such a result was of course out of the question. Moreover, the Cortes of
Tarragon, which happened then to be in session, and which required the
royal attention, supplied the monarch with a fresh excuse for indulging
in his habitual vacillation. Meantime, by way of obtaining additional
counsel in so grave an emergency, he transmitted the letters of the
nobles, together with the other papers, to the Duke of Alva, and
requested his opinion on the subject. Alva replied with the roar of a
wild beast, "Every time," he wrote, "that I see the despatches of those
three Flemish seigniors my rage is so much excited that if I did not use
all possible efforts to restrain it, my sentiments would seem those of a
madman." After this splenitive exordium he proceeded to express the
opinion that all the hatred and complaints against the Cardinal had
arisen from his opposition to the convocation of the states-general. With
regard to persons who had so richly deserved such chastisement, he
recommended "that their heads should be taken off; but, until this could
be done, that the King should dissemble with them." He advised Philip not
to reply to their letters, but merely to intimate, through the Regent,
that their reasons for the course proposed by them did not seem
satisfactory. He did not prescribe this treatment of the case as "a true
remedy, but only as a palliative; because for the moment only weak
medicines could be employed, from which, however, but small effect could
be anticipated." As to recalling the Cardinal, "as they had the impudence
to propose to his Majesty," the Duke most decidedly advised against the
step. In the mean time, and before it should be practicable to proceed
"to that vigorous chastisement already indicated," he advised separating
the nobles as much as possible by administering flattery and deceitful
caresses to Egmont, who might be entrapped more easily than the others.

Here, at least, was a man who knew his own mind. Here was a servant who
could be relied upon to do his master's bidding whenever this master
should require his help. The vigorous explosion of wrath with which the
Duke thus responded to the first symptoms of what he regarded as
rebellion, gave a feeble intimation of the tone which he would assume
when that movement should have reached a more advanced stage. It might be
guessed what kind of remedies he would one day prescribe in place of the
"mild medicines" in which he so reluctantly acquiesced for the present.

While this had been the course pursued by the seigniors, the Regent and
the King, in regard to that all-absorbing subject of Netherland
politics--the straggle against Granvelle--the Cardinal, in his letters to
Philip, had been painting the situation by minute daily touches, in a
manner of which his pencil alone possessed the secret.

Still maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian, he
spoke of the nobles in a tone of gentle sorrow. He deprecated any rising
of the royal wrath in his behalf; he would continue to serve the
gentlemen, whether they would or no; he was most anxious lest any
considerations on his account should interfere with the King's decision
in regard to the course to be pursued in the Netherlands. At the same
time, notwithstanding these general professions of benevolence towards
the nobles, he represented them as broken spendthrifts, wishing to create
general confusion in order to escape from personal liabilities; as
conspirators who had placed themselves within the reach of the
attorney-general; as ambitious malcontents who were disposed to overthrow
the royal authority, and to substitute an aristocratic republic upon its
ruins. He would say nothing to prejudice the King's mind against these
gentlemen, but he took care to omit nothing which could possibly
accomplish that result. He described them as systematically opposed to
the policy which he knew lay nearest the King's heart, and as determined
to assassinate the faithful minister who was so resolutely carrying it
out, if his removal could be effected in no other way. He spoke of the
state of religion as becoming more and more unsatisfactory, and bewailed
the difficulty with which he could procure the burning of heretics;
difficulties originating in the reluctance of men from whose elevated
rank better things might have been expected.

As Granvelle is an important personage, as his character has been
alternately the subject of much censure and of more applause, and as the
epoch now described was the one in which the causes of the great
convulsion were rapidly germinating, it is absolutely necessary that the
reader should be placed in a position to study the main character, as
painted by his own hand; the hand in which were placed, at that moment,
the destinies of a mighty empire. It is the historian's duty, therefore,
to hang the picture of his administration fully in the light. At the
moment when the 11th of March letter was despatched, the Cardinal
represented Orange and Egmont as endeavoring by every method of menace or
blandishment to induce all the grand seigniors and petty nobles to join
in the league against himself. They had quarrelled with Aerschot and
Aremberg, they had more than half seduced Berlaymont, and they
stigmatized all who refused to enter into their league as cardinalists
and familiars of the inquisition. He protested that he should regard
their ill-will with indifference, were he not convinced that he was
himself only a pretext, and that their designs were really much deeper.
Since the return of Montigny, the seigniors had established a league
which that gentleman and his brother, Count Horn, had both joined. He
would say nothing concerning the defamatory letters and pamphlets of
which he was the constant object, for he wished no heed taken of matters
which concerned exclusively himself, Notwithstanding this disclaimer,
however, he rarely omitted to note the appearance of all such productions
for his Majesty's especial information. "It was better to calm men's
spirits," he said, "than to excite them." As to fostering quarrels among
the seigniors, as the King had recommended, that was hardly necessary,
for discord was fast sowing its own seeds. "It gave him much pain," he
said, with a Christian sigh, "to observe that such dissensions had
already arisen, and unfortunately on his account." He then proceeded
circumstantially to describe the quarrel between Aerschot and Egmont,
already narrated by the Regent, omitting in his statement no particular
which could make Egmont reprehensible in the royal eyes. He likewise
painted the quarrel between the same noble and Aremberg, to which he had
already alluded in previous letters to the King, adding that many
gentlemen, and even the more prudent part of the people, were
dissatisfied with the course of the grandees, and that he was taking
underhand but dexterous means to confirm them in such sentiments. He
instructed Philip how to reply to the letter addressed to him, but begged
his Majesty not to hesitate to sacrifice him if the interests of his
crown should seem to require it.

With regard to religious matters, he repeatedly deplored that,
notwithstanding his own exertions and those of Madame de Parma, things
were not going on as he desired, but, on the contrary, very badly. "For
the-love of God and the service of the holy religion," he cried out
fervently, "put your royal hand valiantly to the work, otherwise we have
only to exclaim, Help, Lord, for we perish!"

Having uttered this pious exhortation in the ear of a man who needed no
stimulant in the path of persecution, he proceeded to express his regrets
that the judges and other officers were not taking in hand the
chastisement of heresy with becoming vigor.

Yet, at that very moment Peter Titelmann was raging through Flanders,
tearing whole families out of bed and burning them to ashes, with such
utter disregard to all laws or forms as to provoke in the very next year
a solemn protest from the four estates of Flanders; and Titelmann was but
one of a dozen inquisitors.

Granvelle, however, could find little satisfaction in the exertions of
subordinates so long as men in high station were remiss in their duties.
The Marquis Berghen, he informed Philip, showed but little disposition to
put down heresy, in Valenciennes, while Montigny was equally remiss at
Tournay. They were often heard to say, to any who chose to listen, that
it was not right to inflict the punishment of death for matters of
religion. This sentiment, uttered in that age of blood and fire, and
crowning the memory of those unfortunate nobles with eternal honor, was
denounced by the churchman as criminal, and deserving of castigation. He
intimated, moreover, that these pretences of clemency were mere
hypocrisy, and that self-interest was at the bottom of their compassion.
"'Tis very black," said he, "when interest governs; but these men are a
in debt, so deeply that they owe their very souls. They are seeking every
means of escaping from their obligations, and are most desirous of
creating general confusion." As to the Prince of Orange, the Cardinal
asserted that he owed nine hundred thousand florins, and had hardly
twenty-five thousand a-year clear income, while he spent ninety thousand,
having counts; barons, and gentlemen in great numbers, in his household.
At this point, he suggested that it might be well to find employment for
some of these grandees in Spain and other dominions of his Majesty,
adding that perhaps Orange might accept the vice-royalty of Sicily.

Resuming the religious matter, a few weeks later, he expressed himself a
little more cheerfully, "We have made so much outcry," said he, "that at
last Marquis Berghen has been forced to burn a couple of heretics at
Valenciennes. Thus, it is obvious," moralized the Cardinal, "that if he
were really willing to apply the remedy in that place, much progress
might be made; but that we can do but little so long as he remains in the
government of the provinces and refuses to assist us." In a subsequent
letter, he again uttered com plaints against the Marquis and Montigny,
who were evermore his scapegoats and bugbears. Berghen will give us no
aid, he wrote, despite of all the letters we send him. He absents himself
for private and political reasons. Montigny has eaten meat in Lent, as
the Bishop of Tournay informs me. Both he and the Marquis say openly that
it is not right to shed blood for matters of faith, so that the King can
judge how much can be effected with such coadjutors. Berghen avoids the
persecution of heretics, wrote the Cardinal again, a month later, to
Secretary Perez. He has gone to Spa for his health, although those who
saw him last say he is fat and hearty.

Granvelle added, however, that they had at last "burned one more preacher
alive." The heretic, he stated, had feigned repentance to save his life,
but finding that, at any rate, his head would be cut off as a dogmatizer,
he retracted his recantation. "So," concluded the Cardinal, complacently,
"they burned him."

He chronicled the sayings and doings of the principal personages in the
Netherlands, for the instruction of the King, with great regularity,
insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence, and adding
charitable apologies, which he knew would have but small effect upon the
mind of his correspondent. Thus he sent an account of a "very secret
meeting" held by Orange, Egmont, Horn, Montigny and Berghen, at the abbey
of La Forest, near Brussels, adding, that he did not know what they had
been doing there, and was at loss what to suspect. He would be most
happy, he said, to put the best interpretation upon their actions, but he
could not help remembering with great sorrow the observation so recently
made by Orange to Montigny, that one day they should be stronger. Later
in the year, the Cardinal informed the King that the same nobles were
holding a conference at Weerdt, that he had not learned what had been
transacted there, but thought the affair very suspicious. Philip
immediately communicated the intelligence to Alva, together with an
expression of Granvelle's fears and of his own, that a popular outbreak
would be the consequence of the continued presence of the minister in the
Netherlands.

The Cardinal omitted nothing in the way of anecdote or inuendo, which
could injure the character of the leading nobles, with the exception,
perhaps, of Count Egmont. With this important personage, whose character
he well understood, he seemed determined, if possible, to maintain
friendly relations. There was a deep policy in this desire, to which we
shall advert hereafter. The other seigniors were described in general
terms as disposed to overthrow the royal authority. They were bent upon
Granvelle's downfall as the first step, because, that being accomplished,
the rest would follow as a matter of course. "They intend," said he, "to
reduce the state into the form of a republic, in which the King shall
have no power except to do their bidding." He added, that he saw with
regret so many German troops gathering on the borders; for he believed
them to be in the control of the disaffected nobles of the Netherlands.
Having made this grave insinuation, he proceeded in the same breath to
express his anger at a statement said to have been made by Orange and
Egmont, to the effect that he had charged them with intending to excite a
civil commotion, an idea, he added, which had never entered his head. In
the same paragraph, he poured into the most suspicious ear that ever
listened to a tale of treason, his conviction that the nobles were
planning a republic by the aid of foreign troops, and uttered a complaint
that these nobles had accused him of suspecting them. As for the Prince
of Orange, he was described as eternally boasting of his influence in
Germany, and the great things which he could effect by means of his
connexions there, "so that," added the Cardinal, "we hear no other song."

He had much to say concerning the projects of these grandees to abolish
all the councils, but that of state, of which body they intended to
obtain the entire control. Marquis Berghen was represented as being at
the bottom of all these intrigues. The general and evident intention was
to make a thorough change in the form of government. The Marquis meant to
command in every thing, and the Duchess would soon have nothing to do in
the provinces as regent for the King. In fact, Philip himself would be
equally powerless, "for," said the Cardinal, "they will have succeeded in
putting your Majesty completely under guardianship." He added, moreover,
that the seigniors, in order to gain favor with the people and with the
estates, had allowed them to acquire so much power, that they would
respond to any request for subsidies by a general popular revolt. "This
is the simple truth," said Granvelle, "and moreover, by the same process,
in a very few days there will likewise be no religion left in the land."
When the deputies of some of the states, a few weeks later, had been
irregularly convened in Brussels, for financial purposes, the Cardinal
informed the monarch that the nobles were endeavoring to conciliate their
good-will, by offering them a splendid series of festivities and
banquets.

He related various anecdotes which came to his ears from time to time,
all tending to excite suspicions as to the loyalty and orthodoxy of the
principal nobles. A gentleman coming from Burgundy had lately, as he
informed the King, been dining with the Prince of Orange, with whom Horn
and Montigny were then lodging. At table, Montigny called out in a very
loud voice to the strange cavalier, who was seated at a great distance
from him, to ask if there were many Huguenots in Burgundy. No, replied
the gentleman nor would they be permitted to exist there. "Then there can
be very few people of intelligence in that province," returned Montigny,
"for those who have any wit are mostly all Huguenots." The Prince of
Orange here endeavored to put a stop to the conversation, saying that the
Burgundians were very right to remain as they were; upon which Montigny
affirmed that he had heard masses enough lately to last him for three
months. These things may be jests, commented Granvelle, but they are very
bad ones; and 'tis evident that such a man is an improper instrument to
remedy the state of religious affairs in Tournay.

At another large party, the King was faithfully informed by the same
chronicler, that Marquis Berghen had been teasing the Duke of Aerschot
very maliciously, because he would not join the league. The Duke had
responded as he had formerly done to Egmont, that his Majesty was not to
receive laws from his vassals; adding that, for himself, he meant to
follow in the loyal track of his ancestors, fearing God and honoring the
king. In short, said Granvelle, he answered them with so much wisdom,
that although they had never a high opinion of his capacity, they were
silenced. This conversation had been going on before all the servants,
the Marquis being especially vociferous, although the room was quite full
of them. As soon as the cloth was removed, and while some of the lackies
still remained, Berghen had resumed the conversation. He said he was of
the same mind as his ancestor, John of Berghen, had been, who had once
told the King's grandfather, Philip the Fair, that if his Majesty was
bent on his own perdition, he had no disposition to ruin himself. If the
present monarch means to lose these provinces by governing them as he did
govern them, the Marquis affirmed that he had no wish to lose the little
property that he himself possessed in the country. "But if," argued the
Duke of Aerschot, "the King absolutely refuse to do what you demand of
him; what then?"--"Par la cordieu!" responded Berghen, in a rage, "we
will let him see!" whereupon all became silent.

Granvelle implored the King to keep these things entirely to himself;
adding that it was quite necessary for his Majesty to learn in this
manner what were the real dispositions of the gentlemen of the provinces.
It was also stated in the same letter, that a ruffian Genoese, who had
been ordered out of the Netherlands by the Regent, because of a homicide
he had committed, was kept at Weert, by Count Horn, for the purpose of
murdering the Cardinal.

He affirmed that he was not allowed to request the expulsion of the
assassin from the Count's house; but that he would take care,
nevertheless, that neither this ruffian nor any other, should accomplish
his purpose. A few weeks afterwards, expressing his joy at the
contradiction of a report that Philip had himself been assassinated,
Granvelle added; "I too, who am but a worm in comparison, am threatened
on so many sides, that many must consider me already dead. Nevertheless,
I will endeavor, with God's help, to live as long as I can, and if they
kill me, I hope they will not gain every thing." Yet, with characteristic
Jesuitism, the Cardinal could not refrain, even in the very letter in
which he detailed the rebellious demonstrations of Berghen, and the
murderous schemes of Horn, to protest that he did not say these things
"to prejudice his Majesty against any one, but only that it might be
known to what a height the impudence was rising." Certainly the King and
the ecclesiastic, like the Roman soothsayers, would have laughed in each
other's face, could they have met, over the hollowness of such
demonstrations. Granvelle's letters were filled, for the greater part,
with pictures of treason, stratagem, and bloody intentions, fabricated
mostly out of reports, table-talk, disjointed chat in the careless
freedom of domestic intercourse, while at the same time a margin was
always left to express his own wounded sense of the injurious suspicions
uttered against him by the various subjects of his letters. "God knows,"
said he to Perez, "that I always speak of them with respect, which is
more than they do of me. But God forgive them all. In times like these,
one must hold one's tongue. One must keep still, in order not to stir up
a hornet's nest."

In short, the Cardinal, little by little, during the last year of his
residence in the Netherlands, was enabled to spread a canvas before his
sovereign's eye, in which certain prominent figures, highly colored by
patiently accumulated touches, were represented as driving a whole
nation, against its own will, into manifest revolt. The estates and the
people, he said, were already tired of the proceedings of the nobles, and
those personages would find themselves very much mistaken in thinking
that men who had any thing to lose would follow them, when they began a
rebellion against his Majesty. On the whole, he was not desirous of
prolonging his own residence, although, to do him justice, he was not
influenced by fear. He thought or affected to think that the situation
was one of a factitious popular discontent, procured by the intrigues of
a few ambitious and impoverished Catilines and Cethegi, not a rising
rebellion such as the world had never seen, born of the slowly-awakened
wrath of, a whole people, after the martyrdom of many years. The remedy
that he recommended was that his Majesty should come in person to the
provinces. The monarch would cure the whole disorder as soon as he
appeared, said the Cardinal, by merely making the sign of the cross.
Whether, indeed, the rapidly-increasing cancer of national discontent
would prove a mere king's evil, to be healed by the royal touch, as many
persons besides Granvelle believed, was a point not doomed to be tested.
From that day forward Philip began to hold out hopes that he would come
to administer the desired remedy, but even then it was the opinion of
good judges that he would give millions rather than make his appearance
in the Netherlands. It was even the hope of William of Orange that the
King would visit the provinces. He expressed his desire, in a letter to
Lazarus Schwendi, that his sovereign should come in person, that he might
see whether it had been right to sow so much distrust between himself and
his loyal subjects. The Prince asserted that it was impossible for any
person not on the spot to imagine the falsehoods and calumnies circulated
by Granvelle and his friends, accusing Orange and his associates of
rebellion and heresy, in the most infamous manner in the world. He added,
in conclusion, that he could write no more, for the mere thought of the
manner in which the government of the Netherlands was carried on filled
him with disgust and rage. This letter, together with one in a similar
strain from Egmont, was transmitted by the valiant and highly
intellectual soldier to whom they were addressed, to the King of Spain,
with an entreaty that he would take warning from the bitter truths which
they contained. The Colonel, who was a most trusty friend of Orange,
wrote afterwards to Margaret of Parma in the same spirit, warmly urging
her to moderation in religious matters. This application highly enraged
Morillon, the Cardinal's most confidential dependent, who accordingly
conveyed the intelligence to his already departed chief, exclaiming in
his letter, "what does the ungrateful baboon mean by meddling with our
affairs? A pretty state of things, truly, if kings are to choose or
retain their ministers at the will of the people; little does he know of
the disasters which would be caused by a relaxation of the edicts." In
the same sense, the Cardinal, just before his departure, which was now
imminent, wrote to warn his sovereign of the seditious character of the
men who were then placing their breasts between the people and their
butchers. He assured Philip that upon the movement of those nobles
depended the whole existence of the country. It was time that they should
be made to open their eyes. They should be solicited in every way to
abandon their evil courses, since the liberty which they thought
themselves defending was but abject slavery; but subjection to a thousand
base and contemptible personages, and to that "vile animal called the
people."

It is sufficiently obvious, from the picture which we have now presented
of the respective attitudes of Granvelle, of the seigniors and of the
nation, during the whole of the year 1563, and the beginning of the
following year, that a crisis was fast approaching. Granvelle was, for
the moment, triumphant, Orange, Egmont, and Horn had abandoned the state
council, Philip could not yet make up his mind to yield to the storm, and
Alva howled defiance at the nobles and the whole people of the
Netherlands. Nevertheless, Margaret of Parma was utterly weary of the
minister, the Cardinal himself was most anxious to be gone, and the
nation--for there was a nation, however vile the animal might be--was
becoming daily more enraged at the presence of a man in whom, whether
justly or falsely, it beheld the incarnation of the religious oppression
under which they groaned. Meantime, at the close of the year, a new
incident came to add to the gravity of the situation. Caspar Schetz,
Baron of Grobbendonck, gave a Great dinner-party, in the month of
December, 1563. This personage, whose name was prominent for many years
in the public affairs of the nation, was one of the four brothers who
formed a very opulent and influential mercantile establishment.

He was the King's principal factor and financial agent. He was one of the
great pillars of the Bourse at Antwerp. He was likewise a tolerable
scholar, a detestable poet, an intriguing politician, and a corrupt
financier. He was regularly in the pay of Sir Thomas Gresham, to whom he
furnished secret information, for whom he procured differential favors,
and by whose government he was rewarded by gold chains and presents of
hard cash, bestowed as secretly as the equivalent was conveyed adroitly.
Nevertheless, although his venality was already more than suspected, and
although his peculation, during his long career became so extensive that
he was eventually prosecuted by government, and died before the process
was terminated, the lord of Grobbendonck was often employed in most
delicate negotiations, and, at the present epoch, was a man of much
importance in the Netherlands.

The treasurer-general accordingly gave his memorable banquet to a
distinguished party of noblemen. The conversation, during dinner, turned,
as was inevitable, upon the Cardinal. His ostentation, greediness,
insolence, were fully canvassed. The wine flowed freely as it always did
in those Flemish festivities--the brains of the proud and reckless
cavaliers became hot with excitement, while still the odious ecclesiastic
was the topic of their conversation, the object alternately of fierce
invective or of scornful mirth. The pompous display which he affected in
his equipages, liveries, and all the appurtenances of his household, had
frequently excited their derision, and now afforded fresh matter for
their ridicule. The customs of Germany, the simple habiliments in which
the retainers of the greatest houses were arrayed in that country, were
contrasted with the tinsel and glitter in which the prelate pranked
himself. It was proposed, by way of showing contempt for Granvelle, that
a livery should be forthwith invented, as different as possible from his
in general effect, and that all the gentlemen present should
indiscriminately adopt it for their own menials. Thus would the people
whom the Cardinal wished to dazzle with his finery learn to estimate such
gauds at their true value. It was determined that something extremely
plain, and in the German fashion, should be selected. At the same time,
the company, now thoroughly inflamed with wine, and possessed by the
spirit of mockery, determined that a symbol should be added to the
livery, by which the universal contempt for Granvelle should be
expressed. The proposition was hailed with acclamation, but who should
invent the hieroglyphical costume? All were reckless and ready enough,
but ingenuity of device was required. At last it was determined to decide
the question by hazard. Amid shouts of hilarity, the dice were thrown.
Those men were staking their lives, perhaps, upon the issue, but the
reflection gave only a keener zest to the game. Egmont won. It was the
most fatal victory which he had ever achieved, a more deadly prize even
than the trophies of St. Quentin and Gravelingen.

In a few days afterwards, the retainers of the house of Egmont surprised
Brussels by making their appearance in a new livery. Doublet and hose of
the coarsest grey, and long hanging sleeves, without gold or silver lace,
and having but a single ornament, comprised the whole costume. An emblem
which seemed to resemble a monk's cowl, or a fool's cap and bells, was
embroidered upon each sleeve. The device pointed at the Cardinal, as did,
by contrast, the affected coarseness of the dress. There was no doubt as
to the meaning of the hood, but they who saw in the symbol more
resemblance to the jester's cap, recalled certain biting expressions
which Granvelle had been accustomed to use. He had been wont, in the days
of his greatest insolence, to speak of the most eminent nobles as zanies,
lunatics, and buffoons. The embroidered fool's cap was supposed to typify
the gibe, and to remind the arrogant priest that a Brutus, as in the
olden time, might be found lurking in the costume of the fool. However
witty or appropriate the invention, the livery had an immense success.
According to agreement, the nobles who had dined with the treasurer
ordered it for all their servants. Never did a new dress become so soon
the fashion. The unpopularity of the minister assisted the quaintness of
the device. The fool's-cap livery became the rage. Never was such a run
upon the haberdashers, mercers, and tailors, since Brussels had been a
city. All the frieze-cloth in Brabant was exhausted. All the serge in
Flanders was clipped into monastic cowls. The Duchess at first laughed
with the rest, but the Cardinal took care that the king should be at once
informed upon the subject. The Regent was, perhaps, not extremely sorry
to see the man ridiculed whom she so cordially disliked, and, she
accepted the careless excuses made on the subject by Egmont and by Orange
without severe criticism. She wrote to her brother that, although the
gentlemen had been influenced by no evil intention, she had thought it
best to exhort them not to push the jest too far. Already, however, she
found that two thousand pairs, of sleeves had been made, and the most she
could obtain was that the fools' caps, or monks' hoods, should in future
be omitted from the livery. A change was accordingly made in the costume,
at about the time of the cardinal's departure.

A bundle of arrows, or in some instances a wheat-sheaf, was substituted
for the cowls. Various interpretations were placed upon this new emblem.
According to the nobles themselves, it denoted the union of all their
hearts in the King's service, while their enemies insinuated that it was
obviously a symbol of conspiracy. The costume thus amended was worn by
the gentlemen themselves, as well as by their servants. Egmont dined at
the Regent's table, after the Cardinal's departure, in a camlet doublet,
with hanging sleeves, and buttons stamped with the bundle of arrows.

For the present, the Cardinal affected to disapprove of the fashion only
from its rebellious tendency. The fools' caps and cowls, he meekly
observed to Philip, were the least part of the offence, for an injury to
himself could be easily forgiven. The wheat-sheaf and the arrow-bundles,
however, were very vile things, for they betokened and confirmed the
existence of a conspiracy, such as never could be tolerated by a prince
who had any regard for his own authority.

This incident of the livery occupied the public attention, and inflamed
the universal hatred during the later months of the minister's residence
in the country. Meantime the three seigniors had become very impatient at
receiving no answer to their letter. Margaret of Parma was urging her
brother to give them satisfaction, repeating to him their bitter
complaints that their characters and conduct were the subject of constant
misrepresentation to their sovereign, and picturing her own isolated
condition. She represented herself as entirely deprived of the support of
those great personages, who, despite her positive assurances to the
contrary, persisted in believing that they were held up to the King as
conspirators, and were in danger of being punished as traitors. Philip,
on his part, was conning Granvelle's despatches, filled with hints of
conspiracy, and holding counsel with Alva, who had already recommended
the taking off several heads for treason. The Prince of Orange, who
already had secret agents in the King's household, and was supplied with
copies of the most private papers in the palace, knew better than to be
deceived by the smooth representations of the Regent. Philip had,
however, at last begun secretly to yield. He asked Alva's advice whether
on the whole it would not be better to let the Cardinal leave the
Netherlands, at least for a time, on pretence of visiting his mother in
Burgundy, and to invite Count Egmont to Madrid, by way of striking one
link from the chain, as Granvelle had suggested. The Duke had replied
that he had no doubt of the increasing insolence of the three seigniors,
as depicted in the letters of the Duchess Margaret, nor of their
intention to make the Cardinal their first victim; it being the regular
principle in all revolts against the sovereign, to attack the chief
minister in the first place. He could not, however, persuade himself that
the King should yield and Granvelle be recalled. Nevertheless, if it were
to be done at all, he preferred that the Cardinal should go to Burgundy
without leave asked either of the Duchess or of Philip; and that he
should then write; declining to return, on the ground that his life was
not safe in the Netherlands.

After much hesitation, the monarch at last settled upon a plan, which
recommended itself through the extreme duplicity by which it was marked,
and the complicated system of small deceptions, which it consequently
required. The King, who was never so thoroughly happy or at home as when
elaborating the ingredients of a composite falsehood, now busily employed
himself in his cabinet. He measured off in various letters to the Regent,
to the three nobles, to Egmont alone, and to Granvelle, certain
proportionate parts of his whole plan, which; taken separately, were
intended to deceive, and did deceive nearly every person in the world,
not only in his own generation, but for three centuries afterwards, but
which arranged synthetically, as can now be done, in consequence of
modern revelations, formed one complete and considerable lie, the
observation of which furnishes the student with a lesson in the political
chemistry of those days, which was called Macchiavellian statesmanship.
The termination of the Granvelle regency is, moreover, most important,
not only for the grave and almost interminable results to which it led,
but for the illustration which it affords of the inmost characters of the
Cardinal and "his master."

The courier who was to take Philip's letters to the three nobles was
detained three weeks, in order to allow Armenteros, who was charged with
the more important and secret despatches for the Duchess and Granvelle to
reach Brussels first. All the letters, however, were ready at the same
time. The letter of instructions for Armenteros enjoined upon that envoy
to tell the Regent that the heretics were to be chastised with renewed
vigor, that she was to refuse to convoke the states-general under any
pretext, and that if hard pressed, she was to refer directly to the King.
With regard to Granvelle, the secretary was to state that his Majesty was
still deliberating, and that the Duchess would be informed as to the
decision when it should be made. He was to express the royal astonishment
that the seigniors should absent themselves from the state council, with
a peremptory intimation that they should immediately return to their
posts. As they had specified no particularities against the Cardinal, the
King would still reflect upon the subject.

He also wrote a private note to the Duchess, stating that he had not yet
sent the letters for the three nobles, because he wished that Armenteros
should arrive before their courier. He, however, enclosed two notes for
Egmont, of which Margaret was to deliver that one, which, in her opinion,
was, under the circumstances, the best. In one of these missives the King
cordially accepted, and in the other he politely declined Egmont's recent
offer to visit Spain. He also forwarded a private letter in his own
hand-writing to the Cardinal. Armenteros, who travelled but slowly on
account of the state of his health, arrived in Brussels towards the end
of February. Five or six days afterwards, on the 1st March, namely, the
courier arrived bringing the despatches for the seigniors. In his letter
to Orange, Egmont, and Horn, the King expressed his astonishment at their
resolution to abstain from the state council. Nevertheless, said he,
imperatively, fail not to return thither and to show how much more highly
you regard my service and the good of the country than any other
particularity whatever. As to Granvelle, continued Philip, since you will
not make any specifications, my intention is to think over the matter
longer, in order to arrange it as may seem most fitting.

This letter was dated February 19 (1564), nearly a month later therefore
than the secret letter to Granvelle, brought by Armenteros, although all
the despatches had been drawn up at the same time and formed parts of the
same plan. In this brief note to Granvelle, however, lay the heart of the
whole mystery.

"I have reflected much," wrote the King, "on all that you have written me
during these last few months, concerning the ill-will borne you by
certain personages. I notice also your suspicions that if a revolt breaks
out, they will commence with your person, thus taking occasion to proceed
from that point to the accomplishment of their ulterior designs. I have
particularly taken into consideration the notice received by you from the
curate of Saint Gudule, as well as that which you have learned concerning
the Genoese who is kept at Weert; all which has given me much anxiety as
well from my desire for the preservation of your life in which my service
is so deeply interested, as for the possible results if any thing should
happen to you, which God forbid. I have thought, therefore, that it would
be well, in order to give time and breathing space to the hatred and
rancor which those persons entertain towards you, and in order to see
what coarse they will take in preparing the necessary remedy, for the
provinces, for you to leave the country for some days, in order to visit
your mother, and this with the knowledge of the Duchess, my sister, and
with her permission, which you will request, and which I have written to
her that she must give, without allowing it to appear that you have
received orders to that effect from me. You will also beg her to write to
me requesting my approbation of what she is to do. By taking this course
neither my authority nor yours will suffer prejudice; and according to
the turn which things may take, measures may be taken for your return
when expedient, and for whatever else there may be to arrange."

Thus, in two words, Philip removed the unpopular minister forever. The
limitation of his absence had no meaning, and was intended to have none.
If there were not strength enough to keep the Cardinal in his place, it
was not probable that the more difficult task of reinstating him after
his fall would be very soon attempted. It, seemed, however, to be dealing
more tenderly with Granvelle's self-respect thus to leave a vague opening
for a possible return, than to send him an unconditional dismissal.

Thus, while the King refused to give any weight to the representations of
the nobles, and affected to be still deliberating whether or not he
should recall the Cardinal, he had in reality already recalled him. All
the minute directions according to which permission was to be asked of
the Duchess to take a step which had already been prescribed by the
monarch, and Philip's indulgence craved for obeying his own explicit
injunctions, were fulfilled to the letter.

As soon as the Cardinal received the royal order, he privately made
preparations for his departure. The Regent, on the other hand, delivered
to Count Egmont the one of Philip's two letters in which that gentleman's
visit was declined, the Duchess believing that, in the present position
of affairs, she should derive more assistance from him than from the rest
of the seigniors. As Granvelle, however, still delayed his departure,
even after the arrival of the second courier, she was again placed in a
situation of much perplexity. The three nobles considered Philip's letter
to them extremely "dry and laconic," and Orange absolutely refused to
comply with the order to re-enter the state council. At a session of that
body, on the 3d of March, where only Granvelle, Viglius, and Berlaymont
were present, Margaret narrated her fruitless attempts to persuade the
seigniors into obedience to the royal orders lately transmitted, and
asked their opinions. The extraordinary advice was then given, that "she
should let them champ the bit a little while longer, and afterwards see
what was to be done." Even at the last moment, the Cardinal, reluctant to
acknowledge himself beaten, although secretly desirous to retire, was
inclined for a parting struggle. The Duchess, however, being now armed
with the King's express commands, and having had enough of holding the
reins while such powerful and restive personages were "champing the bit,"
insisted privately that the Cardinal should make his immediate departure
known. Pasquinades and pamphlets were already appearing daily, each more
bitter than the other; the livery was spreading rapidly through all
classes of people, and the seigniors most distinctly refused to recede
from their determination of absenting themselves from the council so long
as Granvelle remained. There was no help for it; and on the 13th of March
the Cardinal took his departure. Notwithstanding the mystery of the whole
proceeding, however, William of Orange was not deceived. He felt certain
that the minister had been recalled, and thought it highly improbable
that he would ever be permitted to return. "Although the Cardinal talks
of coming back again soon," wrote the Prince to Schwartzburg, "we
nevertheless hope that, as he lied about his departure, so he will also
spare the truth in his present assertions." This was the general
conviction, so far as the question of the minister's compulsory retreat
was concerned, of all those who were in the habit of receiving their
information and their opinions from the Prince of Orange. Many even
thought that Granvelle had been recalled with indignity and much against
his will. "When the Cardinal," wrote Secretary Lorich to Count Louis,
"received the King's order to go, he growled like a bear, and kept
himself alone in his chamber for a time, making his preparations for
departure. He says he shall come back in two months, but some of us think
they will be two long months which will eat themselves up like money
borrowed of the Jews." A wag, moreover, posted a large placard upon the
door of Granvelle's palace in Brussels as soon as the minister's
departure was known, with the inscription, in large letters, "For sale,
immediately." In spite of the royal ingenuity, therefore, many shrewdly
suspected the real state of the case, although but very few actually knew
the truth.

The Cardinal left Brussels with a numerous suite, stately equipages, and
much parade. The Duchess provided him with her own mules and with a
sufficient escort, for the King had expressly enjoined that every care
should be taken against any murderous attack. There was no fear of such
assault, however, for all were sufficiently satisfied to see the minister
depart. Brederode and Count Hoogstraaten were standing together, looking
from the window of a house near the gate of Caudenberg, to feast their
eyes with the spectacle of their enemy's retreat. As soon as the Cardinal
had passed through that gate, on his way to Namur, the first stage of his
journey, they rushed into the street, got both upon one horse,
Hoogstraaten, who alone had boots on his legs, taking the saddle and
Brederode the croup, and galloped after the Cardinal, with the exultation
of school-boys. Thus mounted, they continued to escort the Cardinal on
his journey. At one time, they were so near his carriage, while it was
passing through a ravine, that they might have spoken to him from the
heights above, where they had paused to observe him; but they pulled the
capes of their cloaks over their faces and suffered him to pass
unchallenged. "But they are young folk," said the Cardinal, benignantly,
after relating all these particulars to the Duchess, "and one should pay
little regard to their actions." He added, that one of Egmont's gentlemen
dogged their party on the journey, lodging in the same inns with them,
apparently in the hope of learning something from their conversation or
proceedings. If that were the man's object, however, Granvelle expressed
the conviction that he was disappointed, as nothing could have been more
merry than the whole company, or more discreet than their conversation.

The Cardinal began at once to put into operation the system of deception,
as to his departure, which had been planned by Philip. The man who had
been ordered to leave the Netherlands by the King, and pushed into
immediate compliance with the royal command by the Duchess, proceeded to
address letters both to Philip and Margaret. He wrote from Namur to beg
the Regent that she would not fail to implore his Majesty graciously to
excuse his having absented himself for private reasons at that particular
moment. He wrote to Philip from Besancon, stating that his desire to
visit his mother, whom he had not seen for nineteen years, and his natal
soil, to which he had been a stranger during the same period, had induced
him to take advantage of his brother's journey to accompany him for a few
days into Burgundy. He had, therefore, he said, obtained the necessary
permission from the Duchess, who had kindly promised to write very
particularly by the first courier, to beg his Majesty's approval of the
liberty which they had both taken. He wrote from the same place to the
Regent again, saying that some of the nobles pretended to have learned
from Armenteros that the King had ordered the Cardinal to leave the
country and not to return; all which, he added, was a very false
Renardesque invention, at which he did nothing but laugh.

As a matter of course, his brother, in whose company he was about to
visit the mother whom he had not seen for the past nineteen years, was as
much mystified as the rest of the world. Chantonnay was not aware that
any thing but the alleged motives had occasioned the journey, nor did he
know that his brother would perhaps have omitted to visit their common
parent for nineteen years longer had he not received the royal order to
leave the Netherlands.

Philip, on the other side, had sustained his part, in the farce with much
ability. Viglius, Berlaymont, Morillon, and all the lesser cardinalists
were entirely taken in by the letters which were formally despatched to
the Duchess in reply to her own and the Cardinal's notification. "I can
not take it amiss," wrote the King, "that you have given leave of absence
to Cardinal de Granvelle, for two or three months, according to the
advices just received from you, that he may attend to some private
affairs of his own." As soon as these letters had been read in the
council, Viglius faithfully transmitted them to Granvelle for that
personage's enlightenment; adding his own innocent reflection, that "this
was very different language from that held by some people, that your most
illustrious lordship had retired by order of his Majesty." Morillon also
sent the Cardinal a copy of the same passage in the royal despatch,
saying, very wisely, "I wonder what they will all say now, since these
letters have been read in council." The Duchess, as in duty bound, denied
flatly, on all occasions, that Armenteros had brought any letters
recommending or ordering the minister's retreat. She conscientiously
displayed the letters of his Majesty, proving the contrary, and yet, said
Viglius, it was very hard to prevent people talking as they liked.
Granvelle omitted no occasion to mystify every one of his correspondents
on the subject, referring, of course, to the same royal letters which had
been written for public reading, expressly to corroborate these
statements. "You see by his Majesty's letters to Madame de Parma," said
he to Morillon, "how false is the report that the King had ordered me to
leave Flanders, and in what confusion those persons find themselves who
fabricated the story." It followed of necessity that he should carry out
his part in the royal program, but he accomplished his task so adroitly,
and with such redundancy of zeal, as to show his thorough sympathy with
the King's policy. He dissembled with better grace, even if the King did
it more naturally. Nobody was too insignificant to be deceived, nobody
too august. Emperor Ferdinand fared no better than "Esquire" Bordey.
"Some of those who hate me," he wrote to the potentate, "have circulated
the report that I had been turned out of the country, and was never to
return. This story has ended in smoke, since the letters written by his
Majesty to the Duchess of Parma on the subject of the leave of absence
which she had given me." Philip himself addressed a private letter to
Granvelle, of course that others might see it, in which he affected to
have just learned that the Cardinal had obtained permission from the
Regent "to make a visit to his mother, in order to arrange certain family
matters," and gravely gave his approbation to the step. At the same time
it was not possible for the King to resist the temptation of adding one
other stroke of dissimulation to his own share in the comedy. Granvelle
and Philip had deceived all the world, but Philip also deceived
Granvelle. The Cardinal made a mystery of his departure to Pollwiller,
Viglius, Morillon, to the Emperor, to his own brother, and also to the
King's secretary, Gonzalo Perez; but he was not aware that Perez, whom he
thought himself deceiving as ingeniously as he had done all the others,
had himself drawn up the letter of recall, which the King had afterwards
copied out in his own hand and marked "secret and confidential." Yet
Granvelle might have guessed that in such an emergency Philip would
hardly depend upon his own literary abilities.

Granvelle remained month after month in seclusion, doing his best to
philosophize. Already, during the latter period of his residence in the
Netherlands, he had lived in a comparative and forced solitude. His house
had been avoided by those power-worshippers whose faces are rarely turned
to the setting sun. He had, in consequence, already, before his
departure, begun to discourse on the beauties of retirement, the fatigues
of greatness, and the necessity of repose for men broken with the storms
of state. A great man was like a lake, he said, to which a thirsty
multitude habitually resorted till the waters were troubled, sullied, and
finally exhausted. Power looked more attractive in front than in the
retrospect. That which men possessed was ever of less value than that
which they hoped. In this fine strain of eloquent commonplace the falling
minister had already begun to moralize upon the vanity of human wishes.
When he was established at his charming retreat in Burgundy, he had full
leisure to pursue the theme. He remained in retirement till his beard
grew to his waist, having vowed, according to report, that he would not
shave till recalled to the Netherlands. If the report were true, said
some of the gentlemen in the provinces, it would be likely to grow to his
feet. He professed to wish himself blind and deaf that he might have no
knowledge of the world's events, described himself as buried in
literature, and fit for no business save to remain in his chamber,
fastened to his books, or occupied with private affairs and religious
exercises. He possessed a most charming residence at Orchamps, where he
spent a great portion of his time. In one of his letters to
Vice-Chancellor Seld, he described the beauties of this retreat with much
delicacy and vigor--"I am really not as badly off here," said he, "as I
should be in the Indies. I am in sweet places where I have wished for you
a thousand times, for I am certain that you would think them appropriate
for philosophy and worthy the habitation of the Muses. Here are beautiful
mountains, high as heaven, fertile on all their sides, wreathed with
vineyards, and rich with every fruit; here are rivers flowing through
charming valleys, the waters clear as crystal, filled with trout,
breaking into numberless cascades. Here are umbrageous groves, fertile
fields, lovely meadows; on the one aide great warmth, on the other aide
delectable coolness, despite the summer's heat. Nor is there any lack of
good company, friends, and relations, with, as you well know, the very
best wines in the world."

Thus it is obvious that the Cardinal was no ascetic. His hermitage
contained other appliances save those for study and devotion. His retired
life was, in fact, that of a voluptuary. His brother, Chantonnay,
reproached him with the sumptuousness and disorder of his establishment.
He lived in "good and joyous cheer." He professed to be thoroughly
satisfied with the course things had taken, knowing that God was above
all, and would take care of all. He avowed his determination to extract
pleasure and profit even from the ill will of his adversaries. "Behold my
philosophy," he cried, "to live joyously as possible, laughing at the
world, at passionate people, and at all their calumnies." It is evident
that his philosophy, if it had any real existence, was sufficiently
Epicurean. It was, however, mainly compounded of pretence, like his whole
nature and his whole life. Notwithstanding the mountains high as heaven,
the cool grottos, the trout, and the best Burgundy wines in the world,
concerning which he descanted so eloquently, he soon became in reality
most impatient of his compulsory seclusion. His pretence of "composing
himself as much as possible to tranquillity and repose" could deceive
none of the intimate associates to whom he addressed himself in that
edifying vein. While he affected to be blind and deaf to politics, he had
eyes and ears for nothing else. Worldly affairs were his element, and he
was shipwrecked upon the charming solitude which he affected to admire.
He was most anxious to return to the world again, but he had difficult
cards to play. His master was even more dubious than usual about
everything. Granvelle was ready to remain in Burgundy as long as Philip
chose that he should remain there. He was also ready to go to "India,
Peru, or into the fire," whenever his King should require any such
excursion, or to return to the Netherlands, confronting any danger which
might lie in his path. It is probable that he nourished for a long time a
hope that the storm would blow over in the provinces, and his resumption
of power become possible. William of Orange, although more than half
convinced that no attempt would be made to replace the minister, felt it
necessary to keep strict watch on his movements. "We must be on our
guard," said he, "and not be deceived. Perhaps they mean to put us
asleep, in order the better to execute their designs. For the present
things are peaceable, and all the world is rejoiced at the departure of
that good Cardinal." The Prince never committed the error of undervaluing
the talents of his great adversary, and he felt the necessity of being on
the alert in the present emergency. "'Tis a sly and cunning bird that we
are dealing with," said he, "one that sleeps neither day nor night if a
blow is to be dealt to us." Honest Brederode, after solacing himself with
the spectacle of his enemy's departure, soon began to suspect his return,
and to express himself on the subject, as usual, with ludicrous
vehemence. "They say the red fellow is back again," he wrote to Count
Louis, "and that Berlaymont has gone to meet him at Namur. The Devil
after the two would be a good chase." Nevertheless, the chances of that
return became daily fainter. Margaret of Parma hated the Cardinal with
great cordiality. She fell out of her servitude to him into far more
contemptible hands, but for a brief interval she seemed to take a delight
in the recovery of her freedom. According to Viglius, the court, after
Granvelle's departure, was like a school of boys and girls when the
pedagogue's back is turned. He was very bitter against the Duchess for
her manifest joy at emancipation. The poor President was treated with the
most marked disdain by Margaret, who also took pains to show her dislike
to all the cardinalists. Secretary Armenteros forbade Bordey, who was
Granvelle's cousin and dependent, from even speaking to him in public.
The Regent soon became more intimate with Orange and Egmont than she had
ever been with the Cardinal. She was made to see--and, seeing, she became
indignant--the cipher which she had really been during his
administration. "One can tell what's o'clock," wrote Morillon to the
fallen minister, "since she never writes to you nor mentions your name."
As to Armenteros, with whom Granvelle was still on friendly relations, he
was restless in his endeavors to keep the once-powerful priest from
rising again. Having already wormed himself into the confidence of the
Regent, he made a point of showing to the principal seigniors various
letters, in which she had been warned by the Cardinal to put no trust in
them. "That devil," said Armenteros, "thought he had got into Paradise
here; but he is gone, and we shall take care that he never returns." It
was soon thought highly probable that the King was but temporizing, and
that the voluntary departure of the minister had been a deception. Of
course nothing was accurately known upon the subject. Philip had taken
good care of that, but meantime the bets were very high that there would
be no restoration, with but few takers. Men thought if there had been any
royal favor remaining for the great man, that the Duchess would not be so
decided in her demeanor on the subject. They saw that she was scarlet
with indignation whenever the Cardinal's name was mentioned. They heard
her thank Heaven that she had but one son, because if she had had a
second he must have been an ecclesiastic, and as vile as priests always
were. They witnessed the daily contumely which she heaped upon poor
Viglius, both because he was a friend of Granvelle and was preparing in
his old age to take orders. The days were gone, indeed, when Margaret was
so filled with respectful affection for the prelate, that she could
secretly correspond with the Holy Father at Rome, and solicit the red hat
for the object of her veneration. She now wrote to Philip, stating that
she was better informed as to affairs in the Netherlands than she had
ever formerly been. She told her brother that all the views of Granvelle
and of his followers, Viglius with the rest, had tended to produce a
revolution which they hoped that Philip would find in full operation when
he should come to the Netherlands. It was their object, she said, to fish
in troubled waters, and, to attain that aim, they had ever pursued the
plan of gaining the exclusive control of all affairs. That was the reason
why they had ever opposed the convocation of the states-general. They
feared that their books would be read, and their frauds, injustice,
simony, and rapine discovered. This would be the result, if tranquillity
were restored to the country, and therefore they had done their best to
foment and maintain discord. The Duchess soon afterwards entertained her
royal brother with very detailed accounts of various acts of simony,
peculation, and embezzlement committed by Viglius, which the Cardinal had
aided and abetted, and by which he had profited.--[Correspondence de
Phil. II, i. 318-320.]--These revelations are inestimable in a historical
point of view. They do not raise our estimate of Margaret's character,
but they certainly give us a clear insight into the nature of the
Granvelle administration. At the same time it was characteristic of the
Duchess, that while she was thus painting the portrait of the Cardinal
for the private eye of his sovereign, she should address the banished
minister himself in a secret strain of condolence, and even of penitence.
She wrote to assure Granvelle that she repented extremely having adopted
the views of Orange. She promised that she would state publicly every
where that the Cardinal was an upright man, intact in his morals and his
administration, a most zealous and faithful servant of the King. She
added that she recognized the obligations she was under to him, and that
she loved him like a brother. She affirmed that if the Flemish seigniors
had induced her to cause the Cardinal to be deprived of the government,
she was already penitent, and that her fault deserved that the King, her
brother, should cut off her head, for having occasioned so great a
calamity.--["Memoires de Granvelle," tom. 33, p. 67.]

There was certainly discrepancy between the language thus used
simultaneously by the Duchess to Granvelle and to Philip, but Margaret
had been trained in the school of Macchiavelli, and had sat at the feet
of Loyola.

The Cardinal replied with equal suavity, protesting that such a letter
from the Duchess left him nothing more to desire, as it furnished him
with an "entire and perfect justification" of his conduct. He was aware
of her real sentiments, no doubt, but he was too politic to quarrel with
so important a personage as Philip's sister.

An incident which occurred a few months after the minister's departure
served, to show the general estimation in which he was held by all ranks
of Netherlanders. Count Mansfeld celebrated the baptism of his son,
Philip Octavian, by a splendid series of festivities at Luxemburg, the
capital of his government. Besides the tournaments and similar sports,
with which the upper classes of European society were accustomed at that
day to divert themselves, there was a grand masquerade, to which the
public were admitted as spectators. In this "mummery" the most successful
spectacle was that presented by a group arranged in obvious ridicule of
Granvelle. A figure dressed in Cardinal's costume, with the red hat upon
his head, came pacing through the arena upon horseback. Before him
marched a man attired like a hermit, with long white beard, telling his
beads upon a rosary, which he held ostentatiously in his hands. Behind
the mounted Cardinal came the Devil, attired in the usual guise
considered appropriate to the Prince of Darkness, who scourged both horse
and rider with a whip of fog-tails, causing them to scamper about the
lists in great trepidation, to the immense delight of the spectators. The
practical pun upon Simon Renard's name embodied in the fox-tail, with the
allusion to the effect of the manifold squibs perpetrated by that most
bitter and lively enemy upon Granvelle, were understood and relished by
the multitude. Nothing could be more hearty than the blows bestowed upon
the minister's representative, except the applause with which this
satire, composed of actual fustigation, was received. The humorous
spectacle absorbed all the interest of the masquerade, and was frequently
repeated. It seemed difficult to satisfy the general desire to witness a
thorough chastisement of the culprit.

The incident made a great noise in the country. The cardinalists felt
naturally very much enraged, but they were in a minority. No censure came
from the government at Brussels, and Mansfeld was then and for a long
time afterwards the main pillar of royal authority in the Netherlands. It
was sufficiently obvious that Granvelle, for the time at least, was
supported by no party of any influence.

Meantime he remained in his seclusion. His unpopularity did not, however,
decrease in his absence. More than a year after his departure, Berlaymont
said the nobles detested the Cardinal more than ever, and would eat him
alive if they caught him. The chance of his returning was dying gradually
out. At about the same period Chantonnay advised his brother to show his
teeth. He assured Granvelle that he was too quiet in his disgrace,
reminded him that princes had warm affections when they wished to make
use of people, but that when they could have them too cheaply, they
esteemed them but little; making no account of men whom they were
accustomed to see under their feet. He urged the Cardinal, in repeated
letters, to take heart again, to make himself formidable, and to rise
from his crouching attitude. All the world say, he remarked, that the
game is up between the King and yourself, and before long every one will
be laughing at you, and holding you for a dupe.

Stung or emboldened by these remonstrances, and weary of his retirement,
Granvelle at last abandoned all intention of returning to the
Netherlands, and towards the end of 1565, departed to Rome, where he
participated in the election of Pope Pius V. Five years afterwards he was
employed by Philip to negotiate the treaty between Spain, Rome, and
Venice against the Turk. He was afterwards Viceroy of Naples, and in
1575, he removed to Madrid, to take an active part in the management of
the public business, "the disorder of which," says the Abbe Boisot,
"could be no longer arrested by men of mediocre capacity." He died in
that city on the 21st September, 1586, at the age of seventy, and was
buried at Besancon.

We have dwelt at length on the administration of this remarkable
personage, because the period was one of vital importance in the history
of the Netherland commonwealth. The minister who deals with the country
at an epoch when civil war is imminent, has at least as heavy a
responsibility upon his head as the man who goes forth to confront the
armed and full-grown rebellion. All the causes out of which the great
revolt was born, were in violent operation during the epoch of
Granvelle's power. By the manner in which he comported himself in
presence of those dangerous and active elements of the coming
convulsions, must his character as a historical personage be measured.
His individuality had so much to do with the course of the government,
the powers placed in his hands were so vast, and his energy so untiring,
that it is difficult to exaggerate the importance of his influence upon
the destiny of the country which he was permitted to rule. It is for this
reason that we have been at great pains to present his picture, sketched
as it were by his own hand. A few general remarks are, however,
necessary. It is the historian's duty to fix upon one plain and definite
canvas the chameleon colors in which the subtle Cardinal produced his own
image. Almost any theory concerning his character might be laid down and
sustained by copious citations from his works; nay, the most opposite
conclusions as to his interior nature, may be often drawn from a single
one of his private and interminable letters. Embarked under his guidance,
it is often difficult to comprehend the point to which we are tending.
The oarsman's face beams upon us with serenity, but he looks in one
direction, and rows in the opposite course. Even thus it was three
centuries ago. Was it to be wondered at that many did not see the
precipice towards which the bark which held their all was gliding under
the same impulse?

No man has ever disputed Granvelle's talents. From friend and foe his
intellect has received the full measure of applause which it could ever
claim. No doubt his genius was of a rare and subtle kind. His great power
was essentially dramatic in its nature. He mastered the characters of the
men with whom he had to deal, and then assumed them. He practised this
art mainly upon personages of exalted station, for his scheme was to
govern the world by acquiring dominion over its anointed rulers. A smooth
and supple slave in appearance, but, in reality, while his power lasted,
the despot of his masters, he exercised boundless control by enacting
their parts with such fidelity that they were themselves deceived. It is
impossible not to admire the facility with which this accomplished
Proteus successively assumed the characters of Philip and of Margaret,
through all the complicated affairs and voluminous correspondence of his
government.

When envoys of high rank were to be despatched on confidential missions
to Spain, the Cardinal drew their instructions as the Duchess--threw
light upon their supposed motives in secret letters as the King's
sister--and answered their representations with ponderous wisdom as
Philip; transmitting despatches, letters and briefs for royal
conversations, in time to be thoroughly studied before the advent of the
ambassador. Whoever travelled from Brussels to Madrid in order to escape
the influence of the ubiquitous Cardinal, was sure to be confronted with
him in the inmost recesses of the King's cabinet as soon as he was
admitted to an audience. To converse with Philip or Margaret was but to
commune with Antony. The skill with which he played his game, seated
quietly in his luxurious villa, now stretching forth one long arm to move
the King at Madrid, now placing Margaret upon what square he liked, and
dealing with Bishops, Knight of the Fleece, and lesser dignitaries, the
Richardota, the Morillons, the Viglii and the Berlaymonts, with sole
reference to his own scheme of action, was truly of a nature to excite
our special wonder. His aptitude for affairs and his power to read
character were extraordinary; but it was necessary that the affairs
should be those of a despotism, and the characters of an inferior nature.
He could read Philip and Margaret, Egmont or Berlaymont, Alva or Viglius,
but he had no plummet to sound the depths of a mind like that of William
the Silent. His genius was adroit and subtle, but not profound. He aimed
at power by making the powerful subservient, but he had not the intellect
which deals in the daylight face to face with great events and great
minds. In the violent political struggle of which his administration
consisted, he was foiled and thrown by the superior strength of a man
whose warfare was open and manly, and who had no defence against the
poisoned weapons of his foe.

His literary accomplishments were very great. His fecundity was
prodigious, and he wrote at will in seven languages. 'This polyglot
facility was not in itself a very remarkable circumstance, for it grew
out of his necessary education and geographical position. Few men in that
age and region were limited to their mother tongue. The Prince of Orange,
who made no special pretence to learning, possessed at least five
languages. Egmont, who was accounted an ignorant man, was certainly
familiar with three. The Cardinal, however, wrote not only with ease, but
with remarkable elegance, vigor and vivacity, in whatever language he
chose to adopt. The style of his letters and other documents, regarded
simply as compositions, was inferior to that of no writer of the age. His
occasional orations, too, were esteemed models of smooth and flowing
rhetoric, at an epoch when the art of eloquence was not much cultivated.
Yet it must be allowed that beneath all the shallow but harmonious flow
of his periods, it would be idle to search for a grain of golden sand.
Not a single sterling, manly thought is to be found in all his
productions. If at times our admiration is excited with the appearance of
a gem of true philosophy, we are soon obliged to acknowledge, on closer
inspection, that we have been deceived by a false glitter. In retirement,
his solitude was not relieved by serious application to any branch of
knowledge. Devotion to science and to the advancement of learning, a
virtue which has changed the infamy of even baser natures than his into
glory, never dignified his seclusion. He had elegant tastes, he built
fine palaces, he collected paintings, and he discoursed of the fine arts
with the skill and eloquence of a practised connoisseur; but the nectared
fruits of divine philosophy were but harsh and crabbed to him.

His moral characteristics are even more difficult to seize than his
intellectual traits. It is a perplexing task to arrive at the intimate
interior structure of a nature which hardly had an interior. He did not
change, but he presented himself daily in different aspects. Certain
peculiarities he possessed, however, which were unquestionable. He was
always courageous, generally calm. Placed in the midst of a nation which
hated him, exposed to the furious opposition of the most powerful
adversaries, having hardly a friend, except the cowardly Viglius and the
pluralist Morillon, secretly betrayed by Margaret of Parma, insulted by
rude grandees, and threatened by midnight assassins, he never lost his
self-possession, his smooth arrogance, his fortitude. He was
constitutionally brave. He was not passionate in his resentments. To say
that he was forgiving by nature would be an immense error; but that he
could put aside vengeance at the dictate of policy is very certain. He
could temporize, even after the reception of what he esteemed grave
injuries, if the offenders were powerful. He never manifested rancor
against the Duchess. Even after his fall from power in the Netherlands,
he interceded with the Pope in favor of the principality of Orange, which
the pontiff was disposed to confiscate. The Prince was at that time as
good a Catholic as the Cardinal. He was apparently on good terms with his
sovereign, and seemed to have a prosperous career before him. He was not
a personage to be quarrelled with. At a later day, when the position of
that great man was most clearly defined to the world, the Cardinal's
ancient affection for his former friend and pupil did not prevent him
from suggesting the famous ban by which a price was set upon his head,
and his life placed in the hands of every assassin in Europe. It did not
prevent him from indulging in the jocularity of a fiend, when the news of
the first-fruits of that bounty upon murder reached his ears. It did not
prevent him from laughing merrily at the pain which his old friend must
have suffered, shot through the head and face with a musket-ball, and at
the mutilated aspect which his "handsome face must have presented to the
eyes of his apostate wife." It did not prevent him from stoutly
disbelieving and then refusing to be comforted, when the recovery of the
illustrious victim was announced. He could always dissemble without
entirely forgetting his grievances. Certainly, if he were the forgiving
Christian he pictured himself, it is passing strange to reflect upon the
ultimate fate of Egmont, Horn, Montigny, Berghen, Orange, and a host of
others, whose relations with him were inimical.

His extravagance was enormous, and his life luxurious. At the same time
he could leave his brother Champagny--a man, with all his faults, of a
noble nature, and with scarcely inferior talents to his own--to languish
for a long time in abject poverty; supported by the charity of an ancient
domestic. His greediness for wealth was proverbial. No benefice was too
large or too paltry to escape absorption, if placed within his possible
reach. Loaded with places and preferments, rolling in wealth, he
approached his sovereign with the whine of a mendicant. He talked of his
property as a "misery," when he asked for boons, and expressed his thanks
in the language of a slave when he received them. Having obtained the
abbey of St. Armand, he could hardly wait for the burial of the Bishop of
Tournay before claiming the vast revenues of Afflighem, assuring the King
as he did so that his annual income was but eighteen thousand crowns. At
the same time, while thus receiving or pursuing the vast rents of St.
Armand and Afflighem, he could seize the abbey of Trulle from the
expectant hands of poor dependents, and accept tapestries and hogsheads
of wine from Jacques Lequien and others, as a tax on the benefices which
he procured for them. Yet the man who, like his father before him, had so
long fattened on the public money, who at an early day had incurred the
Emperor's sharp reproof for his covetousness, whose family, beside all
these salaries and personal property, possessed already fragments of the
royal domain, in the shape of nineteen baronies and seigniories in
Burgundy, besides the county of Cantecroix and other estates in the
Netherlands, had the effrontery to affirm, "We have always rather
regarded the service of the master than our own particular profit."

In estimating the conduct of the minister, in relation to the provinces,
we are met upon the threshold by a swarm of vague assertions which are of
a nature to blind or distract the judgment. His character must be judged
as a whole, and by its general results, with a careful allowance for
contradictions and equivocations. Truth is clear and single, but the
lights are parti-colored and refracted in the prism of hypocrisy. The
great feature of his administration was a prolonged conflict between
himself and the leading seigniors of the Netherlands. The ground of the
combat was the religious question. Let the quarrel be turned or tortured
in any manner that human ingenuity can devise, it still remains
unquestionable that Granvelle's main object was to strengthen and to
extend the inquisition, that of his adversaries to overthrow the
institution. It followed, necessarily, that the ancient charters were to
be trampled in the dust before that tribunal could be triumphant. The
nobles, although all Catholics, defended the cause of the poor religious
martyrs, the privileges of the nation and the rights of their order. They
were conservatives, battling for the existence of certain great facts,
entirely consonant to any theory of justice and divine reason--for
ancient constitutions which had been purchased with blood and treasure.
"I will maintain," was the motto of William of Orange. Philip, bigoted
and absolute almost beyond comprehension, might perhaps have proved
impervious to any representations, even of Granvelle. Nevertheless, the
minister might have attempted the task, and the responsibility is heavy
upon the man who shared the power and directed the career, but who never
ceased to represent the generous resistance of individuals to frantic
cruelty, as offences against God and the King.

Yet extracts are drawn from his letters to prove that he considered the
Spaniards as "proud and usurping," that he indignantly denied ever having
been in favor of subjecting the Netherlands to the soldiers of that
nation; that he recommended the withdrawal of the foreign regiments, and
that he advised the King, when he came to the country, to bring with him
but few Spanish troops. It should, however, be remembered that he
employed, according to his own statements, every expedient which human
ingenuity could suggest to keep the foreign soldiers in the provinces,
that he "lamented to his inmost soul" their forced departure, and that he
did not consent to that measure until the people were in a tumult, and
the Zealanders threatening to lay the country under the ocean. "You may
judge of the means employed to excite the people," he wrote to Perez in
1563, "by the fact that a report is circulated that the Duke of Alva is
coming hither to tyrannize the provinces." Yet it appears by the
admissions of Del Ryo, one of Alva's blood council, that, "Cardinal
Granvelle expressly advised that an army of Spaniards should be sent to
the Netherlands, to maintain the obedience to his Majesty and the
Catholic religion," and that the Duke of Alva was appointed chief by the
advice of Cardinal Spinosa, and by that of Cardinal Granvelle, as,
appeared by many letters written at the time to his friends. By the same
confessions; it appeared that the course of policy thus distinctly
recommended by Granvelle, "was to place the country under a system of
government like that of Spain and Italy, and to reduce it entirely under
the council of Spain." When the terrible Duke started on his errand of
blood and fire, the Cardinal addressed him, a letter of fulsome flattery;
protesting "that all the world know that no person could be found so
appropriate as he, to be employed in an affair of such importance;"
urging him to advance with his army as rapidly as possible upon the
Netherlands, hoping that "the Duchess of Parma would not be allowed to
consent that any pardon or concession should be made to the cities, by
which the construction of fortresses would be interfered with, or the
revocation of the charters which had been forfeited, be prevented," and
giving him much advice as to the general measures to be adopted, and the
persons to be employed upon his arrival, in which number the infamous
Noircarmes was especially recommended. In a document found among his
papers, these same points, with others, were handled at considerable
length. The incorporation of the provinces into one kingdom, of which the
King was to be crowned absolute sovereign; the establishment of, a
universal law for the Catholic religion, care being taken not to call
that law inquisition, "because there was nothing so odious to the
northern nations as the word Spanish Inquisition, although the thing in
itself be most holy and just;" the abolition and annihilation of the
broad or general council in the cities, the only popular representation
in the country; the construction of many citadels and fortresses to be
garrisoned with Spaniards, Italians, and Germans. Such were the leading
features in that remarkable paper.

The manly and open opposition of the nobles was stigmatized as a cabal by
the offended priest. He repeatedly whispered in the royal ear that their
league was a treasonable conspiracy, which the Attorney-General ought to
prosecute; that the seigniors meant to subvert entirely the authority of
the Sovereign; that they meant to put their King under tutelage, to
compel him to obey all their commands, to choose another prince of the
blood for their chief, to establish a republic by the aid of foreign
troops. If such insinuations, distilled thus secretly into the ear of
Philip, who, like his predecessor, Dionysius, took pleasure in listening
daily to charges against his subjects and to the groans of his prisoners,
were not likely to engender a dangerous gangrene in the royal mind, it
would be difficult to indicate any course which would produce such a
result. Yet the Cardinal maintained that he had never done the gentlemen
ill service, but that "they were angry with him for wishing to sustain
the authority of the master." In almost every letter he expressed vague
generalities of excuse, or even approbation, while he chronicled each
daily fact which occurred to their discredit. The facts he particularly
implored the King to keep to himself, the vague laudation he as urgently
requested him to repeat to those interested. Perpetually dropping small
innuendos like pebbles into the depths of his master's suspicious soul,
he knew that at last the waters of bitterness would overflow, but he
turned an ever-smiling face upon those who were to be his victims. There
was ever something in his irony like the bland request of the inquisitor
to the executioner that he would deal with his prisoners gently. There
was about the same result in regard to such a prayer to be expected from
Philip as from the hangman. Even if his criticisms had been uniformly
indulgent, the position of the nobles and leading citizens thus subjected
to a constant but secret superintendence, would have been too galling to
be tolerated. They did not know, so precisely as we have learned after
three centuries, that all their idle words and careless gestures as well
as their graver proceedings, were kept in a noting book to be pored over
and conned by rote in the recesses of the royal cabinet and the royal
mind; but they suspected the espionage of the Cardinal, and they openly
charged him with his secret malignity.

The men who refused to burn their fellow-creatures for a difference in
religious opinion were stigmatized as demagogues; as ruined spendthrifts
who wished to escape from their liabilities in the midst of revolutionary
confusion; as disguised heretics who were waiting for a good opportunity
to reveal their true characters. Montigny, who, as a Montmorency, was
nearly allied to the Constable and Admiral of France, and was in
epistolary correspondence with those relatives, was held up as a
Huguenot; of course, therefore, in Philip's eye, the most monstrous of
malefactors.

Although no man could strew pious reflections and holy texts more
liberally, yet there was always an afterthought even in his most edifying
letters. A corner of the mask is occasionally lifted and the deadly face
of slow but abiding vengeance is revealed. "I know very well," he wrote,
soon after his fall, to Viglius, "that vengeance is the Lord's-God is my
witness that I pardon all the past." In the same letter, nevertheless, he
added, "My theology, however, does not teach me, that by enduring, one is
to enable one's enemies to commit even greater wrongs. If the royal
justice is not soon put into play, I shall be obliged to right myself.
This thing is going on too long-patience exhausted changes to fury. 'Tis
necessary that every man should assist himself as he can, and when I
choose to throw the game into confusion I shall do it perhaps more
notably than the others." A few weeks afterwards, writing to the same
correspondent, he observed, "We shall have to turn again, and rejoice
together. Whatever the King commands I shall do, even were I to march
into the fire, whatever happens, and without fear or respect for any
person I mean to remain the same man to the end--Durate;--and I have a
head that is hard enough when I do undertake any thing--'nec animism
despondeo'." Here, certainly, was significant foreshadowing of the
general wrath to come, and it was therefore of less consequence that the
portraits painted by him of Berghen, Horn, Montigny, and others, were so
rarely relieved by the more flattering tints which he occasionally
mingled with the sombre coloring of his other pictures. Especially with
regard to Count Egmont, his conduct was somewhat perplexing and, at first
sight, almost inscrutable. That nobleman had been most violent in
opposition to his course, had drawn a dagger upon him, had frequently
covered him with personal abuse, and had crowned his offensive conduct by
the invention of the memorable fool's-cap: livery. Yet the Cardinal
usually spoke of him with pity and gentle consideration, described him as
really well disposed in the main, as misled by others, as a "friend of
smoke," who might easily be gained by flattery and bribery. When there
was question of the Count's going to Madrid, the Cardinal renewed his
compliments with additional expression of eagerness that they should be
communicated to their object. Whence all this Christian meekness in the
author of the Ban against Orange and the eulogist of Alva? The true
explanation of this endurance on the part of the Cardinal lies in the
estimate which he had formed of Egmont's character. Granvelle had taken
the man's measure, and even he could not foresee the unparalleled cruelty
and dulness which were eventually to characterize Philip's conduct
towards him. On the contrary, there was every reason why the Cardinal
should see in the Count a personage whom brilliant services, illustrious
rank, and powerful connexions, had marked for a prosperous future. It was
even currently asserted that Philip was about to create him
Governor-General of the Netherlands, in order to detach him entirely from
Orange, and to bind him more closely to the Crown. He was, therefore, a
man to be forgiven. Nothing apparently but a suspicion of heresy could
damage the prospects of the great noble, and Egmont was orthodox beyond
all peradventure. He was even a bigot in the Catholic faith. He had
privately told the Duchess of Parma that he had always been desirous of
seeing the edicts thoroughly enforced; and he denounced as enemies all
those persons who charged him with ever having been in favor of
mitigating the System. He was reported, to be sure, at about the time of
Granvelle's departure from the Netherlands, to have said "post pocula,
that the quarrel was not with the Cardinal, but with the King, who was
administering the public affairs very badly, even in the matter of
religion." Such a bravado, however, uttered by a gentleman in his cups,
when flushed with a recent political triumph, could hardly outweigh in
the cautious calculations of Granvelle; distinct admissions in favor of
persecution. Egmont in truth stood in fear of the inquisition. The hero
of Gravelingen and St. Quentin actually trembled before Peter Titelmann.
Moreover, notwithstanding all that had past, he had experienced a change
in his sentiments in regard to the Cardinal. He frequently expressed the
opinion that, although his presence in the Netherlands was inadmissible,
he should be glad to see him Pope. He had expressed strong disapprobation
of the buffooning masquerade by which he had been ridiculed at the
Mansfeld christening party. When at Madrid he not only spoke well of
Granvelle himself; but would allow nothing disparaging concerning him to
be uttered in his presence. When, however, Egmont had fallen from favor,
and was already a prisoner, the Cardinal diligently exerted himself to
place under the King's eye what he considered the most damning evidence
of the Count's imaginary treason; a document with which the public
prosecutor had not been made acquainted.

Thus, it will be seen by this retrospect how difficult it is to seize all
the shifting subtleties of this remarkable character. His sophisms even,
when self-contradictory, are so adroit that they are often hard to parry.
He made a great merit to himself for not having originated the new
episcopates; but it should be remembered that he did his utmost to
enforce the measure, which was "so holy a scheme that he would sacrifice
for its success his fortune and his life." He refused the archbishopric
of Mechlin, but his motives for so doing were entirely sordid. His
revenues were for the moment diminished, while his personal distinction
was not, in his opinion, increased by the promotion. He refused to accept
it because "it was no addition to his dignity, as he was already Cardinal
and Bishop of Arras," but in this statement he committed an important
anachronism. He was not Cardinal when he refused the see of Mechlin;
having received the red hat upon February 26, 1561, and having already
accepted the archbishopric in May of the preceding year. He affirmed that
"no man would more resolutely defend the liberty and privileges of the
provinces than he would do," but he preferred being tyrannized by his
prince, to maintaining the joyful entrance. He complained of the
insolence of the states in meddling with the supplies; he denounced the
convocation of the representative bodies, by whose action alone, what
there was of "liberty and privilege" in the land could be guarded; he
recommended the entire abolition of the common councils in the cities. He
described himself as having always combated the opinion that "any thing
could be accomplished by terror, death and violence," yet he recommended
the mission of Alva, in whom "terror, death, and violence" were
incarnate. He was indignant that he should be accused of having advised
the introduction of the Spanish inquisition; but his reason was that the
term sounded disagreeably in northern ears, while the thing was most
commendable. He manifested much anxiety that the public should be
disabused of their fear of the Spanish inquisition, but he was the
indefatigable supporter of the Netherland inquisition, which Philip
declared with reason to be "the more pitiless institution" of the two. He
was the author, not of the edicts, but of their re-enactment, verbally
and literally, in all the horrid extent to which they had been carried by
Charles the Fifth; and had recommended the use of the Emperor's name to
sanctify the infernal scheme. He busied himself personally in the
execution of these horrible laws, even when judge and hangman slackened.
To the last he denounced all those "who should counsel his Majesty to
permit a moderation of the edicts," and warned the King that if he should
consent to the least mitigation of their provisions, things would go
worse in the provinces than in France. He was diligent in establishing
the reinforced episcopal inquisition side by side with these edicts, and
with the papal inquisition already in full operation. He omitted no
occasion of encouraging the industry of all these various branches in the
business of persecution. When at last the loud cry from the oppressed
inhabitants of Flanders was uttered in unanimous denunciation by the four
estates of that province of the infamous Titelmann, the Cardinal's voice,
from the depths of his luxurious solitude, was heard, not in sympathy
with the poor innocent wretches, who were daily dragged from their humble
homes to perish by sword and fire, but in pity for the inquisitor who was
doing the work of hell. "I deeply regret," he wrote to Viglius, "that the
states of Flanders should be pouting at inquisitor Titelmann. Truly he
has good zeal, although sometimes indiscreet and noisy; still he must be
supported, lest they put a bridle upon him, by which his authority will
be quite enervated." The reader who is acquainted with the personality of
Peter Titelmann can decide as to the real benignity of the joyous
epicurean who could thus commend and encourage such a monster of cruelty.

If popularity be a test of merit in a public man, it certainly could not
be claimed by the Cardinal. From the moment when Gresham declared him to
be "hated of all men," down to the period of his departure, the odium
resting upon him had been rapidly extending: He came to the country with
two grave accusations resting upon his name. The Emperor Maximilian
asserted that the Cardinal had attempted to take his life by poison, and
he persisted in the truth of the charge thus made by him, till the day of
his death. Another accusation was more generally credited. He was the
author of the memorable forgery by which the Landgrave Philip of Hesse
had been entrapped into his long imprisonment. His course in and towards
the Netherlands has been sufficiently examined. Not a single charge has
been made lightly, but only after careful sifting of evidence. Moreover
they are all sustained mainly from the criminal's own lips. Yet when the
secrecy of the Spanish cabinet and the Macchiavellian scheme of policy by
which the age was characterized are considered, it is not strange that
there should have been misunderstandings and contradictions with regard
to the man's character till a full light had been thrown upon it by the
disinterment of ancient documents. The word "Durate," which was the
Cardinals device, may well be inscribed upon his mask, which has at last
been torn aside, but which was formed of such durable materials, that it
has deceived the world for three centuries.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Attempting to swim in two waters
     Dissimulation and delay
     Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
     Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
     Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
     More accustomed to do well than to speak well
     Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
     Procrastination was always his first refuge
     They had at last burned one more preacher alive




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 9.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1564-1565 [CHAPTER V.]

   Return of the three seigniors to the state council--Policy of
   Orange--Corrupt character of the government--Efforts of the Prince
   in favor of reform--Influence of Armenteros--Painful situation of
   Viglius--His anxiety to retire--Secret charges against him
   transmitted by the Duchess to Philip--Ominous signs of the times--
   Attention of Philip to the details of persecution--Execution of
   Fabricius, and tumult at Antwerp--Horrible cruelty towards the
   Protestants--Remonstrance of the Magistracy of Bruges and of the
   four Flemish estates against Titelmann--Obduracy of Philip--Council
   of Trent--Quarrel for precedence between the French and Spanish
   envoys--Order for the publication of the Trent decrees in the
   Netherlands--Opposition to the measure--Reluctance of the Duchess--
   Egmont accepts a mission to Spain--Violent debate in the council
   concerning his instructions--Remarkable speech of Orange--Apoplexy
   of Viglius--Temporary appointment of Hopper--Departure of Egmont--
   Disgraceful scene at Cambray--Character of the Archbishop--Egmont in
   Spain--Flattery and bribery--Council of Doctors--Vehement
   declarations of Philip--His instructions to Egmont at his departure
   --Proceedings of Orange in regard to his principality--Egmont's
   report to the state council concerning his mission--His vainglory--
   Renewed orders from Philip to continue the persecution--Indignation
   of Egmont--Habitual dissimulation of the King--Reproof of Egmont by
   Orange--Assembly of doctors in Brussels--Result of their
   deliberations transmitted to Philip--Universal excitement in the
   Netherlands--New punishment for heretics--Interview at Bayonne
   between Catharine de Medici and her daughter, the Queen of Spain--
   Mistaken views upon this subject--Diplomacy of Alva--Artful conduct
   of Catharine--Stringent letters from Philip to the Duchess with
   regard to the inquisition--Consternation of Margaret and of Viglius
   --New proclamation of the Edicts, the Inquisition, and the Council
   of Trent--Fury of the people--Resistance of the leading seigniors
   and of the Brabant Council--Brabant declared free of the
   inquisition--Prince Alexander of Parma betrothed to Donna Maria of
   Portugal--Her portrait--Expensive preparations for the nuptials--
   Assembly of the Golden Fleece--Oration of Viglius--Wedding of Prince
   Alexander.

The remainder of the year, in the spring of which the Cardinal had left
the Netherlands, was one of anarchy, confusion, and corruption. At first
there had been a sensation of relief.

Philip had exchanged letters of exceeding amity with Orange, Egmont, and
Horn. These three seigniors had written, immediately upon Granvelle's
retreat, to assure the King of their willingness to obey the royal
commands, and to resume their duties at the state council. They had,
however, assured the Duchess that the reappearance of the Cardinal in the
country would be the signal for their instantaneous withdrawal. They
appeared at the council daily, working with the utmost assiduity often
till late into the night. Orange had three great objects in view, by
attaining which the country, in his opinion, might yet be saved, and the
threatened convulsions averted. These were to convoke the states-general,
to moderate or abolish the edicts, and to suppress the council of finance
and the privy council, leaving only the council of state. The two first
of these points, if gained, would, of course, subvert the whole absolute
policy which Philip and Granvelle had enforced; it was, therefore, hardly
probable that any impression would be made upon the secret determination
of the government in these respects. As to the council of state, the
limited powers of that body, under the administration of the Cardinal,
had formed one of the principal complaints against that minister. The
justice and finance councils were sinks of iniquity. The most barefaced
depravity reigned supreme. A gangrene had spread through the whole
government. The public functionaries were notoriously and outrageously
venal. The administration of justice had been poisoned at the fountain,
and the people were unable to slake their daily thirst at the polluted
stream. There was no law but the law of the longest purse. The highest
dignitaries of Philip's appointment had become the most mercenary
hucksters who ever converted the divine temple of justice into a den of
thieves. Law was an article of merchandise, sold by judges to the highest
bidder. A poor customer could obtain nothing but stripes and
imprisonment, or, if tainted with suspicion of heresy, the fagot or the
sword, but for the rich every thing was attainable. Pardons for the most
atrocious crimes, passports, safe conducts, offices of trust and honor,
were disposed of at auction to the highest bidder. Against all this sea
of corruption did the brave William of Orange set his breast, undaunted
and unflinching. Of all the conspicuous men in the land, he was the only
one whose worst enemy had never hinted through the whole course of his
public career, that his hands had known contamination. His honor was ever
untarnished by even a breath of suspicion. The Cardinal could accuse him
of pecuniary embarrassment, by which a large proportion of his revenues
were necessarily diverted to the liquidation of his debts, but he could
not suggest that the Prince had ever freed himself from difficulties by
plunging his hands into the public treasury, when it might easily have
been opened to him.

It was soon, however, sufficiently obvious that as desperate a struggle
was to be made with the many-headed monster of general corruption as with
the Cardinal by whom it had been so long fed and governed. The Prince was
accused of ambition and intrigue. It was said that he was determined to
concentrate all the powers of government in the state council, which was
thus to become an omnipotent and irresponsible senate, while the King
would be reduced to the condition of a Venetian Doge. It was, of course,
suggested that it was the aim of Orange to govern the new Tribunal of
Ten. No doubt the Prince was ambitious. Birth, wealth, genius, and virtue
could not have been bestowed in such eminent degree on any man without
carrying with them the determination to assert their value. It was not
his wish so much as it was the necessary law of his being to impress
himself upon his age and to rule his fellow-men. But he practised no arts
to arrive at the supremacy which he felt must always belong to him, what
ever might be his nominal position in the political hierarchy. He was
already, although but just turned of thirty years, vastly changed from
the brilliant and careless grandee, as he stood at the hour of the
imperial abdication. He was becoming careworn in face, thin of figure,
sleepless of habit. The wrongs of which he was the daily witness, the
absolutism, the cruelty, the rottenness of the government, had marked his
face with premature furrows. "They say that the Prince is very sad,"
wrote Morillon to Granvelle; "and 'tis easy to read as much in his face.
They say he can not sleep." Truly might the monarch have taken warning
that here was a man who was dangerous, and who thought too much.
"Sleekheaded men, and such as slept o' nights," would have been more
eligible functionaries, no doubt, in the royal estimation, but, for a
brief period, the King was content to use, to watch, and to suspect the
man who was one day to be his great and invincible antagonist. He
continued assiduous at the council, and he did his best, by entertaining
nobles and citizens at his hospitable mansion, to cultivate good
relations with large numbers of his countrymen. He soon, however, had
become disgusted with the court. Egmont was more lenient to the foul
practices which prevailed there, and took almost a childish pleasure in
dining at the table of the Duchess, dressed, as were many of the younger
nobles, in short camlet doublet with the wheat-sheaf buttons.

The Prince felt more unwilling to compromise his personal dignity by
countenancing the flagitious proceedings and the contemptible supremacy
of Armenteros, and it was soon very obvious, therefore, that Egmont was a
greater favorite at court than Orange. At the same time the Count was
also diligently cultivating the good graces of the middle and lower
classes in Brussels, shooting with the burghers at the popinjay, calling
every man by his name, and assisting at jovial banquets in town-house or
guild-hall. The Prince, although at times a necessary partaker also in
these popular amusements, could find small cause for rejoicing in the
aspect of affairs. When his business led him to the palace, he was
sometimes forced to wait in the ante-chamber for an hour, while Secretary
Armenteros was engaged in private consultation with Margaret upon the
most important matters of administration. It could not be otherwise than
galling to the pride and offensive to the patriotism of the Prince, to
find great public transactions entrusted to such hands. Thomas de
Armenteros was a mere private secretary--a simple clerk. He had no right
to have cognizance of important affairs, which could only come before his
Majesty's sworn advisers. He was moreover an infamous peculator. He was
rolling up a fortune with great rapidity by his shameless traffic in
benefices, charges, offices, whether of church or state. His name of
Armenteros was popularly converted into Argenteros, in order to symbolize
the man who was made of public money. His confidential intimacy with the
Duchess procured for him also the name of "Madam's barber," in allusion
to the famous ornaments of Margaret's upper lip, and to the celebrated
influence enjoyed by the barbers of the Duke of Savoy, and of Louis the
Eleventh. This man sold dignities and places of high responsibility at
public auction. The Regent not only connived at these proceedings, which
would have been base enough, but she was full partner in the disgraceful
commerce. Through the agency of the Secretary, she, too, was amassing a
large private fortune. "The Duchess has gone into the business of vending
places to the highest bidders," said Morillon, "with the bit between her
teeth." The spectacle presented at the council-board was often
sufficiently repulsive not only to the cardinalists, who were treated
with elaborate insolence, but to all men who loved honor and justice, or
who felt an interest in the prosperity of government. There was nothing
majestic in the appearance of the Duchess, as she sat conversing apart
with Armenteros, whispering, pinching, giggling, or disputing, while
important affairs of state were debated, concerning which the Secretary
had no right to be informed. It was inevitable that Orange should be
offended to the utmost by such proceedings, although he was himself
treated with comparative respect. As for the ancient adherents of
Granvelle, the Bordeys, Baves, and Morillons, they were forbidden by the
favorite even to salute him in the streets. Berlaymont was treated by the
Duchess with studied insult. "What is the man talking about?" she would
ask with languid superciliousness, if he attempted to express his opinion
in the state-council. Viglius, whom Berlaymont accused of doing his best,
without success, to make his peace with the seigniors, was in even still
greater disgrace than his fellow-cardinalists. He longed, he said, to be
in Burgundy, drinking Granvelle's good wine. His patience under the daily
insults which he received from the government made him despicable in the
eyes of his own party. He was described by his friends as pusillanimous
to an incredible extent, timid from excess of riches, afraid of his own
shadow. He was becoming exceedingly pathetic, expressing frequently a
desire to depart and end his days in peace. His faithful Hopper sustained
and consoled him, but even Joachim could not soothe his sorrows when he
reflected that after all the work performed by himself and colleagues,
"they had only been beating the bush for others," while their own share
in the spoils had been withheld. Nothing could well be more contumelious
than Margaret's treatment of the learned Frisian. When other councillors
were summoned to a session at three o'clock, the President was invited at
four. It was quite impossible for him to have an audience of the Duchess
except in the presence of the inevitable Armenteras. He was not allowed
to open his mouth, even when he occasionally plucked up heart enough to
attempt the utterance of his opinions. His authority was completely dead.
Even if he essayed to combat the convocation of the states-general by the
arguments which the Duchess, at his suggestion, had often used for the
purpose, he was treated with the same indifference. "The poor President,"
wrote Granvelle to the King's chief secretary, Gonzalo Perez, "is afraid,
as I hear, to speak a word, and is made to write exactly what they tell
him." At the same time the poor President, thus maltreated and mortified,
had the vanity occasionally to imagine himself a bold and formidable
personage. The man whom his most intimate friends described as afraid of
his own shadow, described himself to Granvelle as one who went his own
gait, speaking his mind frankly upon every opportunity, and compelling
people to fear him a little, even if they did not love him. But the
Cardinal knew better than to believe in this magnanimous picture of the
doctor's fancy.

Viglius was anxious to retire, but unwilling to have the appearance of
being disgraced. He felt instinctively, although deceived as to the
actual facts, that his great patron had been defeated and banished. He
did not wish to be placed in the same position. He was desirous, as he
piously expressed himself, of withdrawing from the world, "that he might
balance his accounts with the Lord, before leaving the lodgings of life."
He was, however, disposed to please "the master" as well as the Lord. He
wished to have the royal permission to depart in peace. In his own lofty
language, he wished to be sprinkled on taking his leave "with the holy
water of the court." Moreover, he was fond of his salary, although he
disliked the sarcasms of the Duchess. Egmont and others had advised him
to abandon the office of President to Hopper, in order, as he was getting
feeble, to reserve his whole strength for the state-council. Viglius did
not at all relish the proposition. He said that by giving up the seals,
and with them the rank and salary which they conferred, he should become
a deposed saint. He had no inclination, as long as he remained on the
ground at all, to part with those emoluments and honors, and to be
converted merely into the "ass of the state-council." He had, however,
with the sagacity of an old navigator, already thrown out his anchor into
the best holding-ground during the storms which he foresaw were soon to
sweep the state. Before the close of the year which now occupies, the
learned doctor of laws had become a doctor of divinity also; and had
already secured, by so doing, the wealthy prebend of Saint Bavon of
Ghent. This would be a consolation in the loss of secular dignities, and
a recompence for the cold looks of the Duchess. He did not scruple to
ascribe the pointed dislike which Margaret manifested towards him to the
awe in which she stood of his stern integrity of character. The true
reason why Armenteros and the Duchess disliked him was because, in his
own words, "he was not of their mind with regard to lotteries, the sale
of offices, advancement to abbeys, and many other things of the kind, by
which they were in such a hurry to make their fortune." Upon another
occasion he observed, in a letter to Granvelle, that "all offices were
sold to the highest bidder, and that the cause of Margaret's resentment
against both the Cardinal and himself was, that they had so long
prevented her from making the profit which she was now doing from the
sale of benefices, offices, and other favors."

The Duchess, on her part, characterized the proceedings and policy, both
past and present, of the cardinalists as factious, corrupt, and selfish
in the last degree. She assured her brother that the simony, rapine, and
dishonesty of Granvelle, Viglius, and all their followers, had brought
affairs into the ruinous condition which was then but too apparent. They
were doing their best, she said, since the Cardinal's departure, to show,
by their sloth and opposition, that they were determined to allow nothing
to prosper in his absence. To quote her own vigorous expression to
Philip--"Viglius made her suffer the pains of hell." She described him as
perpetually resisting the course of the administration, and she threw out
dark suspicions, not only as to his honesty but his orthodoxy. Philip
lent a greedy ear to these scandalous hints concerning the late
omnipotent minister and his friends. It is an instructive lesson in human
history to look through the cloud of dissimulation in which the actors of
this remarkable epoch were ever enveloped, and to watch them all stabbing
fiercely at each other in the dark, with no regard to previous
friendship, or even present professions. It is edifying to see the
Cardinal, with all his genius and all his grimace, corresponding on
familiar terms with Armenteros, who was holding him up to obloquy upon
all occasions; to see Philip inclining his ear in pleased astonishment to
Margaret's disclosures concerning the Cardinal, whom he was at the very
instant assuring of his undiminished confidence; and to see Viglius, the
author of the edict of 1550, and the uniform opponent of any mitigation
in its horrors, silently becoming involved without the least suspicion of
the fact in the meshes of inquisitor Titelmann.

Upon Philip's eager solicitations for further disclosures, Margaret
accordingly informed her brother of additional facts communicated to her,
after oaths of secrecy had been exchanged, by Titelmann and his colleague
del Canto. They had assured her, she said, that there were grave doubts
touching the orthodoxy of Viglius. He had consorted with heretics during
a large portion of his life, and had put many suspicious persons into
office. As to his nepotism, simony, and fraud, there was no doubt at all.
He had richly provided all his friends and relations in Friesland with
benefices. He had become in his old age a priest and churchman, in order
to snatch the provostship of Saint Bavon, although his infirmities did
not allow him to say mass, or even to stand erect at the altar. The
inquisitors had further accused him of having stolen rings, jewels,
plate, linen, beds, tapestry, and other furniture, from the
establishment, all which property he had sent to Friesland, and of having
seized one hundred thousand florins in ready money which had belonged to
the last abbe--an act consequently of pure embezzlement. The Duchess
afterwards transmitted to Philip an inventory of the plundered property,
including the furniture of nine houses, and begged him to command Viglius
to make instant restitution. If there be truth in the homely proverb,
that in case of certain quarrels honest men recover their rights, it is
perhaps equally certain that when distinguished public personages attack
each other, historians may arrive at the truth. Here certainly are
edifying pictures of the corruption of the Spanish regency in the
Netherlands, painted by the President of the state-council, and of the
dishonesty of the President painted by the Regent.

A remarkable tumult occurred in October of this year, at Antwerp. A
Carmelite monk, Christopher Smith, commonly called Fabricius, had left a
monastery in Bruges, adopted the principles of the Reformation, and taken
to himself a wife. He had resided for a time in England; but, invited by
his friends, he had afterwards undertaken the dangerous charge of
gospel-teacher in the commercial metropolis of the Netherlands. He was,
however, soon betrayed to the authorities by a certain bonnet dealer,
popularly called Long Margaret, who had pretended, for the sake of
securing the informer's fee, to be a convert to his doctrines. He was
seized, and immediately put to the torture. He manfully refused to betray
any members of his congregation, as manfully avowed and maintained his
religious creed. He was condemned to the flames, and during the interval
which preceded his execution, he comforted his friends by letters of
advice, religious consolation and encouragement, which he wrote from his
dungeon. He sent a message to the woman who had betrayed him, assuring
her of his forgiveness, and exhorting her to repentance. His calmness,
wisdom, and gentleness excited the admiration of all. When; therefore,
this humble imitator of Christ was led through the streets of Antwerp to
the stake, the popular emotion was at once visible. To the multitude who
thronged about the executioners with threatening aspect, he addressed an
urgent remonstrance that they would not compromise their own safety by a
tumult in his cause. He invited all, however, to remain steadfast to the
great truth for which he was about to lay down his life. The crowd, as
they followed the procession of hangmen, halberdsmen, and magistrates,
sang the hundred and thirtieth psalm in full chorus. As the victim
arrived upon the market-place, he knelt upon the ground to pray, for the
last time. He was, however, rudely forced to rise by the executioner, who
immediately chained him to the stake, and fastened a leathern strap
around his throat. At this moment the popular indignation became
uncontrollable; stones were showered upon the magistrates and soldiers,
who, after a slight resistance, fled for their lives. The foremost of the
insurgents dashed into the enclosed arena, to rescue the prisoner. It was
too late. The executioner, even as he fled, had crushed the victim's head
with a sledge hammer, and pierced him through and through with a poniard.
Some of the bystanders maintained afterwards that his fingers and lips
were seen to move, as if in feeble prayer, for a little time longer,
until, as the fire mounted, he fell into the flames. For the remainder of
the day, after the fire had entirely smouldered to ashes, the charred and
half-consumed body of the victim remained on the market-place, a ghastly
spectacle to friend and foe. It was afterwards bound to a stone and cast
into the Scheld. Such was the doom of Christopher Fabricius, for having
preached Christianity in Antwerp. During the night an anonymous placard,
written with blood, was posted upon the wall of the town-house, stating
that there were men in the city who would signally avenge his murder.
Nothing was done, however, towards the accomplishment of the threat. The
King, when he received the intelligence of the transaction, was furious
with indignation, and wrote savage letters to his sister, commanding
instant vengeance to be taken upon all concerned in so foul a riot. As
one of the persons engaged had, however, been arrested and immediately
hanged, and as the rest had effected their escape, the affair was
suffered to drop.

The scenes of outrage, the frantic persecutions, were fast becoming too
horrible to be looked upon by Catholic or Calvinist. The prisons swarmed
with victims, the streets were thronged with processions to the stake.
The population of thriving cities, particularly in Flanders, were
maddened by the spectacle of so much barbarity inflicted, not upon
criminals, but usually upon men remarkable for propriety of conduct and
blameless lives. It was precisely at this epoch that the burgomasters,
senators, and council of the city of Bruges (all Catholics) humbly
represented to the Duchess Regent, that Peter Titelmann, inquisitor of
the Faith, against all forms of law, was daily exercising inquisition
among the inhabitants, not only against those suspected or accused of
heresy, but against all, however untainted their characters; that he was
daily citing before him whatever persons he liked, men or women,
compelling them by force to say whatever it pleased him; that he was
dragging people from their houses, and even from the sacred precincts of
the church; often in revenge for verbal injuries to himself, always under
pretext of heresy, and without form or legal warrant of any kind. They
therefore begged that he might be compelled to make use of preparatory
examinations with the co-operation of the senators of the city, to suffer
that witnesses should make their depositions without being intimidated by
menace, and to conduct all his subsequent proceedings according to legal
forms, which he had uniformly violated; publicly declaring that he would
conduct himself according to his own pleasure.

The four estates of Flanders having, in a solemn address to the King,
represented the same facts, concluded their brief but vigorous
description of Titelmann's enormities by calling upon Philip to suppress
these horrible practices, so manifestly in violation of the ancient
charters which he had sworn to support. It may be supposed that the
appeal to Philip would be more likely to call down a royal benediction
than the reproof solicited upon the inquisitor's head. In the privy
council, the petitions and remonstrances were read, and, in the words of
the President, "found to be in extremely bad taste." In the debate which
followed, Viglius and his friends recalled to the Duchess, in earnest
language, the decided will of the King, which had been so often
expressed. A faint representation was made, on the other hand, of the
dangerous consequences, in case the people were driven to a still deeper
despair. The result of the movement was but meagre. The Duchess announced
that she could do nothing in the matter of the request until further
information, but that meantime she had charged Titelmann to conduct
himself in his office "with discretion and modesty." The discretion and
modesty, however, never appeared in any modification of the inquisitor's
proceedings, and he continued unchecked in his infamous career until
death, which did not occur till several years afterwards. In truth,
Margaret was herself in mortal fear of this horrible personage. He
besieged her chamber door almost daily, before she had risen, insisting
upon audiences which, notwithstanding her repugnance to the man, she did
not dare to refuse. "May I perish," said Morillon, "if she does not stand
in exceeding awe of Titelmann." Under such circumstances, sustained by
the King in Spain, the Duchess in Brussels, the privy council, and by a
leading member of what had been thought the liberal party, it was not
difficult for the inquisition to maintain its ground, notwithstanding the
solemn protestations of the estates and the suppressed curses of the
people.

Philip, so far from having the least disposition to yield in the matter
of the great religious persecution, was more determined as to his course
than ever. He had already, as easy as August of this year, despatched
orders to the Duchess that the decrees of the Council of Trent should be
published and enforced throughout the Netherlands. The memorable quarrel
as to precedency between the French and Spanish delegates had given some
hopes of a different determination. Nevertheless, those persons who
imagined that, in consequence of this quarrel of etiquette, Philip would
slacken in his allegiance to the Church, were destined to be bitterly
mistaken. He informed his sister that, in the common cause of
Christianity, he should not be swayed by personal resentments.

How, indeed, could a different decision be expected? His envoy at Rome,
as well as his representatives at the council, had universally repudiated
all doubts as to the sanctity of its decrees. "To doubt the infallibility
of the council, as some have dared to do," said Francis de Vargas, "and
to think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all."
Nothing could so much disturb and scandalize the world as such a
sentiment. Therefore the Archbishop of Granada told, very properly, the
Bishop of Tortosa, that if he should express such an opinion in Spain,
they would burn him. These strenuous notions were shared by the King.
Therefore, although all Europe was on tip-toe with expectation to see how
Philip would avenge himself for the slight put upon his ambassador,
Philip disappointed all Europe.

In August, 1564, he wrote to the Duchess Regent, that the decrees were to
be proclaimed and enforced without delay. They related to three subjects,
the doctrines to be inculcated by the Church, the reformation of
ecclesiastical moral, and the education of the people. General police
regulations were issued at the same time, by which heretics were to be
excluded from all share in the usual conveniences of society, and were in
fact to be strictly excommunicated. Inns were to receive no guests,
schools no children, alms-houses no paupers, grave-yards no dead bodies,
unless guests, children, paupers, and dead bodies were furnished with the
most satisfactory proofs of orthodoxy. Midwives of unsuspected Romanism
were alone to exercise their functions, and were bound to give notice
within twenty-four hours of every birth which occurred; the parish clerks
were as regularly to record every such addition to the population, and
the authorities to see that Catholic baptism was administered in each
case with the least possible delay. Births, deaths, and marriages could
only occur with validity under the shadow of the Church. No human being
could consider himself born or defunct unless provided with a priest's
certificate. The heretic was excluded, so far as ecclesiastical dogma
could exclude him, from the pale of humanity, from consecrated earth, and
from eternal salvation.

The decrees contained many provisions which not only conflicted with the
privileges of the provinces, but with the prerogatives of the sovereign.
For this reason many of the lords in council thought that at least the
proper exceptions should be made upon their promulgation. This was also
the opinion of the Duchess, but the King, by his letters of October, and
November (1564), expressly prohibited any alteration in the ordinances,
and transmitted a copy of the form according to which the canons had been
published in Spain, together with the expression of his desire that a
similar course should be followed in the Netherlands. Margaret of Parma
was in great embarrassment. It was evident that the publication could no
longer be deferred. Philip had issued his commands, but grave senators
and learned doctors of the university had advised strongly in favor of
the necessary exceptions. The extreme party, headed by Viglius, were in
favor of carrying out the royal decisions. They were overruled, and the
Duchess was induced to attempt a modification, if her brother's
permission could be obtained. The President expressed the opinion that
the decrees, even with the restrictions proposed, would "give no
contentment to the people, who, moreover, had no right to meddle with
theology." The excellent Viglius forgot, however, that theology had been
meddling altogether too much with the people to make it possible that the
public attention should be entirely averted from the subject. Men and
women who might be daily summoned to rack, stake, and scaffold, in the
course of these ecclesiastical arrangements, and whose births, deaths,
marriages, and position in the next world, were now to be formally
decided upon, could hardly be taxed with extreme indiscretion, if they
did meddle with the subject.

In the dilemma to which the Duchess was reduced, she again bethought
herself of a special mission to Spain. At the end of the year (1564), it
was determined that Egmont should be the envoy. Montigny excused himself
on account of private affairs; Marquis Berghen "because of his
indisposition and corpulence." There was a stormy debate in council after
Egmont had accepted the mission and immediately before his departure.
Viglius had been ordered to prepare the Count's instructions. Having
finished the rough draught, he laid it before the board. The paper was
conceived in general terms and might mean any thing or nothing. No
criticism upon its language was, however, offered until it came to the
turn of Orange to vote upon the document. Then, however, William the
Silent opened his lips, and poured forth a long and vehement discourse,
such as he rarely pronounced, but such as few except himself could utter.
There was no shuffling, no disguise, no timidity in his language. He took
the ground boldly that the time had arrived for speaking out. The object
of sending an envoy of high rank and European reputation like the Count
of Egmont, was to tell the King the truth. Let Philip know it now. Let
him be unequivocally informed that this whole machinery of placards and
scaffolds, of new bishops and old hangmen, of decrees, inquisitors, and
informers, must once and forever be abolished. Their day was over. The
Netherlands were free provinces, they were surrounded by free countries,
they were determined to vindicate their ancient privileges. Moreover, his
Majesty was to be plainly informed of the frightful corruption which made
the whole judicial and administrative system loathsome. The venality
which notoriously existed every where, on the bench, in the council
chamber, in all public offices, where purity was most essential, was
denounced by the Prince in scathing terms. He tore the mask from
individual faces, and openly charged the Chancellor of Brabant, Engelbert
Maas, with knavery and corruption. He insisted that the King should be
informed of the necessity of abolishing the two inferior councils, and of
enlarging the council of state by the admission of ten or twelve new
members selected for their patriotism, purity, and capacity. Above all,
it was necessary plainly to inform his Majesty that the canons of Trent,
spurned by the whole world, even by the Catholic princes of Germany,
could never be enforced in the Netherlands, and that it would be ruinous
to make the attempt. He proposed and insisted that the Count of Egmont
should be instructed accordingly. He avowed in conclusion that he was a
Catholic himself and intended to remain in the Faith, but that he could
not look on with pleasure when princes strove to govern the souls of men,
and to take away their liberty in matters of conscience and religion.

Here certainly was no daintiness of phraseology, and upon these leading
points, thus slightly indicated, William of Orange poured out his
eloquence, bearing conviction upon the tide of his rapid invective. His
speech lasted till seven in the evening, when the Duchess adjourned the
meeting. The council broke up, the Regent went to supper, but the effect
of the discourse upon nearly all the members was not to be mistaken.
Viglius was in a state of consternation, perplexity, and despair. He felt
satisfied that, with perhaps the exception of Berlaymont, all who had
listened or should afterwards listen to the powerful arguments of Orange,
would be inevitably seduced or bewildered. The President lay awake,
tossing and tumbling in his bed, recalling the Prince's oration, point by
point, and endeavoring, to answer it in order. It was important, he felt,
to obliterate the impression produced. Moreover, as we have often seen,
the learned Doctor valued himself upon his logic.

It was absolutely necessary, therefore, that in his reply, next day, his
eloquence should outshine that of his antagonist. The President thus
passed a feverish and uncomfortable night, pronouncing and listening to
imaginary harangues. With the dawn of day he arose and proceeded to dress
himself. The excitement of the previous evening and the subsequent
sleeplessness of his night had, however, been too much for his feeble and
slightly superannuated frame. Before he had finished his toilet, a stroke
of apoplexy stretched him senseless upon the floor. His servants, when
they soon afterwards entered the apartment, found him rigid, and to all
appearance dead. After a few days, however, he recovered his physical
senses in part, but his reason remained for a longer time shattered, and
was never perhaps fully restored to its original vigor.

This event made it necessary that his place in the council should be
supplied. Viglius had frequently expressed intentions of retiring, a
measure to which he could yet never fully make up his mind. His place was
now temporarily supplied by his friend and countryman, Joachim Hopper,
like himself a Frisian doctor of ancient blood and extensive
acquirements, well versed in philosophy and jurisprudence; a professor of
Louvain and a member of the Mechlin council. He was likewise the original
founder and projector of Douay University, an institution which at
Philip's desire he had successfully organized in 1556, in order that a
French university might be furnished for Walloon youths, as a substitute
for the seductive and poisonous Paris. For the rest, Hopper was a mere
man of routine. He was often employed in private affairs by Philip,
without being entrusted with the secret at the bottom of them. His mind
was a confused one, and his style inexpressibly involved and tedious.
"Poor master Hopper," said Granvelle, "did not write the best French in
the world; may the Lord forgive him. He was learned in letters, but knew
very little of great affairs." His manners were as cringing as his
intellect was narrow. He never opposed the Duchess, so that his
colleagues always called him Councillor "Yes, Madam," and he did his best
to be friends with all the world.

In deference to the arguments of Orange, the instructions for Egmont were
accordingly considerably modified from the original draughts of Viglius.
As drawn up by the new President, they contained at least a few hints to
his Majesty as to the propriety of mitigating the edicts and extending
some mercy to his suffering people. The document was, however, not very
satisfactory to the Prince, nor did he perhaps rely very implicitly upon
the character of the envoy.

Egmont set forth upon his journey early in January (1565). He travelled
in great state. He was escorted as far as Cambray by several nobles of
his acquaintance, who improved the occasion by a series of tremendous
banquets during the Count's sojourn, which was protracted till the end of
January. The most noted of these gentlemen were Hoogstraaten, Brederode,
the younger Mansfeld, Culemburg, and Noircarmes. Before they parted with
the envoy, they drew up a paper which they signed with their blood, and
afterwards placed in the hands of his Countess. In this document they
promised, on account of their "inexpressible and very singular affection"
for Egmont, that if, during his mission to Spain, any evil should befal
him, they would, on their faith as gentlemen and cavaliers of honor, take
vengeance, therefore, upon the Cardinal Granvelle, or upon all who should
be the instigators thereof.

   [Green v. P., Archives, etc., i. 345, from Arnoldi, Hist. Denkwurd,
   p. 282., It is remarkable that after the return of the Count from.
   Spain, Hoogstraaten received this singular bond from the Countess,
   and gave it to Mansfeld, to be burned in his presence. Mansfeld,
   however, advised keeping it, on account of Noircarmes, whose
   signature was attached to the document, and whom he knew to be so
   false and deceitful a man that it might be well to have it within
   their power at some future day to reproach him therewith.--Ibid.
   It will be seen in the sequel that Noircarmes more than justified
   the opinion of Mansfeld, but that the subsequent career of Mansfeld
   himself did not entitle him to reproach any of Philip's noble
   hangmen.]

Wherever Brederode was, there, it was probable, would be much severe
carousing. Before the conclusion, accordingly, of the visit to Cambray,
that ancient city rang with the scandal created by a most uproarious
scene. A banquet was given to Egmont and his friends in the citadel.
Brederode, his cousin Lumey, and the other nobles from Brussels, were all
present. The Archbishop of Cambray, a man very odious to the liberal
party in the provinces, was also bidden to the feast. During the dinner,
this prelate, although treated with marked respect by Egmont, was the
object of much banter and coarse pleasantry by the ruder portion of the
guests. Especially these convivial gentlemen took infinite pains to
overload him with challenges to huge bumpers of wine; it being thought
very desirable, if possible; to place the Archbishop under the table.
This pleasantry was alternated with much rude sarcasm concerning the new
bishoprics. The conversation then fell upon other topics, among others,
naturally upon the mission of Count Egmont. Brederede observed that it
was a very hazardous matter to allow so eminent a personage to leave the
land at such a critical period. Should any thing happen to the Count, the
Netherlands would sustain an immense loss. The Archbishop, irritated by
the previous conversation, ironically requested the speaker to be
comforted, "because," said he, "it will always be easy to find a new
Egmont." Upon this, Brederode, beside himself with rage, cried out
vehemently, "Are we to tolerate such language from this priest?"
Gulemburg, too, turning upon the offender, observed, "Your observation
would be much more applicable to your own case. If you were to die, 't
would be easy to find five hundred of your merit, to replace you in the
see of Cambray." The conversation was, to say the least, becoming
personal. The Bishop, desirous of terminating this keen encounter of
wits, lifted a goblet full of wine and challenged Brederode to drink.
That gentleman declined the invitation. After the cloth had been removed,
the cup circulated more freely than ever. The revelry became fast and
furious. One of the younger gentlemen who was seated near the Bishop
snatched the bonnet of that dignitary from his head and placed it upon
his own. He then drained a bumper to his health, and passed the goblet
and the cap to his next neighbor. Both circulated till they reached the
Viscount of Ghent, who arose from his seat and respectfully restored the
cap to its owner. Brederode then took a large "cup of silver and gold,"
filled it to the brim, and drained it to the confusion of Cardinal
Granvelle; stigmatizing that departed minister, as he finished, by an
epithet of more vigor than decency. He then called upon all the company
to pledge him to the same toast, and denounced as cardinalists all those
who should refuse. The Archbishop, not having digested the affronts which
had been put upon him already, imprudently ventured himself once more
into the confusion, and tried to appeal to the reason of the company. He
might as well have addressed the crew of Comus. He gained nothing but
additional insult. Brederode advanced upon him with threatening gestures.
Egmont implored the prelate to retire, or at least not to take notice of
a nobleman so obviously beyond the control of his reason. The Bishop,
however, insisted--mingling reproof, menace; and somewhat imperious
demands--that the indecent Saturnalia should cease. It would have been
wiser for him to retire. Count Hoogstraaten, a young man and small of
stature, seized the gilt laver, in which the company had dipped their
fingers before seating themselves at table: "Be quiet, be quiet, little
man," said Egmont, soothingly, doing his best to restrain the tumult.
"Little man, indeed," responded the Count, wrathfully; "I would have you
to know that never did little man spring from my race." With those words
he hurled the basin, water, and all, at the head of the Archbishop.
Hoogstraaten had no doubt manifested his bravery before that day; he was
to display, on future occasions, a very remarkable degree of heroism; but
it must be confessed that the chivalry of the noble house of Lalaing was
not illustrated by this attack upon a priest. The Bishop was sprinkled by
the water, but not struck by the vessel. Young Mansfeld, ashamed of the
outrage, stepped forward to apologize for the conduct of his companions
and to soothe the insulted prelate. That personage, however, exasperated,
very naturally, to the highest point, pushed him rudely away, crying,
"Begone, begone! who is this boy that is preaching to me?" Whereupon,
Mansfeld, much irritated, lifted his hand towards the ecclesiastic, and
snapped his fingers contemptuously in his face. Some even said that he
pulled the archiepiscopal nose, others that he threatened his life with a
drawn dagger. Nothing could well have been more indecent or more cowardly
than the conduct of these nobles upon this occasion. Their intoxication,
together with the character of the victim, explained, but certainly could
not palliate the vulgarity of the exhibition. It was natural enough that
men like Brederode should find sport in this remarkable badgering of a
bishop, but we see with regret the part played by Hoogstraaten in the
disgraceful scene.

The prelate, at last, exclaiming that it appeared that he had been
invited only to be insulted, left the apartment, accompanied by
Noircarmes and the Viscount of Ghent, and threatening that all his
friends and relations should be charged with his vengeance. The next day
a reconciliation was effected, as well as such an arrangement was
possible, by the efforts of Egmont, who dined alone with the prelate. In
the evening, Hoogstraaten, Culemburg, and Brederode called upon the
Bishop, with whom they were closeted for, an hour, and the party
separated on nominal terms of friendship.

This scandalous scene; which had been enacted not only before many
guests, but in presence of a host of servants, made necessarily a great
sensation throughout the country. There could hardly be much difference
of opinion among respectable people as to the conduct of the noblemen who
had thus disgraced themselves. Even Brederode himself, who appeared to
have retained, as was natural, but a confused impression of the
transaction, seemed in the days which succeeded the celebrated banquet,
to be in doubt whether he and his friends had merited any great amount of
applause. He was, however, somewhat self-contradictory, although always
vehement in his assertions on the subject. At one time he
maintained--after dinner, of course--that he would have killed the
Archbishop if they had not been forcibly separated; at other moments he
denounced as liars all persons who should insinuate that he had committed
or contemplated any injury to that prelate; offering freely to fight any
man who disputed either of his two positions.

The whole scene was dramatized and represented in masquerade at a wedding
festival given by Councillor d'Assonleville, on the marriage of
Councillor Hopper's daughter, one of the principal parts being enacted by
a son of the President-judge of Artois. It may be supposed that if such
eminent personages, in close connexion with the government, took part in
such proceedings, the riot must have been considered of a very pardonable
nature. The truth was, that the Bishop was a cardinalist, and therefore
entirely out of favor with the administration. He was also a man of
treacherous, sanguinary character, and consequently detested by the
people. He had done his best to destroy heresy in Valenciennes by fire
and sword. "I will say one thing," said he in a letter to Granvelle,
which had been intercepted, "since the pot is uncovered, and the whole
cookery known, we had best push forward and make an end of all the
principal heretics, whether rich or poor, without regarding whether the
city will be entirely ruined by such a course. Such an opinion I should
declare openly were it not that we of the ecclesiastical profession are
accused of always crying out for blood." Such was the prelate's theory.
His practice may be inferred from a specimen of his proceedings which
occurred at a little later day. A citizen of Cambray, having been
converted to the Lutheran Confession, went to the Archbishop, and
requested permission to move out of the country, taking his property with
him. The petitioner having made his appearance in the forenoon, was
requested to call again after dinner, to receive his answer. The burgher
did so, and was received, not by the prelate, but by the executioner, who
immediately carried the Lutheran to the market-place, and cut off his
head. It is sufficiently evident that a minister of Christ, with such
propensities, could not excite any great sympathy, however deeply
affronted he might have been at a drinking party, so long as any
Christians remained in the land.

Egmont departed from Cambray upon the 30th January, his friends taking a
most affectionate farewell of him; and Brederode assuring him, with a
thousand oaths, that he would forsake God for his service. His reception
at Madrid was most brilliant. When he made his first appearance at the
palace, Philip rushed from his cabinet into the grand hall of reception,
and fell upon his neck, embracing him heartily before the Count had time
to drop upon his knee and kiss the royal hand. During the whole period of
his visit he dined frequently at the King's private table, an honor
rarely accorded by Philip, and was feasted and flattered by all the great
dignitaries of the court as never a subject of the Spanish crown had been
before. All vied with each other in heaping honors upon the man whom the
King was determined to honor.

Philip took him out to drive daily in his own coach, sent him to see the
wonders of the new Escorial, which he was building to commemorate the
battle of St. Quentin, and, although it was still winter, insisted upon
showing him the beauties of his retreat in the Segovian forest.
Granvelle's counsels as to the method by which the "friend of smoke" was
so easily to be gained, had not fallen unheeded in his royal pupil's
ears. The Count was lodged in the house of Ruy Gomez, who soon felt
himself able, according to previous assurances to that effect, contained
in a private letter of Armenteros, to persuade the envoy to any course
which Philip might command. Flattery without stint was administered. More
solid arguments to convince the Count that Philip was the most generous
and clement of princes were also employed with great effect. The royal
dues upon the estate of Gaasbecque, lately purchased by Egmont, were
remitted. A mortgage upon his Seigneurie of Ninove was discharged, and a
considerable sum of money presented to him in addition. Altogether, the
gifts which the ambassador received from the royal bounty amounted to one
hundred thousand crowns. Thus feasted, flattered, and laden with
presents, it must be admitted that the Count more than justified the
opinions expressed in the letter of Armenteros, that he was a man easily
governed by those who had credit with him. Egmont hardly broached the
public matters which had brought him to Madrid. Upon the subject of the
edicts, Philip certainly did not dissemble, however loudly the envoy may
have afterwards complained at Brussels. In truth, Egmont, intoxicated by
the incense offered to him at the Spanish court, was a different man from
Egmont in the Netherlands, subject to the calm but piercing glance and
the irresistible control of Orange. Philip gave him no reason to suppose
that he intended any change in the religious system of the provinces, at
least in any sense contemplated by the liberal party. On the contrary, a
council of doctors and ecclesiastics was summoned, at whose deliberations
the Count was invited to assist; on which occasion the King excited
general admiration by the fervor of his piety and the vehemence of his
ejaculations. Falling upon his knees before a crucifix, in the midst of
the assembly, he prayed that God would keep him perpetually in the same
mind, and protested that he would never call himself master of those who
denied the Lord God. Such an exhibition could leave but little doubt in
the minds of those who witnessed it as to the royal sentiments, nor did
Egmont make any effort to obtain any relaxation of those religious
edicts, which he had himself declared worthy of approbation, and fit to
be maintained. As to the question of enlarging the state-council, Philip
dismissed the subject with a few vague observations, which Egmont, not
very zealous on the subject at the moment, perhaps misunderstood. The
punishment of heretics by some new method, so as to secure the pains but
to take away the glories of martyrdom, was also slightly discussed, and
here again Egmont was so unfortunate as to misconceive the royal meaning,
and to interpret an additional refinement of cruelty into an expression
of clemency. On the whole, however, there was not much negotiation
between the monarch and the ambassador. When the Count spoke of business,
the King would speak to him of his daughters, and of his desire to see
them provided with brilliant marriages. As Egmont had eight girls,
besides two sons, it was natural that he should be pleased to find Philip
taking so much interest in looking out husbands for them. The King spoke
to him, as hardly could be avoided, of the famous fool's-cap livery. The
Count laughed the matter off as a jest, protesting that it was a mere
foolish freak, originating at the wine-table, and asseverating, with
warmth, that nothing disrespectful or disloyal to his Majesty had been
contemplated upon that or upon any other occasion. Had a single gentleman
uttered an undutiful word against the King, Egmont vowed he would have
stabbed him through and through upon the spot, had he been his own
brother. These warm protestations were answered by a gentle reprimand as
to the past by Philip, and with a firm caution as to the future. "Let it
be discontinued entirely, Count," said the King, as the two were driving
together in the royal carriage. Egmont expressed himself in handsome
terms concerning the Cardinal, in return for the wholesale approbation
quoted to him in regard to his own character, from the private letters of
that sagacious personage to his Majesty. Certainly, after all this, the
Count might suppose the affair of the livery forgiven. Thus amicably
passed the hours of that mission, the preliminaries for which had called
forth so much eloquence from the Prince of Orange and so nearly carried
off with apoplexy the President Viglius. On his departure Egmont received
a letter of instructions from Philip as to the report which he was to
make upon his arrival in Brussels, to the Duchess. After many things
personally flattering to himself, the envoy was directed to represent the
King as overwhelmed with incredible grief at hearing the progress made by
the heretics, but as immutably determined to permit no change of religion
within his dominions, even were he to die a thousand deaths in
consequence. The King, he was to state, requested the Duchess forthwith
to assemble an extraordinary session of the council, at which certain
bishops, theological doctors, and very orthodox lawyers, were to assist,
in which, under pretence of discussing the Council of Trent matter, it
was to be considered whether there could not be some new way devised for
executing heretics; not indeed one by which any deduction should be made
from their sufferings (which certainly was not the royal wish, nor likely
to be grateful to God or salutary to religion), but by which all hopes of
glory--that powerful incentive to their impiety--might be precluded. With
regard to any suggested alterations in the council of state, or in the
other two councils, the King was to be represented as unwilling to form
any decision until he should hear, at length, from the Duchess Regent
upon the subject.

Certainly here was a sufficient amount of plain speaking upon one great
subject, and very little encouragement with regard to the other. Yet
Egmont, who immediately after receiving these instructions set forth upon
his return to the Netherlands, manifested nothing but satisfaction.
Philip presented to him, as his travelling companion, the young Prince
Alexander of Parma, then about to make a visit to his mother in Brussels,
and recommended the youth, afterwards destined to play so prominent a
part in Flemish history, to his peculiar caret Egmont addressed a letter
to the King from Valladolid, in which he indulged in ecstasies concerning
the Escorial and the wood of Segovia, and declared that he was returning
to the Netherlands "the most contented man in the world."

He reached Brussels at the end of April. Upon the fifth of May he
appeared before the council, and proceeded to give an account of his
interview with the King, together with a statement of the royal
intentions and opinions. These were already sufficiently well known.
Letters, written after the envoy's departure, had arrived before him, in
which, while in the main presenting the same views as those contained in
the instructions to Egmont, Philip had expressed his decided prohibition
of the project to enlarge the state council and to suppress the authority
of the other two. Nevertheless, the Count made his report according to
the brief received at Madrid, and assured his hearers that the King was
all benignity, having nothing so much at heart as the temporal and
eternal welfare of the provinces. The siege of Malta, he stated, would
prevent the royal visit to the Netherlands for the moment, but it was
deferred only for a brief period. To remedy the deficiency in the
provincial exchequer, large remittances would be made immediately from
Spain. To provide for the increasing difficulties of the religious
question, a convocation of nine learned and saintly personages was
recommended, who should devise some new scheme by which the objections to
the present system of chastising heretics might be obviated.

It is hardly necessary to state that so meagre a result to the mission of
Egmont was not likely to inspire the hearts of Orange and his adherents
with much confidence. No immediate explosion of resentment, however,
occurred. The general aspect for a few days was peaceful. Egmont
manifested much contentment with the reception which he met with in
Spain, and described the King's friendly dispositions towards the leading
nobles in lively colors. He went to his government immediately after his
return, assembled the states of Artois, in the city of Arras, and
delivered the letters sent to that body by the King. He made a speech on
this occasion, informing the estates that his Majesty had given orders
that the edicts of the Emperor were to be enforced to the letter; adding
that he had told the King, freely, his own opinion upon the subject; in
order to dissuade him from that which others were warmly urging. He
described Philip as the most liberal and debonair of princes; his council
in Spain as cruel and sanguinary. Time was to show whether the epithets
thus applied to the advisers were not more applicable to the monarch than
the eulogies thus lavished by the blind and predestined victim. It will
also be perceived that this language, used before the estates of Artois,
varied materially from his observation to the Dowager Duchess of
Aerschot, denouncing as enemies the men who accused him of having
requested a moderation of the edicts. In truth, this most vacillating,
confused, and unfortunate of men perhaps scarcely comprehended the
purport of his recent negotiations in Spain, nor perceived the drift of
his daily remarks at home. He was, however, somewhat vainglorious
immediately after his return, and excessively attentive to business. "He
talks like a King," said Morillon, spitefully, "negotiates night and day,
and makes all bow before him." His house was more thronged with
petitioners, courtiers, and men of affairs, than even the palace of the
Duchess. He avowed frequently that he would devote his life and his
fortune to the accomplishment of the King's commands, and declared his
uncompromising hostility to all who should venture to oppose that loyal
determination.

It was but a very short time, however, before a total change was
distinctly perceptible in his demeanor. These halcyon days were soon
fled. The arrival of fresh letters from Spain gave a most unequivocal
evidence of the royal determination, if, indeed, any doubt could be
rationally entertained before. The most stringent instructions to keep
the whole machinery of persecution constantly at work were transmitted to
the Duchess, and aroused the indignation of Orange and his followers.
They avowed that they could no longer trust the royal word, since, so
soon after Egmont's departure, the King had written despatches so much at
variance with his language, as reported by the envoy. There was nothing,
they said, clement and debonair in these injunctions upon gentlemen of
their position and sentiments to devote their time to the encouragement
of hangmen and inquisitors. The Duchess was unable to pacify the nobles.
Egmont was beside himself with rage. With his usual recklessness and
wrath, he expressed himself at more than one session of the state council
in most unmeasured terms. His anger had been more inflamed by information
which he had received from the second son of Berlaymont, a young and
indiscreet lad, who had most unfortunately communicated many secrets
which he had learned from his father, but which were never intended for
Egmont's ear.

Philip's habitual dissimulation had thus produced much unnecessary
perplexity. It was his custom to carry on correspondence through the aid
of various secretaries, and it was his invariable practice to deceive
them all. Those who were upon the most confidential terms with the
monarch, were most sure to be duped upon all important occasions. It has
been seen that even the astute Granvelle could not escape this common lot
of all who believed their breasts the depositories of the royal secrets.
Upon this occasion, Gonzalo Perez and Ruy Gomez complained bitterly that
they had known nothing of the letters which had recently been despatched
from Valladolid, while Tisnacq and Courterville had been ignorant of the
communications forwarded by the hands of Egmont. They avowed that the
King created infinite trouble by thus treating his affairs in one way
with one set of councillors and in an opposite sense with the others,
thus dissembling with all, and added that Philip was now much astonished
at the dissatisfaction created in the provinces by the discrepancy
between the French letters brought by Egmont, and the Spanish letters
since despatched to the Duchess. As this was his regular manner of
transacting business, not only for the Netherlands, but for all his
dominions, they were of opinion that such confusion and dissatisfaction
might well be expected.

After all, however, notwithstanding the indignation of Egmont, it must be
confessed that he had been an easy dupe. He had been dazzled by royal
smiles, intoxicated by court incense, contaminated by yet baser bribes.
He had been turned from the path of honor and the companionship of the
wise and noble to do the work of those who were to compass his
destruction. The Prince of Orange reproached him to his face with having
forgotten, when in Spain, to represent the views of his associates and
the best interests of the country, while he had well remembered his own
private objects, and accepted the lavish bounty of the King. Egmont,
stung to the heart by the reproof, from one whom he honored and who
wished him well, became sad and sombre for a long time, abstained from
the court and from society, and expressed frequently the intention of
retiring to his estates. He was, however, much governed by his secretary,
the Seigneur de Bakerzeel, a man of restless, intriguing, and deceitful
character, who at this period exercised as great influence over the Count
as Armenteros continued to maintain over the Duchess, whose unpopularity
from that and other circumstances was daily increasing.

In obedience to the commands of the King, the canons of Trent had been
published. They were nominally enforced at Cambray, but a fierce
opposition was made by the clergy themselves to the innovation in
Mechlin, Utrecht, and many other places.

This matter, together with other more vitally important questions, came
before the assembly of bishops and doctors, which, according to Philip's
instructions, had been convoked by the Duchess. The opinion of the
learned theologians was, on the whole, that the views of the Trent
Council, with regard to reformation of ecclesiastical morals and popular
education, was sound. There was some discordancy between the clerical and
lay doctors upon other points. The seigniors, lawyers, and deputies from
the estates were all in favor of repealing the penalty of death for
heretical offences of any kind. President Viglius, with all the bishops
and doctors of divinity, including the prelates of St. Omer, Namur and
Ypres, and four theological professors from Louvain, stoutly maintained
the contrary opinion. The President especially, declared himself
vehemently in favor of the death punishment, and expressed much anger
against those who were in favor of its abolition. The Duchess, upon the
second day of the assembly, propounded formally the question, whether any
change was to be made in the chastisement of heretics. The Prince of
Orange, with Counts Horn and Egmont, had, however, declined to take part
in the discussions, on the ground that it was not his Majesty's intention
that state councillors should deliver their opinions before strangers,
but that persons from outside had been summoned to communicate their
advice to the Council. The seigniors having thus washed their hands of
the matter, the doctors came to a conclusion with great alacrity. It was
their unanimous opinion that it comported neither with the service of God
nor the common weal, to make any change in the punishment, except,
perhaps, in the case of extreme youth; but that, on the contrary,
heretics were only to be dealt with by retaining the edicts in their
rigor, and by courageously chastising the criminals. After sitting for
the greater part of six days, the bishops and doctors of divinity reduced
their sentiments to writing, and affixed their signatures to the
document. Upon the great point of the change suggested in the penalties
of heresy, it was declared that no alteration was advisable in the
edicts, which had been working so well for thirty-five years. At the same
time it was suggested that "some persons, in respect to their age and
quality, might be executed or punished more or less rigorously than
others; some by death, some by galley slavery, some by perpetual
banishment and entire confiscation of property." The possibility was also
admitted, of mitigating the punishment of those who, without being
heretics or sectaries, might bring themselves within the provisions of
the edicts, "through curiosity, nonchalance, or otherwise." Such
offenders, it was hinted, might be "whipped with rods, fined, banished,
or subjected to similar penalties of a lighter nature." It will be
perceived by this slight sketch of the advice thus offered to the Duchess
that these theologians were disposed very carefully to strain the mercy,
which they imagined possible in some cases, but which was to drop only
upon the heads of the just. Heretics were still to be dealt with, so far
as the bishops and presidents could affect their doom, with unmitigated
rigor.

When the assembly was over, the Duchess, thus put in possession of the
recorded wisdom of these special councillors, asked her constitutional
advisers what she was to do with it. Orange, Egmont, Horn, Mansfeld
replied, however, that it was not their affair, and that their opinion
had not been demanded by his Majesty in the premises. The Duchess
accordingly transmitted to Philip the conclusions of the assembly,
together with the reasons of the seigniors for refusing to take part in
its deliberations. The sentiments of Orange could hardly be doubtful,
however, nor his silence fail to give offense to the higher powers. He
contented himself for the time with keeping his eyes and ears open to the
course of events, but he watched well. He had "little leisure for amusing
himself," as Brederode suggested. That free-spoken individual looked upon
the proceedings of the theological assembly with profound disgust. "Your
letter," he wrote to Count Louis, "is full of those blackguards of
bishops and presidents. I would the race were extinct, like that of green
dogs. They will always combat with the arms which they have ever used,
remaining to the end avaricious, brutal, obstinate, ambitious, et cetera.
I leave you to supply the rest."

Thus, then, it was settled beyond peradventure that there was to be no
compromise with heresy. The King had willed it. The theologians had
advised it. The Duchess had proclaimed it. It was supposed that without
the axe, the fire, and the rack, the Catholic religion would be
extinguished, and that the whole population of the Netherlands would
embrace the Reformed Faith. This was the distinct declaration of Viglius,
in a private letter to Granvelle. "Many seek to abolish the chastisement
of heresy," said he; "if they gain this point, actum est de religione
Catholica; for as most of the people are ignorant fools, the heretics
will soon be the great majority, if by fear of punishment they are not
kept in the true path."

The uneasiness, the terror, the wrath of the people seemed rapidly
culminating to a crisis. Nothing was talked of but the edicts and the
inquisition. Nothing else entered into the minds of men. In the streets,
in the shops, in the taverns, in the fields; at market, at church, at
funerals, at weddings; in the noble's castle, at the farmer's fireside,
in the mechanic's garret, upon the merchants' exchange, there was but one
perpetual subject of shuddering conversation. It was better, men began to
whisper to each other, to die at once than to live in perpetual slavery.
It was better to fall with arms in hand than to be tortured and butchered
by the inquisition. Who could expect to contend with such a foe in the
dark?

They reproached the municipal authorities with lending themselves as
instruments to the institution. They asked magistrates and sheriffs how
far they would go in their defence before God's tribunal for the
slaughter of his creatures, if they could only answer the divine
arraignment by appealing to the edict of 1550. On the other hand, the
inquisitors were clamorous in abuse of the languor and the cowardice of
the secular authorities. They wearied the ear of the Duchess with
complaints of the difficulties which they encountered in the execution of
their functions--of the slight alacrity on the part of the various
officials to assist them in the discharge of their duties.
Notwithstanding the express command of his Majesty to that effect, they
experienced, they said, a constant deficiency of that cheerful
co-operation which they had the right to claim, and there was perpetual
discord in consequence. They had been empowered by papal and by royal
decree to make use of the gaols, the constables, the whole penal
machinery of each province; yet the officers often refused to act, and
had even dared to close the prisons. Nevertheless, it had been intended,
as fully appeared by the imperial and royal instructions to the
inquisitors, that their action through the medium of the provincial
authorities should be unrestrained. Not satisfied with these
representations to the Regent, the inquisitors had also made a direct
appeal to the King. Judocus Tiletanus and Michael de Bay addressed to
Philip a letter from Louvain. They represented to him that they were the
only two left of the five inquisitors-general appointed by the Pope for
all the Netherlands, the other three having been recently converted into
bishops. Daily complaints, they said, were reaching them of the
prodigious advance of heresy, but their own office was becoming so
odious, so calumniated, and exposed to so much resistance, that they
could not perform its duties without personal danger. They urgently
demanded from his Majesty, therefore, additional support and assistance.
Thus the Duchess, exposed at once to the rising wrath of a whole people
and to the shrill blasts of inquisitorial anger, was tossed to and fro,
as upon a stormy sea. The commands of the King, too explicit to be
tampered with, were obeyed. The theological assembly had met and given
advice. The Council of Trent was here and there enforced. The edicts were
republished and the inquisitors encouraged. Moreover, in accordance with
Philip's suggestion, orders were now given that the heretics should be
executed at midnight in their dungeons, by binding their heads between
their knees, and then slowly suffocating them in tubs of water. Secret
drowning was substituted for public burning, in order that the heretic's
crown of vainglory, which was thought to console him in his agony, might
never be placed upon his head.

In the course of the summer, Magaret wrote to her brother that the
popular frenzy was becoming more and more intense. The people were crying
aloud, she said, that the Spanish inquisition, or a worse than Spanish
inquisition, had been established among them by means of bishops and
ecclesiastics. She urged Philip to cause the instructions for the
inquisitors to be revised. Egmont, she said, was vehement in expressing
his dissatisfaction at the discrepancy between Philip's language to him
by word of mouth and that of the royal despatches on the religious
question. The other seigniors were even more indignant.

While the popular commotion in the Netherlands was thus fearfully
increasing, another circumstance came to add to the prevailing
discontent. The celebrated interview between Catharine de Medici and her
daughter, the Queen of Spain, occurred in the middle of the month of
June, at Bayonne. The darkest suspicions as to the results to humanity of
the plots to be engendered in this famous conference between the
representatives of France and Spain were universally entertained. These
suspicions were most reasonable, but they were nevertheless mistaken. The
plan for a concerted action to exterminate the heretics in both kingdoms
had, as it was perfectly well known, been formed long before this epoch.
It was also no secret that the Queen Regent of France had been desirous
of meeting her son-in-law in order to confer with him upon important
matters, face to face. Philip, however, had latterly been disinclined for
the personal interview with Catharine. As his wife was most anxious to
meet her mother, it was nevertheless finally arranged that Queen Isabella
should make the journey; but he excused himself, on account of the
multiplicity of his affairs, from accompanying her in the expedition. The
Duke of Alva was, accordingly, appointed to attend the Queen to Bayonne.
Both were secretly instructed by Philip to leave nothing undone in the
approaching interview toward obtaining the hearty co-operation of
Catharine de Medici in a general and formally-arranged scheme for the
simultaneous extermination of all heretics in the French and Spanish
dominions. Alva's conduct in this diplomatic commission was stealthy in
the extreme. His letters reveal a subtlety of contrivance and delicacy of
handling such as the world has not generally reckoned among his
characteristics. All his adroitness, as well as the tact of Queen
Isabella, by whose ability Alva declared himself to have been astounded,
proved quite powerless before the steady fencing of the wily Catharine.
The Queen Regent, whose skill the Duke, even while defeated, acknowledged
to his master, continued firm in her design to maintain her own power by
holding the balance between Guise and Montmorency, between Leaguer and
Huguenot. So long as her enemies could be employed in exterminating each
other, she was willing to defer the extermination of the Huguenots. The
great massacre of St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer.
Alva was, to be sure, much encouraged at first by the language of the
French princes and nobles who were present at Bayonne. Monluc protested
that "they might saw the Queen Dowager in two before she would become
Huguenot." Montpensier exclaimed that "he would be cut in pieces for
Philip's service--that the Spanish monarch was the only hope for France,"
and, embracing Alva with fervor, he affirmed that "if his body were to be
opened at that moment, the name of Philip would be found imprinted upon
his heart." The Duke, having no power to proceed to an autopsy, physical
or moral, of Montpensier's interior, was left somewhat in the dark,
notwithstanding these ejaculations. His first conversation with the
youthful King, however, soon dispelled his hopes. He found immediately,
in his own words, that Charles the Ninth "had been doctored." To take up
arms, for religious reasons, against his own subjects, the monarch
declared to be ruinous and improper. It was obvious to Alva that the
royal pupil had learned his lesson for that occasion. It was a pity for
humanity that the wisdom thus hypocritically taught him could not have
sunk into his heart. The Duke did his best to bring forward the plans and
wishes of his royal master, but without success. The Queen Regent
proposed a league of the two Kings and the Emperor against the Turk, and
wished to arrange various matrimonial alliances between the sons and
daughters of the three houses. Alva expressed the opinion that the
alliances were already close enough, while, on the contrary, a secret
league against the Protestants would make all three families the safer.
Catherine, however, was not to be turned from her position. She refused
even to admit that the Chancellor de l'Hospital was a Huguenot, to which
the Duke replied that she was the only person in her kingdom who held
that opinion. She expressed an intention of convoking an assembly of
doctors, and Alva ridiculed in his letters to Philip the affectation of
such a proceeding. In short, she made it sufficiently evident that the
hour for the united action of the French and Spanish sovereigns against
their subjects had not struck, so that the famous Bayonne conference was
terminated without a result. It seemed not the less certain, however, in
the general opinion of mankind, that all the particulars of a regular
plot had been definitely arranged upon this occasion, for the
extermination of the Protestants, and the error has been propagated by
historians of great celebrity of all parties, down to our own days. The
secret letters of Alva, however, leave no doubt as to the facts.

In the course of November, fresh letters from Philip arrived in the
Netherlands, confirming every thing which he had previously written. He
wrote personally to the inquisitors-general, Tiletanus and De Bay,
encouraging them, commending them, promising them his support, and urging
them not to be deterred by any consideration from thoroughly fulfilling
their duties. He wrote Peter Titelmann a letter, in which he applauded
the pains taken by that functionary to remedy the ills which religion was
suffering, assured him of his gratitude, exhorted him to continue in his
virtuous course, and avowed his determination to spare neither pains,
expense, nor even his own life, to sustain the Catholic Faith. To the
Duchess he wrote at great length, and in most unequivocal language. He
denied that what he had written from Valladolid was of different meaning
from the sense of the despatches by Egmont. With regard to certain
Anabaptist prisoners, concerning whose fate Margaret had requested his
opinion, he commanded their execution, adding that such was his will in
the case of all, whatever their quality, who could be caught. That which
the people said in the Netherlands touching the inquisition, he
pronounced extremely distasteful to him. That institution, which had
existed under his predecessors, he declared more necessary than ever; nor
would he suffer it to be discredited. He desired his sister to put no
faith in idle talk, as to the inconveniences likely to flow from the
rigor of the inquisition. Much greater inconveniences would be the result
if the inquisitors did not proceed with their labors, and the Duchess was
commanded to write to the secular judges, enjoining upon them to place no
obstacles in the path, but to afford all the assistance which might be
required.

To Egmont, the King wrote with his own hand, applauding much that was
contained in the recent decisions of the assembly of bishops and doctors
of divinity, and commanding the Count to assist in the execution of the
royal determination. In affairs of religion, Philip expressed the opinion
that dissimulation and weakness were entirely out of place.

When these decisive letters came before the state council, the
consternation was extreme. The Duchess had counted, in spite of her
inmost convictions, upon less peremptory instructions. The Prince of
Orange, the Count of Egmont, and the Admiral, were loud in their
denunciations of the royal policy. There was a violent and protracted
debate. The excitement spread at once to the people. Inflammatory
hand-bills were circulated. Placards were posted every night upon the
doors of Orange, Egmont, and Horn, calling upon them to come forth boldly
as champions of the people and of liberty in religious matters. Banquets
were held daily at the houses of the nobility, in which the more ardent
and youthful of their order, with brains excited by wine and anger,
indulged in flaming invectives against the government, and interchanged
vows to protect each other and the cause of the oppressed provinces.
Meanwhile the privy council, to which body the Duchess had referred the
recent despatches from Madrid, made a report upon the whole subject to
the state council, during the month of November, sustaining the royal
views, and insisting upon the necessity of carrying them into effect. The
edicts and inquisition having been so vigorously insisted upon by the
King, nothing was to be done but to issue new proclamations throughout
the country, together with orders to bishops, councils, governors and
judges, that every care should be taken to enforce them to the full.

This report came before the state council, and was sustained by some of
its members. The Prince of Orange expressed the same uncompromising
hostility to the inquisition which he had always manifested, but observed
that the commands of the King were so precise and absolute, as to leave
no possibility of discussing that point. There was nothing to be done, he
said, but to obey, but he washed his hands of the fatal consequences
which he foresaw. There was no longer any middle course between obedience
and rebellion. This opinion, the soundness of which could scarcely be
disputed, was also sustained by Egmont and Horn.

Viglius, on the contrary, nervous, agitated, appalled, was now disposed
to temporize. He observed that if the seigniors feared such evil results,
it would be better to prevent, rather than to accelerate the danger which
would follow the proposed notification to the governors and municipal
authorities throughout the country, on the subject of the inquisition. To
make haste, was neither to fulfil the intentions nor to serve the
interests of the King, and it was desirable "to avoid emotion and
scandal." Upon these heads the President made a very long speech,
avowing, in conclusion, that if his Majesty should not find the course
proposed agreeable, he was ready to receive all the indignation upon his
own head.

Certainly, this position of the President was somewhat inconsistent with
his previous course. He had been most violent in his denunciations of all
who should interfere with the execution of the great edict of which he
had been the original draughtsman. He had recently been ferocious in
combating the opinion of those civilians in the assembly of doctors who
had advocated the abolition of the death penalty against heresy. He had
expressed with great energy his private opinion that the ancient religion
would perish if the machinery of persecution were taken away; yet he now
for the first time seemed to hear or to heed the outcry of a whole
nation, and to tremble at the sound. Now that the die had been cast, in
accordance with the counsels of his whole life, now that the royal
commands, often enigmatical and hesitating; were at last too distinct to
be misconstrued, and too peremptory to be tampered with--the president
imagined the possibility of delay. The health of the ancient Frisian had
but recently permitted him to resume his seat at the council board. His
presence there was but temporary, for he had received from Madrid the
acceptance of his resignation, accompanied with orders to discharge the
duties of President until the arrival of his successor, Charles de
Tisnacq. Thus, in his own language, the Duchess was still obliged to rely
for a season "upon her ancient Palinurus," a necessity far from agreeable
to her, for she had lost confidence in the pilot. It may be supposed that
he was anxious to smooth the troubled waters during the brief period in
which he was still to be exposed to their fury; but he poured out the oil
of his eloquence in vain. Nobody sustained his propositions. The Duchess,
although terrified at the probable consequences, felt the impossibility
of disobeying the deliberate decree of her brother. A proclamation was
accordingly prepared, by which it was ordered that the Council of Trent,
the edicts and the inquisition, should be published in every town and
village in the provinces, immediately, and once in six months forever
afterwards. The deed was done, and the Prince of Orange, stooping to the
ear of his next neighbor, as they sat at the council-board, whispered
that they were now about to witness the commencement of the most
extraordinary tragedy which had ever been enacted.

The prophecy was indeed a proof that the Prince could read the future,
but the sarcasm of the President, that the remark had been made in a tone
of exultation, was belied by every action of the prophet's life.

The fiat went forth. In the market-place of every town and village of the
Netherlands, the inquisition was again formally proclaimed. Every doubt
which had hitherto existed as to the intention of the government was
swept away. No argument was thenceforward to be permissible as to the
constitutionality of the edicts as to the compatibility of their
provisions with the privileges of the land. The cry of a people in its
agony ascended to Heaven. The decree was answered with a howl of
execration. The flames of popular frenzy arose lurid and threatening
above the house-tops of every town and village. The impending conflict
could no longer be mistaken. The awful tragedy which the great watchman
in the land had so long unceasingly predicted, was seen sweeping solemnly
and steadily onward. The superstitious eyes of the age saw supernatural
and ominous indications in the sky. Contending armies trampled the
clouds; blood dropped from heaven; the exterminating angel rode upon the
wind.

There was almost a cessation of the ordinary business of mankind.
Commerce was paralyzed. Antwerp shook as with an earthquake. A chasm
seemed to open, in which her prosperity and her very existence were to be
forever engulfed. The foreign merchants, manufacturers, and artisans fled
from her gates as if the plague were raging within them. Thriving cities
were likely soon to be depopulated. The metropolitan heart of the whole
country was almost motionless.

Men high in authority sympathized with the general indignation. The
Marquis Berghen, the younger Mansfeld, the Baron Montigny, openly refused
to enforce the edicts within their governments. Men of eminence inveighed
boldly and bitterly against the tyranny of the government, and counselled
disobedience. The Netherlanders, it was stoutly maintained, were not such
senseless brutes as to be ignorant of the mutual relation of prince and
people. They knew that the obligation of a king to his vassals was as
sacred as the duties of the subjects to the sovereign.

The four principal cities of Brabant first came forward in formal
denunciation of the outrage. An elaborate and conclusive document was
drawn up in their name, and presented to the Regent. It set forth that
the recent proclamation violated many articles in the "joyous entry."
That ancient constitution had circumscribed the power of the clergy, and
the jealousy had been felt in old times as much by the sovereign as the
people. No ecclesiastical tribunal had therefore been allowed, excepting
that of the Bishop of Cambray, whose jurisdiction was expressly confined
to three classes of cases--those growing out of marriages, testaments,
and mortmains.

It would be superfluous to discuss the point at the present day, whether
the directions to the inquisitors and the publication of the edicts
conflicted with the "joyous entrance." To take a man from his house and
burn him, after a brief preliminary examination, was clearly not to
follow the letter and spirit of the Brabantine habeas corpus, by which
inviolability of domicile and regular trials were secured and sworn to by
the monarch; yet such had been the uniform practice of inquisitors
throughout the country. The petition of the four cities was referred by
the Regent to the council of Brabant. The chancellor, or president judge
of that tribunal was notoriously corrupt--a creature of the Spanish. His
efforts to sustain the policy of the administration however vain. The
Duchess ordered the archives of the province to be searched for
precedents, and the council to report upon the petition. The case was too
plain for argument or dogmatism, but the attempt was made to take refuge
in obscurity. The answer of the council was hesitating and equivocal. The
Duchess insisted upon a distinct and categorical answer to the four
cities. Thus pressed, the council of Brabant declared roundly that no
inquisition of any kind had ever existed, in the provinces. It was
impossible that any other answer could be given, but Viglius, with his
associates in the privy council, were extremely angry at the conclusion.
The concession was, however, made, notwithstanding the bad example which,
according to some persons, the victory thus obtained by so important a
province would afford to the people in the other parts of the country.
Brabant was declared free of the inquisition. Meanwhile the pamphlets,
handbills, pasquils, and other popular productions were multiplied. To
use a Flemish expression, they "snowed in the streets." They were nailed
nightly on all the great houses in Brussels. Patriots were called upon to
strike, speak, redress. Pungent lampoons, impassioned invectives, and
earnest remonstrances, were thrust into the hands of the Duchess. The
publications, as they appeared; were greedily devoured by the people. "We
are willing," it was said, in a remarkable letter to the King, "to die
for the Gospel, but we read therein 'Render unto Caesar that which is
Caesar's, and unto God that which is God's.' We thank God that our
enemies themselves are compelled to bear witness to our piety and
patience; so that it is a common saying--'He swears not; he is a
Protestant; he is neither a fornicator nor a drunkard; he is of the new
sect.' Yet, notwithstanding these testimonials to our character, no
manner of punishment has been forgotten by which we can possibly be
Chastised." This statement of the morality of the Puritans of the
Netherlands was the justification of martyrs--not the self-glorification
of Pharisees. The fact was incontrovertible. Their tenets were rigid, but
their lives were pure. They belonged generally to the middling and lower
classes. They were industrious artisans, who desired to live in the fear
of God and in honor of their King. They were protected by nobles and
gentlemen of high position, very many of whom came afterwards warmly to
espouse the creed which at first they had only generously defended. Their
whole character and position resembled, in many features, those of the
English Puritans, who, three quarters of a century afterwards, fled for
refuge to the Dutch Republic, and thence departed to establish the
American Republic. The difference was that the Netherlanders were exposed
to a longer persecution and a far more intense martyrdom.

Towards the end of the year (1565) which was closing in such universal
gloom; the contemporary chronicles are enlivened with a fitful gleam of
sunshine. The light enlivens only the more elevated regions of the
Flemish world, but it is pathetic to catch a glimpse of those nobles,
many of whose lives were to be so heroic, and whose destinies so tragic,
as amid the shadows projected by coming evil, they still found time for
the chivalrous festivals of their land and epoch. A splendid tournament
was held at the Chateau d'Antoing to celebrate the nuptials of Baron
Montigny with the daughter of Prince d'Espinoy. Orange, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten were the challengers, and maintained themselves victoriously
against all comers, Egmont and other distinguished knights being, among
the number.

Thus brilliantly and gaily moved the first hours of that marriage which
before six months had fled was to be so darkly terminated. The doom which
awaited the chivalrous bridegroom in the dungeon of Simancas was ere long
to be recorded in one of the foulest chapters of Philip's tyranny.

A still more elaborate marriage-festival, of which the hero was, at a
later day, to exercise a most decisive influence over the fortunes of the
land, was celebrated at Brussels before the close of the year. It will be
remembered that Alexander, Prince of Parma, had accompanied Egmont on his
return from Spain in the month of April. The Duchess had been delighted
with the appearance of her son, then twenty years of age, but already an
accomplished cavalier. She had expressed her especial pleasure in finding
him so thoroughly a Spaniard "in manner, costume, and conversation," that
it could not be supposed he had ever visited any other land, or spoken
any other tongue than that of Spain.

The nobles of the Flemish court did not participate in the mother's
enthusiasm. It could not be denied that he was a handsome and gallant
young prince; but his arrogance was so intolerable as to disgust even
those most disposed to pay homage to Margaret's son. He kept himself
mainly in haughty retirement, dined habitually alone in his own
apartments, and scarcely honored any of the gentlemen of the Netherlands
with his notice. Even Egmont, to whose care he had been especially
recommended by Philip, was slighted. If, occasionally, he honored one or
two of the seigniors with an invitation to his table, he sat alone in
solemn state at the head of the board, while the guests, to whom he
scarcely vouchsafed a syllable, were placed on stools without backs,
below the salt. Such insolence, it may be supposed, was sufficiently
galling to men of the proud character, but somewhat reckless demeanor,
which distinguished the Netherland aristocracy. After a short time they
held themselves aloof, thinking it sufficient to endure such airs from
Philip. The Duchess at first encouraged the young Prince in his
haughtiness, but soon became sad, as she witnessed its effects. It was
the universal opinion that the young Prince was a mere compound of pride
and emptiness. "There is nothing at all in the man," said Chantonnay.
Certainly the expression was not a fortunate one. Time was to show that
there was more in the man than in all the governors despatched
successively by Philip to the Netherlands; but the proof was to be
deferred to a later epoch. Meantime, his mother was occupied and
exceedingly perplexed with his approaching nuptials. He had been
affianced early in the year to the Princess Donna Maria of Portugal. It
was found necessary, therefore, to send a fleet of several vessels to
Lisbon, to fetch the bride to the Netherlands, the wedding being
appointed to take place in Brussels. This expense alone was considerable,
and the preparations for banquets, jousts, and other festivities, were
likewise undertaken on so magnificent a scale that the Duke, her husband,
was offended at Margaret's extravagance. The people, by whom she was not
beloved, commented bitterly on the prodigalities which they were
witnessing in a period of dearth and trouble. Many of the nobles mocked
at her perplexity. To crown the whole, the young Prince was so obliging
as to express the hope, in his mother's hearing, that the bridal fleet,
then on its way from Portugal, might sink with all it contained, to the
bottom of the sea.

The poor Duchess was infinitely chagrined by all these circumstances. The
"insane and outrageous expenses" in which the nuptials had involved her,
the rebukes of her husband, the sneers of the seigniors, the undutiful
epigrams of her son, the ridicule of the people, affected her spirits to
such a degree, harassed as she was with grave matters of state, that she
kept her rooms for days together, weeping, hour after hour, in the most
piteous manner. Her distress was the town talk; nevertheless, the fleet
arrived in the autumn, and brought the youthful Maria to the provinces.
This young lady, if the faithful historiographer of the Farnese house is
to be credited, was the paragon of princesses.

   [This princess, in her teens, might already exclaim, with the
   venerable Faustus:

          "Habe nun Philosophie
          Juristerei and Medicin
          Und leider ach: Theologie
          Durch studirt mit heissem Bemuhen," etc.

   The panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century were not
   accustomed to do their work by halves.--Strada.]

She was the daughter of Prince Edward, and granddaughter of John the
Third. She was young and beautiful; she could talk both Latin and Greek,
besides being well versed in philosophy, mathematics and theology. She
had the scriptures at her tongue's end, both the old dispensation and the
new, and could quote from the fathers with the promptness of a bishop.
She was so strictly orthodox that, on being compelled by stress of
weather to land in England, she declined all communication with Queen
Elizabeth, on account of her heresy. She was so eminently chaste that she
could neither read the sonnets of Petrarch, nor lean on the arm of a
gentleman. Her delicacy upon such points was, indeed, carried to such
excess, that upon one occasion when the ship which was bringing her to
the Netherlands was discovered to be burning, she rebuked a rude fellow
who came forward to save her life, assuring him that there was less
contamination in the touch of fire than in that of man. Fortunately, the
flames were extinguished, and the Phoenix of Portugal was permitted to
descend, unburned, upon the bleak shores of Flanders.

The occasion, notwithstanding the recent tears of the Duchess, and the
arrogance of the Prince, was the signal for much festivity among the
courtiers of Brussels. It was also the epoch from which movements of a
secret and important character were to be dated. The chevaliers of the
Fleece were assembled, and Viglius pronounced before them one of his most
classical orations. He had a good deal to say concerning the private
adventures of Saint Andrew, patron of the Order, and went into some
details of a conversation which that venerated personage had once held
with the proconsul Aegeas. The moral which he deduced from his narrative
was the necessity of union among the magnates for the maintenance of the
Catholic faith; the nobility and the Church being the two columns upon
which the whole social fabric reposed. It is to be feared that the
President became rather prosy upon the occasion. Perhaps his homily, like
those of the fictitious Archbishop of Granada, began to smack of the
apoplexy from which he had so recently escaped. Perhaps, the meeting
being one of hilarity, the younger nobles became restive under the
infliction of a very long and very solemn harangue. At any rate, as the
meeting broke up, there was a good dial of jesting on the subject. De
Hammes, commonly called "Toison d'Or," councillor and king-at-arms of the
Order, said that the President had been seeing visions and talking with
Saint Andrew in a dream. Marquis Berghen asked for the source whence he
had derived such intimate acquaintance with the ideas of the Saint. The
President took these remarks rather testily, and, from trifling, the
company became soon earnestly engaged in a warm discussion of the
agitating topics of the day. It soon became evident to Viglius that De
Hammer and others of his comrades had been dealing with dangerous things.
He began shrewdly to suspect that the popular heresy was rapidly
extending into higher regions; but it was not the President alone who
discovered how widely the contamination was spreading. The meeting, the
accidental small talk, which had passed so swiftly from gaiety to
gravity, the rapid exchange of ideas, and the free-masonry by which
intelligence upon forbidden topics had been mutually conveyed, became
events of historical importance. Interviews between nobles, who, in the
course of the festivities produced by the Montigny and Parma marriages,
had discovered that they entertained a secret similarity of sentiment
upon vital questions, became of frequent occurrence. The result to which
such conferences led will be narrated in the following chapter.

Meantime, upon the 11th November, 1565, the marriage of Prince Alexander
and Donna Maria was celebrated; with great solemnity, by the Archbishop
of Cambray, in the chapel of the court at Brussels. On the following
Sunday the wedding banquet was held in the great hall, where, ten years
previously, the memorable abdication of the bridegroom's imperial
grandfather had taken place.

The walls were again hung with the magnificent tapestry of Gideon, while
the Knights of the Fleece, with all the other grandees of the land, were
assembled to grace the spectacle. The King was represented by his envoy
in England, Don Guzman de Silva, who came to Brussels for the occasion,
and who had been selected for this duty because, according to Armenteros,
"he was endowed, beside his prudence, with so much witty gracefulness
with ladies in matters of pastime and entertainment." Early in the month
of December, a famous tournament was held in the great market-place of
Brussels, the Duke of Parma, the Duke of Aerschot, and Count Egmont being
judges of the jousts. Count Mansfeld was the challenger, assisted by his
son Charles, celebrated among the gentry of the land for his dexterity in
such sports. To Count Charles was awarded upon this occasion the silver
cup from the lady of the lists. Count Bossu received the prize for
breaking best his lances; the Seigneur de Beauvoir for the most splendid
entrance; Count Louis, of Nassau, for having borne himself most gallantly
in the melee. On the same evening the nobles, together with the bridal
pair, were entertained at a splendid supper, given by the city of
Brussels in the magnificent Hotel de Ville. On this occasion the prizes
gained at the tournament were distributed, amid the applause and hilarity
of all the revellers.

Thus, with banquet, tourney, and merry marriage bells, with gaiety
gilding the surface of society, while a deadly hatred to the inquisition
was eating into the heart of the nation, and while the fires of civil war
were already kindling, of which no living man was destined to witness the
extinction, ended the year 1565.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All offices were sold to the highest bidder
     English Puritans
     Habeas corpus
     He did his best to be friends with all the world
     Look through the cloud of dissimulation
     No law but the law of the longest purse
     Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
     Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
     Sonnets of Petrarch
     St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
     To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 10.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1566 [CHAPTER VI.]

   Francis Junius--His sermon at Culemburg House--The Compromise--
   Portraits of Sainte Aldegonde, of Louis 'Nassau, of "Toison d'Or,"
   of Charles Mansfeld--Sketch of the Compromise--Attitude of Orange--
   His letter to the Duchess--Signers of the Compromise--Indiscretion
   of the confederates--Espionage over Philip by Orange--
   Dissatisfaction of the seigniors--Conduct of Egmont--Despair of the
   people--Emigration to England--Its effects--The request--Meeting at
   Breda and Hoogstraaten--Exaggerated statements concerning the
   Request in the state council--Hesitation of the Duchess--Assembly of
   notables--Debate concerning the Request and the inquisition--
   Character of Brederode--Arrival of the petitioners in Brussels--
   Presentation of the Request--Emotion of Margaret--Speech of
   Brederode--Sketch of the Request--Memorable sarcasm of Berlaymont--
   Deliberation in the state council--Apostille to the Request--Answer
   to the Apostille--Reply of the Duchess--Speech of D'Esquerdes--
   Response of Margaret--Memorable banquet at Culemburg House--Name of
   "the beggars" adopted--Orange, Egmont, and Horn break up the riotous
   meeting--Costume of "the beggars"--Brederode at Antwerp--Horrible
   execution at Oudenardo--Similar cruelties throughout the provinces--
   Project of "Moderation"--Religious views of Orange--His resignation
   of all his offices not accepted--The "Moderation" characterized--
   Egmont at Arras Debate on the "Moderation"--Vacillation of Egmont--
   Mission of Montigny and Berghen to Spain--Instructions to the
   envoys--Secret correspondence of Philip with the Pope concerning the
   Netherland inquisition and the edicts--Field-preaching in the
   provinces--Modet at Ghent--Other preachers characterized--Excitement
   at Tournay--Peter Gabriel at Harlem--Field--preaching near Antwerp--
   Embarrassment of the Regent--Excitement at Antwerp--Pensionary
   Wesenbeck sent to Brussels--Orange at Antwerp--His patriotic course
   --Misrepresentation of the Duchess--Intemperate zeal of Dr.
   Rythovius--Meeting at St. Trond--Conference at Duffel--Louis of
   Nassau deputed to the Regent--Unsatisfactory negotiations.

The most remarkable occurrence in the earlier part of the year 1556 was
the famous Compromise. This document, by which the signers pledged
themselves to oppose the inquisition, and to defend each other against
all consequences of such a resistance, was probably the work of Philip de
Marnix, Lord of Sainte Aldegonde. Much obscurity, however, rests upon the
origin of this league. Its foundations had already been laid in the
latter part of the preceding year. The nuptials of Parma with the
Portuguese princess had been the cause of much festivity, not only in
Brussels, but at Antwerp. The great commercial metropolis had celebrated
the occasion by a magnificent banquet. There had been triumphal arches,
wreaths of flowers, loyal speeches, generous sentiments, in the usual
profusion. The chief ornament of the dinner-table had been a magnificent
piece of confectionary, netting elaborately forth the mission of Count
Mansfeld with the fleet to Portugal to fetch the bride from her home,
with exquisitely finished figures in sugar--portraits, it is to be
presumed--of the principal personages as they appeared during the most
striking scenes of the history. At the very moment, however, of these
delectations, a meeting was held at Brussels of men whose minds were
occupied with sterner stuff than sugar-work. On the wedding-day of Parma,
Francis Junius, a dissenting minister then residing at Antwerp, was
invited to Brussels to preach a sermon in the house of Count Culemburg,
on the horse-market (now called Little Sablon), before a small assembly
of some twenty gentlemen.

This Francis Junius, born of a noble family in Bourges, was the pastor of
the secret French congregation of Huguenots at Antwerp. He was very
young, having arrived from Geneva, where he had been educated, to take
charge of the secret church, when but just turned of twenty years. He
was, however, already celebrated for his learning, his eloquence, and his
courage. Towards the end of 1565, it had already become known that Junius
was in secret understanding with Louis of Nassau, to prepare an address
to government on the subject of the inquisition and edicts. Orders were
given for his arrest.

A certain painter of Brussels affected conversion to the new religion,
that he might gain admission to the congregation, and afterwards earn the
reward of the informer. He played his part so well that he was permitted
to attend many meetings, in the course of which he sketched the portrait
of the preacher, and delivered it to the Duchess Regent, together with
minute statements as to his residence and daily habits. Nevertheless,
with all this assistance, the government could not succeed in laying
hands on him. He escaped to Breda, and continued his labors in spite of
persecution. The man's courage may be estimated from the fact that he
preached on one occasion a sermon, advocating the doctrines of the
reformed Church with his usual eloquence, in a room overlooking the
market-place, where, at the very, instant, the execution by fire of
several heretics was taking place, while the light from the flames in
which the brethren of their Faith were burning, was flickering through
the glass windows of the conventicle. Such was the man who preached a
sermon in Culemburg Palace on Parma's wedding-day. The nobles who
listened to him were occupied with grave discourse after conclusion of
the religious exercises. Junius took no part in their conversation, but
in his presence it was resolved that a league against the "barbarous and
violent inquisition" should be formed, and, that the confederates should
mutually bind themselves both within and without the Netherlands to this
great purpose. Junius, in giving this explicit statement; has not
mentioned the names of the nobles before whom he preached. It may be
inferred that some of them were the more ardent and the more respectable
among the somewhat miscellaneous band by whom the Compromise was
afterwards signed.

At about the same epoch, Louis of Nassau, Nicolas de Hammes, and certain
other gentlemen met at the baths of Spa. At this secret assembly, the
foundations of the Compromise were definitely laid. A document was
afterwards drawn up, which was circulated for signatures in the early
part of 1566. It is, therefore, a mistake to suppose that this memorable
paper was simultaneously signed and sworn to at any solemn scene like
that of the declaration of American Independence, or like some of the
subsequent transactions in the Netherland revolt, arranged purposely for
dramatic effect. Several copies of the Compromise were passed secretly
from hand to hand, and in the course of two months some two thousand
signatures had been obtained. The original copy bore but three names,
those of Brederode, Charles de Mansfeld, and Louis of Nassau. The
composition of the paper is usually ascribed to Sainte Aldegonde,
although the fact is not indisputable. At any rate, it is very certain
that he was one of the originators and main supporters of the famous
league. Sainte Aldegonde was one of the most accomplished men of his age.
He was of ancient nobility, as he proved by an abundance of historical
and heraldic evidence, in answer to a scurrilous pamphlet in which he had
been accused, among other delinquencies, of having sprung from plebeian
blood. Having established his "extraction from true and ancient gentlemen
of Savoy, paternally and maternally," he rebuked his assailants in manly
strain. "Even had it been that I was without nobility of birth," said he,
"I should be none the less or more a virtuous or honest man; nor can any
one reproach me with having failed in the point of honor or duty. What
greater folly than to boast of the virtue or gallantry of others, as do
many nobles who, having neither a grain of virtue in their souls nor a
drop of wisdom in their brains, are entirely useless to their country!
Yet there are such men, who, because their ancestors have done some
valorous deed, think themselves fit to direct the machinery of a whole
country, having from their youth learned nothing but to dance and to spin
like weathercocks with their heads as well as their heels." Certainly
Sainte Aldegonde had learned other lessons than these. He was one of the
many-sided men who recalled the symmetry of antique patriots. He was a
poet of much vigor and imagination; a prose writer whose style was
surpassed by that of none of his contemporaries, a diplomatist in whose
tact and delicacy William of Orange afterwards reposed in the most
difficult and important negotiations, an orator whose discourses on many
great public occasions attracted the attention of Europe, a soldier whose
bravery was to be attested afterwards on many a well-fought field, a
theologian so skilful in the polemics of divinity, that, as it will
hereafter appear, he was more than a match for a bench of bishops upon
their own ground, and a scholar so accomplished, that, besides speaking
and writing the classical and several modern languages with facility, he
had also translated for popular use the Psalms of David into vernacular
verse, and at a very late period of his life was requested by the
states-general of the republic to translate all the Scriptures, a work,
the fulfilment of which was prevented by his death. A passionate foe to
the inquisition and to all the abuses of the ancient Church, an ardent
defender of civil liberty, it must be admitted that he partook also of
the tyrannical spirit of Calvinism. He never rose to the lofty heights to
which the spirit of the great founder of the commonwealth was destined to
soar, but denounced the great principle of religious liberty for all
consciences as godless. He was now twenty-eight years of age, having been
born in the same year with his friend Louis of Nassau. His device, "Repos
ailleurs," finely typified the restless, agitated and laborious life to
which he was destined.

That other distinguished leader of the newly-formed league, Count Louis,
was a true knight of the olden time, the very mirror of chivalry. Gentle,
generous, pious; making use, in his tent before the battle, of the
prayers which his mother sent him from the home of his childhood,--yet
fiery in the field as an ancient crusader--doing the work of general and
soldier with desperate valor and against any numbers--cheerful and
steadfast under all reverses, witty and jocund in social intercourse,
animating with his unceasing spirits the graver and more foreboding soul
of his brother; he was the man to whom the eyes of the most ardent among
the Netherland Reformers were turned at this early epoch, the trusty
staff upon which the great Prince of Orange was to lean till it was
broken. As gay as Brederode, he was unstained by his vices, and exercised
a boundless influence over that reckless personage, who often protested
that he would "die a poor soldier at his feet." The career of Louis was
destined to be short, if reckoned by years, but if by events, it was to
attain almost a patriarchal length. At the age of nineteen he had taken
part in the battle of St. Quentin, and when once the war of freedom
opened, his sword was never to be sheathed. His days were filled with
life, and when he fell into his bloody but unknown grave, he was to leave
a name as distinguished for heroic valor and untiring energy as for
spotless integrity. He was small of stature, but well formed; athletic in
all knightly exercises, with agreeable features, a dark laughing eye,
close-clipped brown hair, and a peaked beard.

"Golden Fleece," as Nicholas de Hammes was universally denominated, was
the illegitimate scion of a noble house. He was one of the most active of
the early adherents to the league, kept the lists of signers in his
possession, and scoured the country daily to procure new confederates. At
the public preachings of the reformed religion, which soon after this
epoch broke forth throughout the Netherlands as by a common impulse, he
made himself conspicuous. He was accused of wearing, on such occasions,
the ensigns of the Fleece about his neck, in order to induce ignorant
people to believe that they might themselves legally follow, when they
perceived a member of that illustrious fraternity to be leading the way.
As De Hammer was only an official or servant of that Order, but not a
companion, the seduction of the lieges by such false pretenses was
reckoned among the most heinous of his offences. He was fierce in his
hostility to the government, and one of those fiery spirits whose
premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause of liberty, and disheartening
to the cautious patriotism of Orange. He was for smiting at once the
gigantic atrocity of the Spanish dominion, without waiting for the
forging of the weapons by which the blows were to be dealt. He forgot
that men and money were as necessary as wrath, in a contest with the most
tremendous despotism of the world. "They wish," he wrote to Count Louis,
"that we should meet these hungry wolves with remonstrances, using gentle
words, while they are burning and cutting off heads.--Be it so then. Let
us take the pen let them take the sword. For them deeds, for us words. We
shall weep, they will laugh. The Lord be praised for all; but I can not
write this without tears." This nervous language painted the situation
and the character of the writer.

As for Charles Mansfeld, he soon fell away from the league which he had
embraced originally with excessive ardor.

By the influence of the leaders many signatures were obtained during the
first two months of the year. The language of the document was such that
patriotic Catholics could sign it as honestly as Protestants. It
inveighed bitterly against the tyranny of "a heap of strangers," who,
influenced only by private avarice and ambition, were making use of an
affected zeal for the Catholic religion, to persuade the King into a
violation of his oaths. It denounced the refusal to mitigate the severity
of the edicts. It declared the inquisition, which it seemed the intention
of government to fix permanently upon them, as "iniquitous, contrary to
all laws, human and divine, surpassing the greatest barbarism which was
ever practised by tyrants, and as redounding to the dishonor of God and
to the total desolation of the country." The signers protested,
therefore, that "having a due regard to their duties as faithful vassals
of his Majesty, and especially, as noblemen--and in order not to be
deprived of their estates and their lives by those who, under pretext of
religion, wished to enrich themselves by plunder and murder," they had
bound themselves to each other by holy covenant and solemn oath to resist
the inquisition. They mutually promised to oppose it in every shape, open
or covert, under whatever mask, it might assume, whether bearing the name
of inquisition, placard, or edict, "and to extirpate and eradicate the
thing in any form, as the mother of all iniquity and disorder." They
protested before God and man, that they would attempt nothing to the
dishonor of the Lord or to the diminution of the King's grandeur,
majesty, or dominion. They declared, on the contrary, an honest purpose
to "maintain the monarch in his estate, and to suppress all seditious,
tumults, monopolies, and factions." They engaged to preserve their
confederation, thus formed, forever inviolable, and to permit none of its
members to be persecuted in any manner, in body or goods, by any
proceeding founded on the inquisition, the edicts, or the present league.

It will be seen therefore, that the Compromise was in its origin, a
covenant of nobles. It was directed against the foreign influence by
which the Netherlands were exclusively governed, and against the
inquisition, whether papal, episcopal, or by edict. There is no doubt
that the country was controlled entirely by Spanish masters, and that the
intention was to reduce the ancient liberty of the Netherlands into
subjection to a junta of foreigners sitting at Madrid. Nothing more
legitimate could be imagined than a constitutional resistance to such a
policy.

The Prince of Orange had not been consulted as to the formation of the
league. It was sufficiently obvious to its founders that his cautious
mind would find much to censure in the movement. His sentiments with
regard to the inquisition and the edicts were certainly known to all men.
In the beginning of this year, too, he had addressed a remarkable letter
to the Duchess, in answer to her written commands to cause the Council of
Trent, the inquisition, and the edicts, in accordance with the recent
commands of the King, to be published and enforced throughout his
government. Although his advice on the subject had not been asked, he
expressed his sense of obligation to speak his mind on the subject,
preferring the hazard of being censured for his remonstrance, to that of
incurring the suspicion of connivance at the desolation of the land by
his silence. He left the question of reformation in ecclesiastical morals
untouched, as not belonging to his vocation: As to the inquisition, he
most distinctly informed her highness that the hope which still lingered
in the popular mind of escaping the permanent establishment of that
institution, had alone prevented the utter depopulation of the country,
with entire subversion of its commercial and manufacturing industry. With
regard to the edicts, he temperately but forcibly expressed the opinion
that it was very hard to enforce those placards now in their rigor, when
the people were exasperated, and the misery universal, inasmuch as they
had frequently been modified on former occasions. The King, he said,
could gain nothing but difficulty for himself, and would be sure to lose
the affection of his subjects by renewing the edicts, strengthening the
inquisition, and proceeding to fresh executions, at a time when the
people, moved by the example of their neighbors, were naturally inclined
to novelty. Moreover, when by reason of the daily increasing prices of
grain a famine was impending over the land, no worse moment could be
chosen to enforce such a policy. In conclusion, he observed that he was
at all times desirous to obey the commands of his Majesty and her
Highness, and to discharge the duties of "a good Christian." The use of
the latter term is remarkable, as marking an epoch in the history of the
Prince's mind. A year before he would have said a good Catholic, but it
was during this year that his mind began to be thoroughly pervaded by
religious doubt, and that the great question of the Reformation forced
itself, not only as a political, but as a moral problem upon him, which
he felt that he could not much longer neglect instead of solving.

Such were the opinions of Orange. He could not, however, safely entrust
the sacred interests of a commonwealth to such hands as those of
Brederode--however deeply that enthusiastic personage might drink the
health of "Younker William," as he affectionately denominated the
Prince--or to "Golden Fleece," or to Charles Mansfeld, or to that younger
wild boar of Ardennes, Robert de la Marck. In his brother and in Sainte
Aldegonde he had confidence, but he did not exercise over them that
control which he afterwards acquired. His conduct towards the confederacy
was imitated in the main by the other great nobles. The covenanters never
expected to obtain the signatures of such men as Orange, Egmont, Horn,
Meghen, Berghen, or Montigny, nor were those eminent personages ever
accused of having signed the Compromise, although some of them were
afterwards charged with having protected those who did affix their names
to the document. The confederates were originally found among the lesser
nobles. Of these some were sincere Catholics, who loved the ancient
Church but hated the inquisition; some were fierce Calvinists or
determined Lutherans; some were troublous and adventurous spirits, men of
broken fortunes, extravagant habits, and boundless desires, who no doubt
thought that the broad lands of the Church, with their stately abbeys;
would furnish much more fitting homes and revenues for gallant gentlemen
than for lazy monks. All were young, few had any prudence or conduct, and
the history of the league more than justified the disapprobation of
Orange. The nobles thus banded together, achieved little by their
confederacy. They disgraced a great cause by their orgies, almost ruined
it by their inefficiency, and when the rope of sand which they had
twisted fell asunder, the people had gained nothing and the gentry had
almost lost the confidence of the nation. These remarks apply to the mass
of the confederates and to some of the leaders. Louis of Nassau and
Sainte Aldegonde were ever honored and trusted as they deserved.

Although the language of the Compromise spoke of the leaguers as nobles,
yet the document was circulated among burghers and merchants also, many
of whom, according to the satirical remark of a Netherland Catholic, may,
have been influenced by the desire of writing their names in such
aristocratic company, and some of whom were destined to expiate such
vainglory upon the scaffold.

With such associates, therefore, the profound and anxious mind of Orange
could have little in common. Confidence expanding as the numbers
increased, their audacity and turbulence grew with the growth of the
league. The language at their wild banquets was as hot as the wine which
confused their heads; yet the Prince knew that there was rarely a
festival in which there did not sit some calm, temperate Spaniard,
watching with quiet eye and cool brain the extravagant demeanor, and
listening with composure to the dangerous avowals or bravados of these
revellers, with the purpose of transmitting a record of their language or
demonstrations, to the inmost sanctuary of Philip's cabinet at Madrid.
The Prince knew, too, that the King was very sincere in his determination
to maintain the inquisition, however dilatory his proceedings might
appear. He was well aware that an armed force might be expected ere long
to support the royal edicts. Already the Prince had organized that system
of espionage upon Philip, by which the champion of his country was so
long able to circumvent its despot. The King left letters carefully
locked in his desk at night, and unseen hands had forwarded copies of
them to William of Orange before the morning. He left memoranda in his
pockets on retiring to bed, and exact transcripts of those papers found
their way, likewise, ere he rose, to the same watchman in the
Netherlands. No doubt that an inclination for political intrigue was a
prominent characteristic of the Prince, and a blemish upon the purity of
his moral nature. Yet the dissimulating policy of his age he had mastered
only that he might accomplish the noblest purposes to which a great and
good man can devote his life-the protection of the liberty and the
religion of a whole people against foreign tyranny. His intrigue served
his country, not a narrow personal ambition, and it was only by such arts
that he became Philip's master, instead of falling at once, like so many
great personages, a blind and infatuated victim. No doubt his purveyors
of secret information were often destined fearfully to atone for their
contraband commerce, but they who trade in treason must expect to pay the
penalty of their traffic.

Although, therefore, the great nobles held themselves aloof from the
confederacy, yet many of them gave unequivocal signs of their dissent
from the policy adopted by government. Marquis Berghen wrote to the
Duchess; resigning his posts, on the ground of his inability to execute
the intention of the King in the matter of religion. Meghen replied to
the same summons by a similar letter. Egmont assured her that he would
have placed his offices in the King's hands in Spain, could he have
foreseen that his Majesty would form such resolutions as had now been
proclaimed. The sentiments of Orange were avowed in the letter to which
we have already alluded. His opinions were shared by Montigny, Culemburg,
and many others. The Duchess was almost reduced to desperation. The
condition of the country was frightful. The most determined loyalists,
such as Berlaymont, Viglius and Hopper, advised her not to mention the
name of inquisition in a conference which she was obliged to hold with a
deputation from Antwerp. She feared, all feared, to pronounce the hated
word. She wrote despairing letters to Philip, describing the condition of
the land and her own agony in the gloomiest colors. Since the arrival of
the royal orders, she said, things had gone from bad to worse. The King
had been ill advised. It was useless to tell the people that the
inquisition had always existed in the provinces. They maintained that it
was a novelty; that the institution was a more rigorous one than the
Spanish Inquisition, which, said Margaret, "was most odious, as the King
knew." It was utterly impossible to carry the edicts into execution.
Nearly all the governors of provinces had told her plainly that they
would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders. Thus
bitterly did Margaret of Parma bewail the royal decree; not that she had
any sympathy for the victims, but because she felt the increasing danger
to the executioner. One of two things it was now necessary to decide
upon, concession or armed compulsion. Meantime, while Philip was slowly
and secretly making his levies, his sister, as well as his people, was on
the rack. Of all the seigniors, not one was placed in so painful a
position as Egmont. His military reputation and his popularity made him
too important a personage to be slighted, yet he was deeply mortified at
the lamentable mistake which he had committed. He now averred that he
would never take arms against the King, but that he would go where man
should never see him more.

Such was the condition of the nobles, greater and less. That of the
people could not well be worse. Famine reigned in the land. Emigration,
caused not by over population, but by persecution, was fast weakening the
country. It was no wonder that not only, foreign merchants should be
scared from the great commercial cities by the approaching disorders; but
that every industrious artisan who could find the means of escape should
seek refuge among strangers, wherever an asylum could be found. That
asylum was afforded by Protestant England, who received these intelligent
and unfortunate wanderers with cordiality, and learned with eagerness the
lessons in mechanical skill which they had to teach. Already thirty
thousand emigrant Netherlanders were established in Sandwich, Norwich,
and other places, assigned to them by Elizabeth. It had always, however,
been made a condition of the liberty granted to these foreigners for
practising their handiwork, that each house should employ at least one
English apprentice. "Thus," said a Walloon historian, splenetically, "by
this regulation, and by means of heavy duties on foreign manufactures,
have the English built up their own fabrics and prohibited those of the
Netherlands. Thus have they drawn over to their own country our skilful
artisans to practise their industry, not at home but abroad, and our poor
people are thus losing the means of earning their livelihood. Thus has
clothmaking, silk-making and the art of dyeing declined in this country,
and would have been quite extinguished but by our wise countervailing
edicts." The writer, who derived most of his materials and his wisdom
from the papers of Councillor d'Assonleville, could hardly doubt that the
persecution to which these industrious artisans, whose sufferings he
affected to deplore, had been subjected, must have had something to do
with their expatriation; but he preferred to ascribe it wholly to the
protective system adopted by England. In this he followed the opinion of
his preceptor. "For a long time," said Assonleville, "the Netherlands
have been the Indies to England; and as long as she has them, she needs
no other. The French try to surprise our fortresses and cities: the
English make war upon our wealth and upon the purses of the people."
Whatever the cause, however, the current of trade was already turned. The
cloth-making of England was already gaining preponderance over that of
the provinces. Vessels now went every week from Sandwich to Antwerp,
laden with silk, satin, and cloth, manufactured in England, while as many
but a few years before, had borne the Flemish fabrics of the same nature
from Antwerp to England.

It might be supposed by disinterested judges that persecution was at the
bottom of this change in commerce. The Prince of Orange estimated that up
to this period fifty thousand persons in the provinces had been put to
death in obedience to the edicts. He was a moderate man, and accustomed
to weigh his words. As a new impulse had been given to the system of
butchery--as it was now sufficiently plain that "if the father had
chastised his people with a scourge the son held a whip of scorpions" as
the edicts were to be enforced with renewed vigor--it was natural that
commerce and manufactures should make their escape out of a doomed land
as soon as possible, whatever system of tariffs might be adopted by
neighboring nations.

A new step had been resolved upon early in the month of March by the
confederates. A petition, or "Request," was drawn up, which was to be
presented to the Duchess Regent in a formal manner by a large number of
gentlemen belonging to the league. This movement was so grave, and likely
to be followed by such formidable results, that it seemed absolutely
necessary for Orange and his friends to take some previous cognizance of
it before it was finally arranged. The Prince had no power, nor was there
any reason why he should have the inclination, to prevent the measure,
but he felt it his duty to do what he could to control the vehemence of
the men who were moving so rashly forward, and to take from their
manifesto, as much as possible, the character of a menace.

For this end, a meeting ostensibly for social purposes and "good cheer"
was held, in the middle of March, at Breda, and afterwards adjourned to
Hoogstraaten. To these conferences Orange invited Egmont, Horn,
Hoogstraaten, Berghen, Meghen, Montigny, and other great nobles.
Brederode, Tholouse, Boxtel, and other members of the league, were also
present. The object of the Prince in thus assembling his own immediate
associates, governors of provinces and knights of the Fleece, as well as
some of the leading members of the league, was twofold. It had long been
his opinion that a temperate and loyal movement was still possible, by
which the impending convulsions might be averted. The line of policy
which he had marked out required the assent of the magnates of the land,
and looked towards the convocation of the states-general. It was natural
that he should indulge in the hope of being seconded by the men who were
in the same political and social station with himself. All, although
Catholics, hated the inquisition. As Viglius pathetically exclaimed,
"Saint Paul himself would have been unable to persuade these men that
good fruit was to be gathered from the inquisition in the cause of
religion." Saint Paul could hardly be expected to reappear on earth for
such a purpose. Meantime the arguments of the learned President had
proved powerless, either to convince the nobles that the institution was
laudable or to obtain from the Duchess a postponement in the publication
of the late decrees. The Prince of Orange, however, was not able to bring
his usual associates to his way of thinking. The violent purposes of the
leaguers excited the wrath of the more loyal nobles. Their intentions
were so dangerous, even in the estimation of the Prince himself, that he
felt it his duty to lay the whole subject before the Duchess, although he
was not opposed to the presentation of a modest and moderate Request.
Meghen was excessively indignant at the plan of the confederates, which
he pronounced an insult to the government, a treasonable attempt to
overawe the Duchess, by a "few wretched vagabonds." He swore that "he
would break every one of their heads, if the King would furnish him with
a couple of hundred thousand florins." Orange quietly rebuked this
truculent language, by assuring him both that such a process would be
more difficult than he thought, and that he would also find many men of
great respectability among the vagabonds.

The meeting separated at Hoogstraaten without any useful result, but it
was now incumbent upon the Prince, in his own judgment, to watch, and in
a measure to superintend, the proceedings of the confederates. By his
care the contemplated Request was much altered, and especially made more
gentle in its tone. Meghen separated himself thenceforth entirely from
Orange, and ranged himself exclusively upon the side of Government.
Egmont vacillated, as usual, satisfying neither the Prince nor the
Duchess.

Margaret of Parma was seated in her council chamber very soon after these
occurrences, attended both by Orange and Egmont, when the Count of Meghen
entered the apartment. With much precipitation, he begged that all
matters then before the board might be postponed, in order that he might
make an important announcement. He then stated that he had received
information from a gentleman on whose word he could rely, a very
affectionate servant of the King, but whose name he had promised not to
reveal, that a very extensive conspiracy of heretics and sectaries had
been formed, both within and without the Netherlands, that they had
already a force of thirty-five thousand men, foot and horse, ready for
action, that they were about to make a sudden invasion, and to plunder
the whole country, unless they immediately received a formal concession
of entire liberty of conscience, and that, within six or seven days,
fifteen hundred men-at-arms would make their appearance before her
Highness. These ridiculous exaggerations of the truth were confirmed by
Egmont, who said that he had received similar information from persons
whose names he was not at liberty to mention, but from whose statements
he could announce that some great tumult might be expected every day. He
added that there were among the confederates many who wished to change
their sovereign, and that the chieftains and captains of the conspiracy
were all appointed. The same nobleman also laid before the council a copy
of the Compromise, the terms of which famous document scarcely justified
the extravagant language with which it had been heralded. The Duchess was
astounded at these communications. She had already received, but probably
not yet read, a letter from the Prince of Orange upon the subject, in
which a moderate and plain statement of the actual facts was laid down,
which was now reiterated by the same personage by word of mouth. An
agitated and inconclusive debate followed, in which, however, it
sufficiently appeared, as the Duchess informed her brother, that one of
two things must be done without further delay. The time had arrived for
the government to take up arms, or to make concessions.

In one of the informal meetings of councillors, now held almost daily, on
the subject of the impending Request, Aremberg, Meghen, and Berlaymont
maintained that the door should be shut in the face of the petitioners
without taking any further notice of the petition. Berlaymont suggested
also, that if this course were not found advisable, the next best thing
would be to allow the confederates to enter the palace with their
Request, and then to cut them to pieces to the very last man, by means of
troops to be immediately ordered from the frontiers. Such sanguinary
projects were indignantly rebuked by Orange. He maintained that the
confederates were entitled to be treated with respect. Many of them, he
said, were his friends--some of them his relations--and there was no
reason for refusing to gentlemen of their rank, a right which belonged to
the poorest plebeian in the land. Egmont sustained these views of the
Prince as earnestly as he had on a previous occasion appeared to
countenance the more violent counsels of Meghen.

Meantime, as it was obvious that the demonstration on the part of the
confederacy was soon about to be made, the Duchess convened a grand
assembly of notables, in which not only all the state and privy
councillors, but all the governors and knights of the Fleece were to take
part. On the 28th of March, this assembly was held, at which the whole
subject of the Request, together with the proposed modifications of the
edicts and abolition of the inquisition, was discussed. The Duchess also
requested the advice of the meeting--whether it would not be best for her
to retire to some other city, like Mons, which she had selected as her
stronghold in case of extremity. The decision was that it would be a
high-handed proceeding to refuse the right of petition to a body of
gentlemen, many of them related to the greatest nobles in the land; but
it was resolved that they should be required to make their appearance
without arms. As to the contemplated flight of the Duchess, it was urged,
with much reason, that such a step would cast disgrace upon the
government, and that it would be a sufficiently precautionary measure to
strengthen the guards at the city gates--not to prevent the entrance of
the petitioners, but to see that they were unaccompanied by an armed
force. It had been decided that Count Brederode should present the
petition to the Duchess at the head of a deputation of about three
hundred gentlemen. The character of the nobleman thus placed foremost on
such an important occasion has been sufficiently made manifest. He had no
qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him as a leader
for a political party. It was to be seen that other attributes were
necessary to make a man useful in such a position, and the Count's
deficiencies soon became lamentably conspicuous. He was the lineal
descendant and representative of the old Sovereign Counts of Holland.
Five hundred years before his birth; his ancestor Sikko, younger brother
of Dirk the Third, had died, leaving two sons, one of whom was the first
Baron of Brederode. A descent of five centuries in unbroken male
succession from the original sovereigns of Holland, gave him a better
genealogical claim to the provinces than any which Philip of Spain could
assert through the usurping house of Burgundy. In the approaching tumults
he hoped for an opportunity of again asserting the ancient honors of his
name. He was a sworn foe to Spaniards and to "water of the fountain." But
a short time previously to this epoch he had written to Louis of Nassau,
then lying ill of a fever, in order gravely to remonstrate with him on
the necessity of substituting wine for water on all occasions, and it
will be seen in the sequel that the wine-cup was the great instrument on
which he relied for effecting the deliverance of the country. Although
"neither bachelor nor chancellor," as he expressed it, he was supposed to
be endowed with ready eloquence and mother wit. Even these gifts,
however, if he possessed them, were often found wanting on important
emergencies. Of his courage there was no question, but he was not
destined to the death either of a warrior or a martyr. Headlong, noisy,
debauched, but brave, kind-hearted and generous, he was a fitting
representative of his ancestors, the hard-fighting, hard-drinking,
crusading, free-booting sovereigns of Holland and Friesland, and would
himself have been more at home and more useful in the eleventh century
than in the sixteenth.

It was about six o'clock in the evening, on the third day of April
(1566), that the long-expected cavalcade at last entered Brussels. An
immense concourse of citizens of all ranks thronged around the noble
confederates as soon as they made their appearance. They were about two
hundred in number, all on horseback, with pistols in their holsters, and
Brederode, tall, athletic, and martial in his bearing, with handsome
features and fair curling locks upon his shoulders, seemed an appropriate
chieftain for that band of Batavian chivalry.

The procession was greeted with frequent demonstrations of applause as it
wheeled slowly through the city till it reached the mansion of Orange
Nassau. Here Brederode and Count Louis alighted, while the rest of the
company dispersed to different quarters of the town.

"They thought that I should not come to Brussels," said Brederode, as he
dismounted. "Very well, here I am; and perhaps I shall depart in a
different manner." In the Course of the next day, Counts Culemburg and
Van den Berg entered the city with one hundred other cavaliers.

On the morning of the fifth of April, the confederates were assembled at
the Culemburg mansion, which stood on the square called the Sabon, within
a few minutes' walk of the palace. A straight handsome street led from
the house along the summit of the hill, to the splendid residence of the
ancient Dukes of Brabant, then the abode of Duchess Margaret. At a little
before noon, the gentlemen came forth, marching on foot, two by two, to
the number of three hundred. Nearly all were young, many of them bore the
most ancient historical names of their country, every one was arrayed in
magnificent costume. It was regarded as ominous, that the man who led the
procession, Philip de Bailleul, was lame. The line was closed by
Brederode and Count Louis, who came last, walking arm in arm. An immense
crowd was collected in the square in front of the palace, to welcome the
men who were looked upon as the deliverers of the land from Spanish
tyranny, from the Cardinalists, and from the inquisition. They were
received with deafening huzzas and clappings of hands by the assembled
populace. As they entered the council chamber, passing through the great
hall, where ten years before the Emperor had given away his crowns, they
found the Emperor's daughter seated in the chair of state, and surrounded
by the highest personages of the country. The emotion of the Duchess was
evident, as the procession somewhat abruptly made its appearance; nor was
her agitation diminished as she observed among the petitioners many
relatives and, retainers of the Orange and Egmont houses, and saw
friendly glances of recognition exchanged between them and their chiefs.

As soon as all had entered the senate room, Brederode advanced, made a
low obeisance, and spoke a brief speech. He said that he had come thither
with his colleagues to present a humble petition to her Highness. He
alluded to the reports which had been rife, that they had contemplated
tumult, sedition, foreign conspiracies, and, what was more abominable
than all, a change of sovereign. He denounced such statements as
calumnies, begged the Duchess to name the men who had thus aspersed an
honorable and loyal company, and called upon her to inflict exemplary
punishment upon the slanderers. With these prefatory remarks he presented
the petition. The famous document was then read aloud.--Its tone was
sufficiently loyal, particularly in the preamble, which was filled with
protestations of devotion to both King and Duchess. After this
conventional introduction, however, the petitioners proceeded to state,
very plainly, that the recent resolutions of his Majesty, with regard to
the edict and the inquisition, were likely to produce a general
rebellion. They had hoped, they said, that a movement would be made by
the seigniors or by the estates, to remedy the evil by striking at its
cause, but they had waited in vain. The danger, on the other hand, was
augmenting every day, universal sedition was at the gate, and they had
therefore felt obliged to delay no longer, but come forward the first and
do their duty. They professed to do this with more freedom, because the
danger touched them very nearly. They were the most exposed to the
calamities which usually spring from civil commotions, for their houses
and lands situate in the open fields, were exposed to the pillage of all
the world. Moreover there was not one of them, whatever his condition,
who was not liable at any moment to be executed under the edicts, at the
false complaint of the first man who wished to obtain his estate, and who
chose to denounce him to the inquisitor, at whose mercy were the lives
and property of all. They therefore begged the Duchess Regent to despatch
an envoy on their behalf, who should humbly implore his Majesty to
abolish the edicts. In the mean time they requested her Highness to order
a general surcease of the inquisition, and of all executions, until the
King's further pleasure was made known, and until new ordinances, made by
his Majesty with advice and consent of the states-general duly assembled,
should be established. The petition terminated as it had commenced, with
expressions of extreme respect and devoted loyalty.

The agitation of Duchess Margaret increased very perceptibly during the
reading of the paper. When it was finished, she remained for a few
minutes quite silent, with tears rolling down her cheeks. As soon as she
could overcome her excitement, she uttered a few words to the effect that
she would advise with her councillors and give the petitioners such
answer as should be found suitable. The confederates then passed out from
the council chamber into the grand hall; each individual, as he took his
departure, advancing towards the Duchess and making what was called the
"caracole," in token of reverence. There was thus ample time to
contemplate the whole company; and to count the numbers of the
deputation.

After this ceremony had been concluded, there was much earnest debate in.
the council. The Prince of Orange addressed a few words to the Duchess,
with the view of calming her irritation. He observed that the
confederates were no seditious rebels, but loyal gentlemen, well born,
well connected, and of honorable character. They had been influenced, he
said, by an honest desire to save their country from impending
danger--not by avarice or ambition. Egmont shrugged his shoulders, and
observed that it was necessary for him to leave the court for a season,
in order to make a visit to the baths of Aix, for an inflammation which
he had in the leg. It was then that Berlaymont, according to the account
which has been sanctioned by nearly every contemporary writer, whether
Catholic or Protestant, uttered the gibe which was destined to become
immortal, and to give a popular name to the confederacy. "What, Madam,"
he is reported to have cried in a passion, "is it possible that your
Highness can entertain fears of these beggars? (gueux). Is it not obvious
what manner of men they are? They have not had wisdom enough to manage
their own estates, and are they now to teach the King and your Highness
how to govern the country? By the living God, if my advice were taken,
their petition should have a cudgel for a commentary, and we would make
them go down the steps of the palace a great deal faster than they
mounted them."

The Count of Meghen was equally violent in his language. Aremberg was for
ordering "their reverences; the confederates," to, quit Brussels without
delay. The conversation, carried on in so violent a key, might not
unnaturally have been heard by such of the gentlemen as had not yet left
the grand hall adjoining the council chamber. The meeting of the council
was then adjourned for an hour or two, to meet again in the afternoon,
for the purpose of deciding deliberately upon the answer to be given to
the Request. Meanwhile, many of the confederates were swaggering about
the streets, talking very bravely of the scene which had just occurred,
and it is probable, boasting not a little of the effect which their
demonstration would produce. As they passed by the house of Berlaymont,
that nobleman, standing at his window in company with Count Aremberg, is
said to have repeated his jest. "There go our fine beggars again," said
he. "Look, I pray you, with what bravado they are passing before us!"

On the 6th of April, Brederode, attended by a large number of his
companions, again made his appearance at the palace. He then received the
petition, which was returned to him with an apostille or commentary to
this effect:--Her Highness would despatch an envoy for the purpose of
inducing his Majesty to grant the Request. Every thing worthy of the
King's unaffected (naive) and customary benignity might be expected as to
the result. The Duchess had already, with the assistance of the state and
privy councillors, Fleece knights and governors, commenced a project for
moderating the edicts, to be laid before the King. As her authority did
not allow her to suspend the inquisition and placards, she was confident
that the petitioners would be satisfied with the special application
about to be made to the King. Meantime, she would give orders to all
inquisitors, that they should proceed "modestly and discreetly" in their
office, so that no one would have cause to complain. Her Highness hoped
likewise that the gentlemen on their part would conduct themselves in a
loyal and satisfactory manner; thus proving that they had no intention to
make innovations in the ancient religion of the country.

Upon the next day but one, Monday, 8th of April, Brederode, attended by a
number of the confederates, again made his appearance at the palace, for
the purpose of delivering an answer to the Apostille. In this second
paper the confederates rendered thanks for the prompt reply which the
Duchess had given to their Request, expressed regrets that she did not
feel at liberty to suspend the inquisition, and declared their confidence
that she would at once give such orders to the inquisitors and
magistrates that prosecutions for religious matters should cease, until
the King's further pleasure should be declared. They professed themselves
desirous of maintaining whatever regulations should be thereafter
established by his Majesty, with the advice and consent of the
states-general, for the security of the ancient religion, and promised to
conduct themselves generally in such wise that her Highness would have
every reason to be satisfied with them. They, moreover, requested that
the Duchess would cause the Petition to be printed in authentic form by
the government printer.

The admission that the confederates would maintain the ancient religion
had been obtained, as Margaret informed her brother, through the
dexterous management of Hoogstraaten, without suspicion on the part of
the petitioners that the proposition for such a declaration came from
her.

The Duchess replied by word of mouth to the second address thus made to
her by the confederates, that she could not go beyond the Apostille which
she had put on record. She had already caused letters for the inquisitors
and magistrates to be drawn up. The minutes for those instructions should
be laid before the confederates by Count Hoogstraaten and Secretary
Berty. As for the printing of their petition, she was willing to grant
their demand, and would give orders to that effect.

The gentlemen having received this answer, retired into the great hall.
After a few minutes' consultation, however, they returned to the council
chamber, where the Seigneur d'Esquerdes, one of their number, addressed a
few parting words, in the name of his associates, to the Regent;
concluding with a request that she would declare, the confederates to
have done no act, and made no demonstration, inconsistent with their duty
and with a perfect respect for his Majesty.

To this demand the Duchess answered somewhat drily that she could not be
judge in such a cause. Time and their future deeds, she observed, could
only bear witness as to their purposes. As for declarations from her,
they must be satisfied with the Apostille which they had already
received.

With this response, somewhat more tart than agreeable, the nobles were
obliged to content themselves, and they accordingly took their leave.

It must be confessed that they had been disposed to slide rather
cavalierly over a good deal of ground towards the great object which they
had in view. Certainly the petitio principii was a main feature of their
logic. They had, in their second address, expressed perfect confidence as
to two very considerable concessions. The Duchess was practically to
suspend the inquisition, although she had declared herself without
authority for that purpose, The King, who claimed, de jure and de facto,
the whole legislative power, was thenceforth to make laws on religious
matters by and with the consent of the states-general. Certainly, these
ends were very laudable, and if a civil and religious revolution could
have been effected by a few gentlemen going to court in fine clothes to
present a petition, and by sitting down to a tremendous banquet
afterwards, Brederode and his associates were the men to accomplish the
task. Unfortunately, a sea of blood and long years of conflict lay
between the nation and the promised land, which for a moment seemed so
nearly within reach.

Meantime the next important step in Brederode's eyes was a dinner. He
accordingly invited the confederates to a magnificent repast which he had
ordered to be prepared in the Culemburg mansion. Three hundred guests sat
down, upon the 8th of April, to this luxurious banquet, which was
destined to become historical.

The board glittered with silver and gold. The wine circulated with more
than its usual rapidity among the band of noble Bacchanals, who were
never weary of drinking the healths of Brederode, of Orange, and of
Egmont. It was thought that the occasion imperiously demanded an
extraordinary carouse, and the political events of the past three days
lent an additional excitement to the wine. There was an earnest
discussion as to an appropriate name to be given to their confederacy.
Should they call themselves the "Society of Concord," the restorers of
lost liberty, or by what other attractive title should the league be
baptized? Brederode was, however, already prepared to settle the
question. He knew the value of a popular and original name; he possessed
the instinct by which adroit partisans in every age have been accustomed
to convert the reproachful epithets of their opponents into watchwords of
honor, and he had already made his preparations for a startling
theatrical effect. Suddenly, amid the din of voices, he arose, with all
his rhetorical powers at command: He recounted to the company the
observations which the Seigneur de Berlaymont was reported to have made
to the Duchess, upon the presentation of the Request, and the name which
he had thought fit to apply to them collectively. Most of the gentlemen
then heard the memorable sarcasm for the first time. Great was the
indignation of all that the state councillor should have dared to
stigmatize as beggars a band of gentlemen with the best blood of the land
in their veins. Brederode, on the contrary, smoothing their anger,
assured them with good humor that nothing could be more fortunate. "They
call us beggars!" said he; "let us accept the name. We will contend with
the inquisition, but remain loyal to the King, even till compelled to
wear the beggar's sack."

He then beckoned to one of his pages, who brought him a leathern wallet,
such as was worn at that day by professional mendicants, together with a
large wooden bowl, which also formed part of their regular appurtenances.
Brederode immediately hung the wallet around his neck, filled the bowl
with wine, lifted it with both hands, and drained it at a draught. "Long
live the beggars!" he cried, as he wiped his beard and set the bowl down.
"Vivent les gueulx." Then for the first time, from the lips of those
reckless nobles rose the famous, cry, which was so often to ring over
land and sea, amid blazing cities, on blood-stained decks, through the
smoke and carnage of many a stricken field. The humor of Brederode was
hailed with deafening shouts of applause. The Count then threw the wallet
around the neck of his nearest neighbor, and handed him the wooden bawl.
Each guest, in turn, donned the mendicant's knapsack. Pushing aside his
golden goblet, each filled the beggars' bowl to the brim, and drained it
to the beggars' health. Roars of laughter, and shouts of "Vivent les
gueulx" shook the walls of the stately mansion, as they were doomed never
to shake again. The shibboleth was invented. The conjuration which they
had been anxiously seeking was found. Their enemies had provided them
with a spell, which was to prove, in after days, potent enough to start a
spirit from palace or hovel, forest or wave, as the deeds of the "wild
beggars," the "wood beggars," and the "beggars of the sea" taught Philip
at last to understand the nation which he had driven to madness.

When the wallet and bowl had made the circuit of the table, they were
suspended to a pillar in the hall. Each of the company in succession then
threw some salt into his goblet, and, placing himself under these symbols
of the brotherhood, repeated a jingling distich, produced impromptu for
the occasion.

   By this salt, by this bread, by this wallet we swear,
   These beggars ne'er will change, though all the world should stare.

This ridiculous ceremony completed the rites by which the confederacy
received its name; but the banquet was by no means terminated. The uproar
became furious. The younger and more reckless nobles abandoned themselves
to revelry, which would have shamed heathen Saturnalia. They renewed to
each other, every moment, their vociferous oaths of fidelity to the
common cause, drained huge beakers to the beggars' health, turned their
caps and doublets inside out, danced upon chairs and tables. Several
addressed each other as Lord Abbot, or Reverend Prior, of this or that
religious institution, thus indicating the means by which some of them
hoped to mend their broken fortunes.

While the tumult was at its height, the Prince of Orange with Counts Horn
and Egmont entered the apartment. They had been dining quietly with
Mansfeld, who was confined to his house with an inflamed eye, and they
were on their way to the council chamber, where the sessions were now
prolonged nightly to a late hour. Knowing that Hoogstraaten, somewhat
against his will, had been induced to be present at the banquet, they had
come round by the way of Culemburg House, to induce him to retire. They
were also disposed, if possible, to abridge the festivities which their
influence would have been powerless to prevent.

These great nobles, as soon as they made their appearance, were
surrounded by a crew of "beggars," maddened and dripping with their
recent baptism of wine, who compelled them to drink a cup amid shouts of
"Vivent le roi et les gueulx!" The meaning of this cry they of course
could not understand, for even those who had heard Berlaymont's
contemptuous remarks, might not remember the exact term which he had
used, and certainly could not be aware of the importance to which it had
just been elevated. As for Horn, he disliked and had long before
quarrelled with Brederode, had prevented many persons from signing the
Compromise, and, although a guest at that time of Orange, was in the
habit of retiring to bed before supper, to avoid the company of many who
frequented the house. Yet his presence for a few moments, with the best
intentions, at the conclusion of this famous banquet, was made one of the
most deadly charges which were afterwards drawn up against him by the
Crown. The three seigniors refused to be seated, and remained but for a
moment, "the length of a Miserere," taking with them Hoogstraaten as they
retired. They also prevailed upon the whole party to break up at the same
time, so that their presence had served at least to put a conclusion to
the disgraceful riot. When they arrived at the council chamber they
received the thanks of the Duchess for what they had done.

Such was the first movement made by the members of the Compromise. Was it
strange that Orange should feel little affinity with such companions? Had
he not reason to hesitate, if the sacred cause of civil and religious
liberty could only be maintained by these defenders and with such
assistance?

The "beggars" did not content themselves with the name alone of the
time-honored fraternity of Mendicants in which they had enrolled
themselves. Immediately after the Culemburg banquet, a costume for the
confederacy was decided upon.

These young gentlemen discarding gold lace and velvet, thought it
expedient to array themselves in doublets and hose of ashen grey, with
short cloaks of the same color, all of the coarsest materials. They
appeared in this guise in the streets, with common felt hats on their
heads, and beggars' pouches and bowls at their sides. They caused also
medals of lead and copper to be struck, bearing upon one side the head of
Philip; upon the reverse, two hands clasped within a wallet, with the
motto, "Faithful to the King, even to wearing the beggar's sack." These
badges they wore around their necks, or as buttons to their hats. As a
further distinction they shaved their beards close, excepting the
moustachios, which were left long and pendent in the Turkish
fashion,--that custom, as it seemed, being an additional characteristic
of Mendicants.

Very soon after these events the nobles of the league dispersed from the
capital to their various homes. Brederode rode out of Brussels at the
head of a band of cavaliers, who saluted the concourse of applauding
spectators with a discharge of their pistols. Forty-three gentlemen
accompanied him to Antwerp, where he halted for a night. The Duchess had
already sent notice to the magistrates of that city of his intended
visit, and warned them to have an eye upon his proceedings. "The great
beggar," as Hoogstraaten called him, conducted himself, however, with as
much propriety as could be expected. Four or five thousand of the
inhabitants thronged about the hotel where he had taken up his quarters.
He appeared at a window with his wooden bowl, filled with wine, in his
hands, and his wallet at his side. He assured the multitude that he was
ready to die to defend the good people of Antwerp and of all the
Netherlands against the edicts and the inquisition. Meantime he drank
their healths, and begged all who accepted the pledge to hold up their
hands. The populace, highly amused, held up and clapped their hands as
honest Brederode drained his bowl, and were soon afterwards persuaded to
retire in great good humor.

These proceedings were all chronicled and transmitted to Madrid. It was
also both publicly reported and secretly registered, that Brederode had
eaten capons and other meat at Antwerp, upon Good Friday, which happened
to be the day of his visit to that city. He denied the charge, however;
with ludicrous vehemence. "They who have told Madame that we ate meat in
Antwerp," he wrote to Count Louis, "have lied wickedly and miserably,
twenty-four feet down in their throats." He added that his nephew,
Charles Mansfeld, who, notwithstanding the indignant prohibition of his
father, had assisted of the presentation of the Request, and was then in
his uncle's company at Antwerp, had ordered a capon, which Brederode had
countermanded. "They told me afterwards," said he, "that my nephew had
broiled a sausage in his chamber. I suppose that he thought himself in
Spain, where they allow themselves such dainties."

Let it not be thought that these trifles are beneath the dignity of
history. Matters like these filled the whole soul of Philip, swelled the
bills of indictment for thousands of higher and better men than
Brederode, and furnished occupation as well for secret correspondents and
spies as for the most dignified functionaries of Government. Capons or
sausages on Good Friday, the Psalms of Clement Marot, the Sermon on the
Mount in the vernacular, led to the rack, the gibbet, and the stake, but
ushered in a war against the inquisition which was to last for eighty
years. Brederode was not to be the hero of that party which he disgraced
by his buffoonery. Had he lived, he might, perhaps, like many of his
confederates, have redeemed, by his bravery in the field, a character
which his orgies had rendered despicable. He now left Antwerp for the
north of Holland, where, as he soon afterwards reported to Count Louis,
"the beggars were as numerous as the sands on the seashore."

His "nephew Charles," two months afterwards, obeyed his father's
injunction, and withdrew formally from the confederacy.

Meantime the rumor had gone abroad that the Request of the nobles had
already produced good fruit, that the edicts were to be mitigated, the
inquisition abolished, liberty of conscience eventually to prevail. "Upon
these reports," says a contemporary, "all the vermin of exiles and
fugitives for religion, as well as those who had kept in concealment,
began to lift up their heads and thrust forth their horns." It was known
that Margaret of Parma had ordered the inquisitors and magistrates to
conduct themselves "modestly and discreetly." It was known that the privy
council was hard at work upon the project for "moderating" the edicts.
Modestly and discreetly, Margaret of Parma, almost immediately after
giving these orders, and while the "moderation" was still in the hands of
the lawyers, informed her brother that she had given personal attention
to the case of a person who had snatched the holy wafer from the priest's
hand at Oudenarde. This "quidam," as she called him--for his name was
beneath the cognizance of an Emperor's bastard daughter--had by her
orders received rigorous and exemplary justice. And what was the
"rigorous and exemplary justice" thus inflicted upon the "quidam?" The
procurator of the neighboring city of Tournay has enabled us to answer.
The young man, who was a tapestry weaver, Hans Tiskaen by name, had, upon
the 30th May, thrown the holy wafer upon the ground. For this crime,
which was the same as that committed on Christmas-day of the previous
year by Bertrand le Blas, at Tournay, he now met with a similar although
not quite so severe a punishment. Having gone quietly home after doing
the deed, he was pursued, arrested, and upon the Saturday ensuing taken
to the market-place of Oudenarde. Here the right hand with which he had
committed the offence was cut off, and he was then fastened to the stake
and burned to death over a slow fire. He was fortunately not more than a
quarter of an hour in torment, but he persisted in his opinions, and
called on God for support to his last breath.

This homely tragedy was enacted at Oudenarde, the birth place of Duchess
Margaret. She was the daughter of the puissant Charles the Fifth, but her
mother was only the daughter of a citizen of Oudenarde; of a "quidam"
like the nameless weaver who had thus been burned by her express order.
It was not to be supposed, however, that the circumstance could operate
in so great a malefactor's favor. Moreover, at the same moment, she sent
orders that a like punishment should be inflicted upon another person
then in a Flemish prison, for the crime of anabaptism.

The privy council, assisted by thirteen knights of the Fleece, had been
hard at work, and the result of their wisdom was at last revealed in a
"moderation" consisting of fifty-three articles.

What now was the substance of those fifty-three articles, so painfully
elaborated by Viglius, so handsomely drawn up into shape by Councillor
d'Assonleville? Simply to substitute the halter for the fagot. After
elimination of all verbiage, this fact was the only residuum. It was most
distinctly laid down that all forms of religion except the Roman Catholic
were forbidden; that no public or secret conventicles were to be allowed;
that all heretical writings were to be suppressed; that all curious
inquiries into the Scriptures were to be prohibited. Persons who
infringed these regulations were divided into two classes--the misleaders
and the misled. There was an affectation of granting mercy to persons in
the second category, while death was denounced upon those composing the
first. It was merely an affectation; for the rambling statute was so open
in all its clauses, that the Juggernaut car of persecution could be
driven through the whole of them, whenever such a course should seem
expedient. Every man or woman in the Netherlands might be placed in the
list of the misleaders, at the discretion of the officials. The pretended
mercy to the misguided was a mere delusion.

The superintendents, preachers, teachers, ministers, sermon-makers,
deacons, and other officers, were to be executed with the halter, with
confiscation of their whole property. So much was very plain. Other
heretics, however, who would abjure their heresy before the bishop, might
be pardoned for the first offence, but if obstinate, were to be banished.
This seemed an indication of mercy, at least to the repentant criminals.
But who were these "other" heretics? All persons who discussed religious
matters were to be put to death. All persons, not having studied theology
at a "renowned university," who searched and expounded the Scriptures,
were to be put to death. All persons in whose houses any act of the
perverse religion should be committed, were to be put to death. All
persons who harbored or protected ministers and teachers of any sect,
were to be put to death. All the criminals thus carefully enumerated were
to be executed, whether repentant or not. If, however, they abjured their
errors, they were to be beheaded instead of being strangled. Thus it was
obvious that almost any heretic might be brought to the halter at a
moment's notice.

Strictly speaking, the idea of death by the halter or the axe was less
shocking to the imagination than that of being burned or buried alive. In
this respect, therefore, the edicts were softened by the proposed
"Moderation." It would, however, always be difficult to persuade any
considerable slumber of intelligent persons, that the infliction of a
violent death, by whatever process, on account of religious opinions, was
an act of clemency. The Netherlanders were, however, to be persuaded into
this belief. The draft of the new edict was ostentatiously called the
"Moderatie," or the "Moderation." It was very natural, therefore, that
the common people, by a quibble, which is the same in Flemish as in
English, should call the proposed "Moderation" the "Murderation." The
rough mother-wit of the people had already characterized and annihilated
the project, while dull formalists were carrying it through the
preliminary stages.

A vote in favor of the project having been obtained from the estates of
Artois, Hainault, and Flanders, the instructions for the envoys; Baron
Montigny and Marquis Berghen, were made out in conformity to the scheme.
Egmont had declined the mission, not having reason to congratulate
himself upon the diplomatic success of his visit to Spain in the
preceding year. The two nobles who consented to undertake the office were
persuaded into acceptance sorely against their will. They were aware that
their political conduct since the King's departure from the country had
not always been deemed satisfactory at Madrid, but they were, of course,
far from suspecting the true state of the royal mind. They were both as
sincere Catholics and as loyal gentlemen as Granvelle, but they were not
aware how continuously, during a long course of years, that personage had
represented them to Philip as renegades and rebels. They had maintained
the constitutional rights of the state, and they had declined to act as
executioners for the inquisition, but they were yet to learn that such
demonstrations amounted to high treason.

Montigny departed, on the 29th May, from Brussels. He left the bride to
whom he had been wedded amid scenes of festivity, the preceding
autumn--the unborn child who was never to behold its father's face. He
received warnings in Paris, by which he scorned to profit. The Spanish
ambassador in that city informed him that Philip's wrath at the recent
transactions in the Netherlands was high. He was most significantly
requested, by a leading personage in France, to feign illness, or to take
refuge in any expedient by which he might avoid the fulfilment of his
mission. Such hints had no effect in turning him from his course, and he
proceeded to Madrid, where he arrived on the 17th of June.

His colleague in the mission, Marquis Berghen, had been prevented from
setting forth at the same time, by an accident which, under the
circumstances, might almost seem ominous. Walking through the palace
park, in a place where some gentlemen were playing at pall-mall, he was
accidentally struck in the leg by a wooden ball. The injury, although
trifling, produced go much irritation and fever that he was confined to
his bed for several weeks. It was not until the 1st of July that he was
able to take his departure from Brussels. Both these unfortunate nobles
thus went forth to fulfil that dark and mysterious destiny from which the
veil of three centuries has but recently been removed.

Besides a long historical discourse, in eighteen chapters, delivered by
way of instruction to the envoys, Margaret sent a courier beforehand with
a variety of intelligence concerning the late events. Alonzo del Canto,
one of Philip's spies in the Netherlands, also wrote to inform the King
that the two ambassadors were the real authors of all the troubles then
existing in the country. Cardinal Granvelle, too, renewed his previous
statements in a confidential communication to his Majesty, adding that no
persons more appropriate could have been selected than Berghen and
Montigny, for they knew better than any one else the state of affairs in
which they had borne the principal part. Nevertheless, Montigny, upon his
arrival in Madrid on the 17th of June, was received by Philip with much
apparent cordiality, admitted immediately to an audience, and assured in
the strongest terms that there was no dissatisfaction in the royal mind
against the seigniors, whatever false reports might be circulated to that
effect. In other respects, the result of this and of his succeeding
interviews with the monarch was sufficiently meagre.

It could not well be otherwise. The mission of the envoys was an
elaborate farce to introduce a terrible tragedy. They were sent to
procure from Philip the abolition of the inquisition and the moderation
of the edicts. At the very moment, however, of all these legislative and
diplomatic arrangements, Margaret of Parma was in possession of secret
letters from Philip, which she was charged to deliver to the Archbishop
of Sorrento, papal nuncio at the imperial court, then on a special visit
to Brussels. This ecclesiastic had come to the Netherlands ostensibly to
confer with the Prince of Orange upon the affairs of his principality, to
remonstrate with Count Culemburg, and to take measures for the
reformation of the clergy. The real object of his mission, however, was
to devise means for strengthening the inquisition and suppressing heresy
in the provinces. Philip, at whose request he had come, had charged him
by no means to divulge the secret, as the King was anxious to have it
believed that the ostensible was the only business which the prelate had
to perform in the country. Margaret accordingly delivered to him the
private letters, in which Philip avowed his determination to maintain the
inquisition and the edicts in all their rigor, but enjoined profound
secrecy upon the subject. The Duchess, therefore, who knew the face of
the cards, must have thought it a superfluous task to continue the game,
which to Philip's cruel but procrastinating temperament was perhaps a
pleasurable excitement.

The scheme for mitigating the edicts by the substitution of strangling
for burning, was not destined therefore far much success either in Spain
or in the provinces; but the people by whom the next great movement was
made in the drama of the revolt, conducted themselves in a manner to
shame the sovereign who oppressed, and the riotous nobles who had
undertaken to protect their liberties.

At this very moment, in the early summer of 1566, many thousands of
burghers, merchants, peasants, and gentlemen, were seen mustering and
marching through the fields of every province, armed with arquebus,
javelin, pike and broadsword. For what purpose were these gatherings?
Only to hear sermons and to sing hymns in the open air, as it was
unlawful to profane the churches with such rites. This was the first
great popular phase of the Netherland rebellion. Notwithstanding the
edicts and the inquisition with their daily hecatombs, notwithstanding
the special publication at this time throughout the country by the
Duchess Regent that all the sanguinary statutes concerning religion were
in as great vigor as ever, notwithstanding that Margaret offered a reward
of seven hundred crowns to the man who would bring her a preacher--dead
or alive,--the popular thirst for the exercises of the reformed religion
could no longer be slaked at the obscure and hidden fountains where their
priests had so long privately ministered.

Partly emboldened by a temporary lull in the persecution, partly
encouraged by the presentation of the Request and by the events to which
it had given rise, the Reformers now came boldly forth from their lurking
places and held their religious meetings in the light of day. The
consciousness of numbers and of right had brought the conviction of
strength. The audacity of the Reformers was wonderful to the mind of
President Viglius, who could find no language strong enough with which to
characterize and to deplore such blasphemous conduct. The field-preaching
seemed in the eyes of government to spread with the rapidity of a
malignant pestilence. The miasma flew upon the wings of the wind. As
early as 1562, there had been public preaching in the neighborhood of
Ypres. The executions which followed, however, had for the time
suppressed the practice both in that place as well as throughout Flanders
and the rest of the provinces. It now broke forth as by one impulse from
one end of the country to the other. In the latter part of June, Hermann
Stryoker or Modet, a monk who had renounced his vows to become one of the
most popular preachers in the Reformed Church, addressed a congregation
of seven or eight thousand persons in the neighborhood of Ghent. Peter
Dathenus, another unfrocked monk, preached at various places in West
Flanders, with great effect. A man endowed with a violent, stormy
eloquence, intemperate as most zealots, he was then rendering better
services to the cause of the Reformation than he was destined to do at
later periods.

But apostate priests were not the only preachers. To the ineffable
disgust of the conservatives in Church and State, there were men with
little education, utterly devoid of Hebrew, of lowly station--hatters,
curriers, tanners, dyers, and the like, who began to preach also;
remembering, unseasonably perhaps, that the early disciples, selected by
the founder of Christianity, had not all been doctors of theology, with
diplomas from a "renowned university." But if the nature of such men were
subdued to what it worked in, that charge could not be brought against
ministers with the learning and accomplishments of Ambrose Wille,
Marnier, Guy de Bray, or Francis Junius, the man whom Scaliger called the
"greatest of all theologians since the days of the apostles." An
aristocratic sarcasm could not be levelled against Peregrine de la
Grange, of a noble family in Provence, with the fiery blood of southern
France in his veins, brave as his nation, learned, eloquent,
enthusiastic, who galloped to his field-preaching on horseback, and fired
a pistol-shot as a signal for his congregation to give attention.

On the 28th of June, 1566, at eleven o'clock at night, there was an
assemblage of six thousand people near Tournay, at the bridge of
Ernonville, to hear a sermon from Ambrose Wille, a man who had studied
theology in Geneva, at the feet of Calvin, and who now, with a special
price upon his head,--was preaching the doctrines he had learned. Two
days afterwards, ten thousand people assembled at the same spot, to hear
Peregrine de la Grange. Governor Moulbais thundered forth a proclamation
from the citadel, warning all men that the edicts were as rigorous as
ever, and that every man, woman, or child who went to these preachings,
was incurring the penalty of death. The people became only the more
ardent and excited. Upon Sunday, the seventh of July; twenty thousand
persons assembled at the same bridge to hear Ambrose Wille. One man in
three was armed. Some had arquebuses, others pistols, pikes, swords,
pitchforks, poniards, clubs. The preacher, for whose apprehension a fresh
reward had been offered, was escorted to his pulpit by a hundred mounted
troopers. He begged his audience not to be scared from the word of God by
menace; assured them that although but a poor preacher himself, he held a
divine commission; that he had no fear of death; that, should he fall,
there were many better than he to supply his place, and fifty thousand
men to avenge his murder.

The Duchess sent forth proclamations by hundreds. She ordered the instant
suppression of these armed assemblies and the arrest of the preachers.
But of what avail were proclamations against such numbers with weapons in
their hands. Why irritate to madness these hordes of enthusiasts, who
were now entirely pacific, and who marched back to the city, after
conclusion of divine service, with perfect decorum? All classes of the
population went eagerly to the sermons. The gentry of the place, the rich
merchants, the notables, as well as the humbler artisans and laborers,
all had received the infection. The professors of the Reformed religion
outnumbered the Catholics by five or six to one. On Sundays and other
holidays, during the hours of service, Tournay was literally emptied of
its inhabitants. The streets were as silent as if war or pestilence had
swept the place. The Duchess sent orders, but she sent no troops. The
trained-bands of the city, the cross-bow-men of St. Maurice, the archers
of St. Sebastian, the sword-players of St. Christopher, could not be
ordered from Tournay to suppress the preaching, for they had all gone to
the preaching themselves. How idle, therefore; to send peremptory orders
without a matchlock to enforce the command.

Throughout Flanders similar scenes were enacted. The meetings were
encampments, for the Reformers now came to their religious services armed
to the teeth, determined, if banished from the churches, to defend their
right to the fields. Barricades of upturned wagons, branches, and planks,
were thrown up around the camps. Strong guards of mounted men were
stationed at every avenue. Outlying scouts gave notice of approaching
danger, and guided the faithful into the enclosure. Pedlers and hawkers
plied the trade upon which the penalty of death was fixed, and sold the
forbidden hymn-books to all who chose to purchase. A strange and
contradictory spectacle! An army of criminals doing deeds which could
only be expiated at the stake; an entrenched rebellion, bearding the
government with pike, matchlock, javelin and barricade, and all for no
more deadly purpose than to listen to the precepts of the pacific Jesus.

Thus the preaching spread through the Walloon provinces to the northern
Netherlands. Towards the end of July, an apostate monk, of singular
eloquence, Peter Gabriel by name, was announced to preach at Overeen near
Harlem. This was the first field-meeting which had taken place in
Holland. The people were wild with enthusiasm; the authorities beside
themselves with apprehension. People from the country flocked into the
town by thousands. The other cities were deserted, Harlem was filled to
overflowing. Multitudes encamped upon the ground the night before. The
magistrates ordered the gates to be kept closed in the morning till long
after the usual hour. It was of no avail. Bolts and bars were but small
impediments to enthusiasts who had travelled so many miles on foot or
horseback to listen to a sermon. They climbed the walls, swam the moat
and thronged to the place of meeting long before the doors had been
opened. When these could no longer be kept closed without a conflict, for
which the magistrates were not prepared, the whole population poured out
of the city with a single impulse. Tens of thousands were assembled upon
the field. The bulwarks were erected as usual, the guards were posted,
the necessary precautions taken. But upon this occasion, and in that
region there was but little danger to be apprehended. The multitude of
Reformers made the edicts impossible, so long as no foreign troops were
there to enforce them. The congregation was encamped and arranged in an
orderly manner. The women, of whom there were many, were placed next the
pulpit, which, upon this occasion, was formed of a couple of spears
thrust into the earth, sustaining a cross-piece, against which the
preacher might lean his back. The services commenced with the singing of
a psalm by the whole vast assemblage. Clement Marot's verses, recently
translated by Dathenus, were then new and popular. The strains of the
monarch minstrel, chanted thus in their homely but nervous mother tongue
by a multitude who had but recently learned that all the poetry and
rapture of devotion were not irrevocably coffined with a buried language,
or immured in the precincts of a church, had never produced a more
elevating effect. No anthem from the world-renowned organ in that ancient
city ever awakened more lofty emotions than did those ten thousand human
voices ringing from the grassy meadows in that fervid midsummer noon.
When all was silent again, the preacher rose; a little, meagre man, who
looked as if he might rather melt away beneath the blazing sunshine of
July, than hold the multitude enchained four uninterrupted hours long, by
the magic of his tongue. His text was the 8th, 9th, and 10th verses of
the second chapter of Ephesians; and as the slender monk spoke to his
simple audience of God's grace, and of faith in Jesus, who had descended
from above to save the lowliest and the most abandoned, if they would put
their trust in Him, his hearers were alternately exalted with fervor or
melted into tears. He prayed for all conditions of men--for themselves,
their friends, their enemies, for the government which had persecuted
them, for the King whose face was turned upon them in anger. At times,
according to one who was present, not a dry eye was to be seen in the
crowd. When the minister had finished, he left his congregation abruptly,
for he had to travel all night in order to reach Alkmaar, where he was to
preach upon the following day.

By the middle of July the custom was established outside all the
principal cities. Camp-meetings were held in some places; as, for
instance, in the neighborhood of Antwerp, where the congregations
numbered often fifteen thousand and on some occasions were estimated at
between twenty and thirty thousand persons at a time; "very many of
them," said an eye-witness, "the best and wealthiest in the town."

The sect to which most of these worshippers belonged was that of Calvin.
In Antwerp there were Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anabaptists. The
Lutherans were the richest sect, but the Calvinists the most numerous and
enthusiastic. The Prince of Orange at this moment was strenuously opposed
both to Calvinism and Anabaptism, but inclining to Lutheranism. Political
reasons at this epoch doubtless influenced his mind in religious matters.
The aid of the Lutheran princes of Germany, who detested the doctrines of
Geneva, could hardly be relied upon for the Netherlanders, unless they
would adapt the Confession of Augsburg. The Prince knew that the Emperor,
although inclined to the Reformation, was bitterly averse to Calvinism,
and he was, therefore, desirous of healing the schism which existed in
the general Reformed Church. To accomplish this, however, would be to
gain a greater victory over the bigotry which was the prevailing
characteristic of the age than perhaps could be expected. The Prince,
from the first moment of his abandoning the ancient doctrines, was
disposed to make the attempt.

The Duchess ordered the magistrates of Antwerp to put down these
mass-meetings by means of the guild-militia. They replied that at an
earlier day such a course might have been practicable, but that the sects
had become quite too numerous for coercion. If the authorities were able
to prevent the exercises of the Reformed religion within the city, it
would be as successful a result as could be expected. To prevent the
preaching outside the walls, by means of the bourgher force, was an utter
impossibility. The dilatoriness of the Sovereign placed the Regent in a
frightful dilemma, but it was sufficiently obvious that the struggle
could not long be deferred. "There will soon be a hard nut to crack,"
wrote Count Louis. "The King will never grant the preaching; the people
will never give it up, if it cost them their necks. There's a hard puff
coming upon the country before long." The Duchess was not yet authorized
to levy troops, and she feared that if she commenced such operations, she
should perhaps offend the King, while she at the same time might provoke
the people into more effective military preparations than her own. She
felt that for one company levied by her, the sectaries could raise ten.
Moreover, she was entirely without money, even if she should otherwise
think it expedient to enrol an army. Meantime she did what she could with
"public prayers, processions, fasts, sermons, exhortations," and other
ecclesiastical machinery which she ordered the bishops to put in motion.
Her situation was indeed sufficiently alarming.

Egmont, whom many of the sectaries hoped to secure as their leader in
case of a civil war, showed no disposition to encourage such hopes, but
as little to take up arms against the people. He went to Flanders, where
the armed assemblages for field-preaching had become so numerous that a
force of thirty or forty thousand men might be set on foot almost at a
moment's warning, and where the conservatives, in a state of alarm,
desired the presence of their renowned governor. The people of Antwerp,
on their part, demanded William of Orange. The Prince, who was hereditary
burgrave of the city, had at first declined the invitation of the
magistracy. The Duchess united her request with the universal prayer of
the inhabitants. Events meantime had been thickening, and suspicion
increasing. Meghen had been in the city for several days, much to the
disgust of the Reformers, by whom he was hated. Aremberg was expected to
join him, and it was rumored that measures were secretly in progress
under the auspices of these two leading cardinalists, for introducing a
garrison, together with great store of ammunition, into the city. On the
other hand, the "great beggar," Brederode, had taken up his quarters also
in Antwerp; had been daily entertaining a crowd of roystering nobles at
his hotel, previously to a second political demonstration, which will
soon be described, and was constantly parading the street, followed by a
swarm of adherents in the beggar livery. The sincere Reformers were made
nearly as uncomfortable by the presence of their avowed friends, as by
that of Meghen and Aremberg, and earnestly desired to be rid of them all.
Long and anxious were the ponderings of the magistrates upon all these
subjects. It was determined, at last, to send a fresh deputation to
Brussels, requesting the Regent to order the departure of Meghen,
Aremberg, and Brederode from Antwerp; remonstrating with her against any
plan she might be supposed to entertain of sending mercenary troops into
the city; pledging the word of the senate to keep the peace, meanwhile,
by their regular force; and above all, imploring her once more, in the
most urgent terms, to send thither the burgrave, as the only man who was
capable of saving the city from the calamities into which it was so
likely to fall.

The Prince of Orange being thus urgently besought, both by the government
of Antwerp, the inhabitants of that city, and by the Regent herself, at
last consented to make the visit so earnestly demanded. On the 13th July,
he arrived in Antwerp. The whole city was alive with enthusiasm. Half its
population seemed to have come forth from the gates to bid him welcome,
lining the road for miles. The gate through which he was to pass, the
ramparts, the roofs of the houses were packed close, with expectant and
eager faces. At least thirty thousand persons had assembled to welcome
their guest. A long cavalcade of eminent citizens had come as far as
Berghen to meet him and to escort him into the city. Brederode, attended
by some of the noble confederates, rode at the head of the procession. As
they encountered the Prince, a discharge of pistol-shots was fired by way
of salute, which was the signal for a deafening shout from the assembled
multitude. The crowd thronged about the Prince as he advanced, calling
him their preserver, their father, their only hope. Wild shouts of
welcome rose upon every side, as he rode through the town, mingled with
occasional vociferations of "long life to the beggars." These party cries
were instantly and sharply rebuked by Orange, who expressed, in
Brederode's presence, the determination that he would make men unlearn
that mischievous watchword. He had, moreover, little relish at that time
for the tumultuous demonstrations of attachment to his person, which were
too fervid to be censured, but too unseasonable to be approved. When the
crowd had at last been made to understand that their huzzas were
distasteful to the Prince, most of the multitude consented to disperse,
feeling, however, a relief from impending danger in the presence of the
man to whom they instinctively looked as their natural protector.

The senators had come forth in a body to receive the burgrave and escort
him to the hotel prepared for him. Arrived there, he lost no time in
opening the business which had brought him to Antwerp. He held at once a
long consultation with the upper branch of the government. Afterwards,
day after day, he honestly, arduously, sagaciously labored to restore the
public tranquillity. He held repeated deliberations with every separate
portion of the little commonwealth, the senate, the council of ancients,
the corporation of ward-masters, the deans of trades. Nor did he confine
his communication to these organized political bodies alone. He had
frequent interviews with the officers of the military associations, with
the foreign merchant companies, with the guilds of "Rhetoric." The
chambers of the "Violet" and the "Marigold" were not too frivolous or
fantastic to be consulted by one who knew human nature and the
constitution of Netherland society so well as did the Prince. Night and
day he labored with all classes of citizens to bring about a better
understanding, and to establish mutual confidence. At last by his efforts
tranquillity was restored. The broad-council having been assembled, it
was decided that the exercise of the Reformed religion should be excluded
from the city, but silently tolerated in the suburbs, while an armed
force was to be kept constantly in readiness to suppress all attempts at
insurrection. The Prince had desired, that twelve hundred men should be
enlisted and paid by the city, so that at least a small number of
disciplined troops might be ready at a moment's warning; but he found it
impossible to carry the point with the council. The magistrates were
willing to hold themselves responsible for the peace of the city, but
they would have no mercenaries.

Thus, during the remainder of July and the early part of August, was
William of Orange strenuously occupied in doing what should have been the
Regent's work. He was still regarded both by the Duchess and by the
Calvinist party--although having the sympathies of neither,--as the only
man in the Netherlands who could control the rising tide of a national
revolt. He took care, said his enemies, that his conduct at Antwerp
should have every appearance of loyalty; but they insinuated that he was
a traitor from the beginning, who was insidiously fomenting the troubles
which he appeared to rebuke. No one doubted his genius, and all felt or
affected admiration at its display upon this critical occasion. "The
Prince of Orange is doing very great and notable services at Antwerp to
the King and to the country," said Assonleville. "That seignior is very
skilful in managing great affairs." Margaret of Parma wrote letters to
him fixed with the warmest gratitude, expressions of approbation, and of
wishes that he could both remain in Antwerp and return to assist her in
Brussels. Philip, too, with his own pen, addressed him a letter, in which
implicit confidence in the Prince's character was avowed, all suspicion
on the part of the Sovereign indignantly repudiated, earnest thanks for
his acceptance of the Antwerp mission uttered, and a distinct refusal
given to the earnest request made by Orange to resign his offices. The
Prince read or listened to all this commendation, and valued it exactly
at its proper worth. He knew it to be pure grimace. He was no more
deceived by it than if he had read the letter sent by Margaret to Philip,
a few weeks later, in which she expressed herself as "thoroughly aware
that it was the intention of Orange to take advantage of the impending
tumults, for the purpose of conquering the provinces and of dividing the
whole territory among himself and friends." Nothing could be more utterly
false than so vile and ridiculous a statement.

The course of the Prince had hitherto been, and was still, both
consistent and loyal. He was proceeding step by step to place the monarch
in the wrong, but the only art which he was using, was to plant himself
more firmly upon the right. It was in the monarch's power to convoke the
assembly of the states-general, so loudly demanded by the whole nation,
to abolish the inquisition, to renounce persecution, to accept the great
fact of the Reformation. To do so he must have ceased to be Philip. To
have faltered in attempting to bring him into that path, the Prince must
have ceased to be William of Orange. Had he succeeded, there would have
been no treason and no Republic of Holland. His conduct at the outbreak
of the Antwerp troubles was firm and sagacious. Even had his duty
required him to put down the public preaching with peremptory violence,
he had been furnished with no means to accomplish the purpose. The
rebellion, if it were one, was already full-grown. It could not be taken
by the throat and strangled with one hand, however firm.

A report that the High Sheriff of Brabant was collecting troops by
command of government, in order to attack the Reformers at their
field-preachings, went far to undo the work already accomplished by the
Prince. The assemblages swelled again from ten or twelve thousand to
twenty-five thousand, the men all providing themselves more thoroughly
with weapons than before. Soon afterwards, the intemperate zeal of
another individual, armed to the teeth--not, however, like the martial
sheriff and his forces, with arquebus and javelin, but with the still
more deadly weapons of polemical theology,--was very near causing a
general outbreak. A peaceful and not very numerous congregation were
listening to one of their preachers in a field outside the town. Suddenly
an unknown individual in plain clothes and with a pragmatical demeanor,
interrupted the discourse by giving a flat contradiction to some of the
doctrines advanced. The minister replied by a rebuke, and a reiteration
of the disputed sentiment.--The stranger, evidently versed in
ecclesiastical matters, volubly and warmly responded. The preacher, a man
of humble condition and moderate abilities, made as good show of argument
as he could, but was evidently no match for his antagonist. He was soon
vanquished in the wordy warfare. Well he might be, for it appeared that
the stranger was no less a personage than Peter Rythovius, a doctor of
divinity, a distinguished pedant of Louvain, a relation of a bishop and
himself a Church dignitary. This learned professor, quite at home in his
subject, was easily triumphant, while the poor dissenter, more accustomed
to elevate the hearts of his hearers than to perplex their heads, sank
prostrate and breathless under the storm of texts, glosses, and hard
Hebrew roots with which he was soon overwhelmed. The professor's triumph
was, however, but short-lived, for the simple-minded congregation, who
loved their teacher, were enraged that he should be thus confounded.
Without more ado, therefore, they laid violent hands upon the Quixotic
knight-errant of the Church, and so cudgelled and belabored him bodily
that he might perhaps have lost his life in the encounter had he not been
protected by the more respectable portion of the assembly. These persons,
highly disapproving the whole proceeding, forcibly rescued him from the
assailants, and carried him off to town, where the news of the incident
at once created an uproar. Here he was thrown into prison as a disturber
of the peace, but in reality that he might be personally secure. The next
day the Prince of Orange, after administering to him a severe rebuke for
his ill-timed exhibition of pedantry, released him from confinement, and
had him conveyed out of the city. "This theologian;" wrote the Prince to
Duchess Margaret, "would have done better, methinks, to stay at home; for
I suppose he had no especial orders to perform this piece of work."

Thus, so long as this great statesman could remain in the metropolis, his
temperate firmness prevented the explosion which had so long been
expected. His own government of Holland and Zeland, too, especially
demanded his care. The field-preaching had spread in that region with
prodigious rapidity. Armed assemblages, utterly beyond the power of the
civil authorities, were taking place daily in the neighborhood of
Amsterdam. Yet the Duchess could not allow him to visit his government in
the north. If he could be spared from Antwerp for a day, it was necessary
that he should aid her in a fresh complication with the confederated
nobles in the very midst, therefore, of his Antwerp labors, he had been
obliged, by Margaret's orders, to meet a committee at Duffel. For in this
same eventful month of July a great meeting was held by the members of
the Compromise at St. Trond, in the bishopric of Liege. They came
together on the thirteenth of the month, and remained assembled till the
beginning of August. It was a wild, tumultuous convention, numbering some
fifteen hundred cavaliers, each with his esquires and armed attendants; a
larger and more important gathering than had yet been held. Brederode and
Count Louis were the chieftains of the assembly, which, as may be
supposed from its composition and numbers, was likely to be neither very
orderly in its demonstrations nor wholesome in its results. It was an
ill-timed movement. The convention was too large for deliberation, too
riotous to inspire confidence. The nobles quartered themselves every
where in the taverns and the farm-houses of the neighborhood, while large
numbers encamped upon the open fields. There was a constant din of
revelry and uproar, mingled with wordy warfare, and an occasional
crossing of swords. It seemed rather like a congress of ancient, savage
Batavians, assembled in Teutonic fashion to choose a king amid hoarse
shouting, deep drinking, and the clash of spear and shield, than a
meeting for a lofty and earnest purpose, by their civilized descendants.
A crowd of spectators, landlopers, mendicants, daily aggregated
themselves to the aristocratic assembly, joining, with natural unction,
in the incessant shout of "Vivent les gueux!" It was impossible that so
soon after their baptism the self-styled beggars should repudiate all
connection with the time-honored fraternity in which they had enrolled
themselves.

The confederates discussed--if an exchange of vociferations could be
called discussion--principally two points: whether, in case they obtained
the original objects of their petition, they should pause or move still
further onward; and whether they should insist upon receiving some pledge
from the government, that no vengeance should be taken upon them for
their previous proceedings. Upon both questions, there was much vehemence
of argument and great difference of opinion. They, moreover, took two
very rash and very grave resolutions--to guarantee the people against all
violence on account of their creeds, and to engage a force of German
soldiery, four thousand horse and forty companies of infantry by, "wart
geld" or retaining wages. It was evident that these gentlemen were
disposed to go fast and far. If they had been ready in the spring to
receive their baptism of wine, the "beggars" were now eager for the
baptism of blood. At the same time it must be observed that the levies
which they proposed, not to make, but to have at command, were purely for
defence. In case the King, as it was thought probable, should visit the
Netherlands with fire and sword, then there would be a nucleus of
resistance already formed.

Upon the 18th July, the Prince of Orange, at the earnest request of the
Regent, met a committee of the confederated nobles at Duffel. Count
Egmont was associated with him in this duty. The conference was not very
satisfactory. The deputies from St. Trend, consisting of Brederode,
Culemburg, and others, exchanged with the two seigniors the old
arguments. It was urged upon the confederates, that they had made
themselves responsible for the public tranquillity so long as the Regent
should hold to her promise; that, as the Duchess had sent two
distinguished envoys to Madrid, in order to accomplish, if possible, the
wishes of the nobles, it was their duty to redeem their own pledges; that
armed assemblages ought to be suppressed by their efforts rather than
encouraged by their example; and that, if they now exerted themselves
zealously to check, the tumults, the Duchess was ready to declare, in her
own-name and that of his Majesty, that the presentation of the Request
had been beneficial.

The nobles replied that the pledges had become a farce, that the Regent
was playing them false, that persecution was as fierce as ever, that the
"Moderation" was a mockery, that the letters recommending "modesty and
discretion" to the inquisitors had been mere waste paper, that a price
had been set upon the heads of the preachers as if they had been wild
beasts, that there were constant threats of invasions from Spain, that
the convocation of the states-general had been illegally deferred, that
the people had been driven to despair, and that it was the conduct of
government, not of the confederates, which had caused the Reformers to
throw off previous restraint and to come boldly forth by tens of
thousands into the fields, not to defy their King, but to worship their
God.

Such, in brief, was the conference of Duffel. In conclusion, a paper was
drawn up which Brederode carried back to the convention, and which it was
proposed to submit to the Duchess for her approval. At the end of the
month, Louis of Nassau was accordingly sent to Brussels, accompanied by
twelve associates, who were familiarly called his twelve apostles. Here
he laid before her Highness in council a statement, embodying the views
of the confederates. In this paper they asserted that they were ever
ready to mount and ride against a foreign foe, but that they would never
draw a sword against their innocent countrymen. They maintained that
their past conduct deserved commendation, and that in requiring letters
of safe conduct in the names both of the Duchess and of the
Fleece-knights, they were governed not by a disposition to ask for
pardon, but by a reluctance without such guarantees to enter into
stipulations touching the public tranquillity. If, however, they should
be assured that the intentions of the Regent were amicable and that there
was no design to take vengeance for the past--if, moreover, she were
willing to confide in the counsels of Horn, Egmont, and Orange, and to
take no important measure without their concurrence--if, above all, she
would convoke the states-general, then, and then only, were the
confederates willing to exert their energies to preserve peace, to
restrain popular impetuosity and banish universal despair.

So far Louis of Nassau and his twelve apostles. It must be confessed
that, whatever might be thought of the justice, there could be but one
opinion as to the boldness of these views. The Duchess was furious. If
the language held in April had been considered audacious, certainly this
new request was, in her own words, "still more bitter to the taste and
more difficult of digestion." She therefore answered in a very
unsatisfactory, haughty and ambiguous manner, reserving decision upon
their propositions till they had been discussed by the state council, and
intimating that they would also be laid before the Knights of the Fleece,
who were to hold a meeting upon the 26th of August.

There was some further conversation without any result. Esquerdes
complained that the confederates were the mark of constant calumny, and
demanded that the slanderers should be confronted with them and punished.
"I understand perfectly well," interrupted Margaret, "you wish to take
justice into your own hands and to be King yourself." It was further
intimated by these reckless gentlemen, that if they should be driven by
violence into measures of self-protection, they had already secured
friends in a certain country. The Duchess, probably astonished at the
frankness of this statement, is said to have demanded further
explanations. The confederates replied by observing that they had
resources both in the provinces and in Germany. The state council decided
that to accept the propositions of the confederates would be to establish
a triumvirate at once, and the Duchess wrote to her brother distinctly
advising against the acceptance of the proposal. The assembly at St.
Trond was then dissolved, having made violent demonstrations which were
not followed by beneficial results, and having laid itself open to
various suspicions, most of which were ill-founded, while some of them
were just.

Before giving the reader a brief account of the open and the secret
policy pursued by the government at Brussels and Madrid, in consequence
of these transactions, it is now necessary to allude to a startling
series of events, which at this point added to the complications of the
times, and exercised a fatal influence upon the situation of the
commonwealth.




1566 [CHAPTER VII.]

   Ecclesiastical architecture in the Netherlands--The image-breaking--
   Description of Antwerp Cathedral--Ceremony of the Ommegang--
   Precursory disturbances--Iconoclasts at Antwerp--Incidents of the
   image--breaking in various cities--Events at Tournay--Preaching of
   Wille--Disturbance by a little boy--Churches sacked at Tournay--
   Disinterment of Duke Adolphus of Gueldres--Iconoclasts defeated and
   massacred at Anchin--Bartholomew's Day at Valenciennes--General
   characteristics of the image-breaking--Testimony of contemporaries
   as to the honesty of the rioters--Consternation of the Duchess--
   Projected flight to Mons--Advice of Horn and other seigniors--
   Accord of 25th August.

The Netherlands possessed an extraordinary number of churches and
monasteries. Their exquisite architecture and elaborate decoration had
been the earliest indication of intellectual culture displayed in the
country. In the vast number of cities, towns, and villages which were
crowded upon that narrow territory, there had been, from circumstances
operating throughout Christendom, a great accumulation of ecclesiastical
wealth. The same causes can never exist again which at an early day
covered the soil of Europe with those magnificent creations of Christian
art. It was in these anonymous but entirely original achievements that
Gothic genius; awaking from its long sleep of the dark ages, first
expressed itself. The early poetry of the German races was hewn and
chiselled in atone. Around the steadfast principle of devotion then so
firmly rooted in the soil, clustered the graceful and vigorous emanations
of the newly-awakened mind. All that science could invent, all that art
could embody, all that mechanical ingenuity could dare, all that wealth
could lavish, whatever there was of human energy which was panting for
pacific utterance, wherever there stirred the vital principle which
instinctively strove to create and to adorn at an epoch when vulgar
violence and destructiveness were the general tendencies of humanity, all
gathered around these magnificent temples, as their aspiring pinnacles at
last pierced the mist which had so long brooded over the world.

There were many hundreds of churches, more or less remarkable, in the
Netherlands. Although a severe criticism might regret to find in these
particular productions of the great Germanic school a development of that
practical tendency which distinguished the Batavian and Flemish
branches,--although it might recognize a departure from that mystic
principle which, in its efforts to symbolize the strivings of humanity
towards the infinite object of worship above, had somewhat disregarded
the wants of the worshippers below,--although the spaces might be too
wide and the intercolumniations too empty, except for the convenience of
congregations; yet there were, nevertheless, many ecclesiastical
masterpieces, which could be regarded as very brilliant manifestations of
the Batavian and Belgic mind during the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Many were filled with paintings from a school which had
precedence in time and merit over its sister nurseries of art in Germany.
All were peopled with statues. All were filled with profusely-adorned
chapels, for the churches had been enriched generation after generation
by wealthy penitence, which had thus purchased absolution for crime and
smoothed a pathway to heaven.

And now, for the space of only six or seven summer days and nights, there
raged a storm by which all these treasures were destroyed. Nearly every
one of these temples was entirely rifled of its contents; not for the
purpose of plunder, but of destruction. Hardly a province or a town
escaped. Art must forever weep over this bereavement; Humanity must
regret that the reforming is thus always ready to degenerate into the
destructive principle; but it is impossible to censure very severely the
spirit which prompted the brutal, but not ferocious deed. Those statues,
associated as they were with the remorseless persecution which had so
long desolated the provinces, had ceased to be images. They had grown
human and hateful, so that the people arose and devoted them to
indiscriminate massacre.

No doubt the iconoclastic fury is to be regretted; for such treasures can
scarcely be renewed. The age for building and decorating great cathedrals
is past. Certainly, our own age, practical and benevolent, if less
poetical, should occupy itself with the present, and project itself into
the future. It should render glory to God rather by causing wealth to
fertilize the lowest valleys of humanity, than by rearing gorgeous
temples where paupers are to kneel. To clothe the naked, redeem the
criminal, feed the hungry, less by alms and homilies than by preventive
institutions and beneficent legislation; above all, by the diffusion of
national education, to lift a race upon a level of culture hardly
attained by a class in earlier times, is as lofty a task as to accumulate
piles of ecclesiastical splendor.

It would be tedious to recount in detail the events which characterized
the remarkable image-breaking in the Netherlands. As Antwerp was the
central point in these transactions, and as there was more wealth and
magnificence in the great cathedral of that city than in any church of
northern Europe, it is necessary to give a rapid outline of the events
which occurred there. From its exhibition in that place the spirit every
where will best be shown.

The Church of Our Lady, which Philip had so recently converted into a
cathedral, dated from the year 1124, although it may be more fairly
considered a work of the fourteenth century. Its college of canons had
been founded in another locality by Godfrey of Bouillon. The Brabantine
hero, who so romantically incarnates the religious poetry of his age, who
first mounted the walls of redeemed Jerusalem, and was its first
Christian monarch, but who refused to accept a golden diadem on the spot
where the Saviour had been crowned with thorns; the Fleming who lived and
was the epic which the great Italian, centuries afterwards; translated
into immortal verse, is thus fitly associated with the beautiful
architectural poem which was to grace his ancestral realms. The body of
the church, the interior and graceful perspectives of which were not
liable to the reproach brought against many Netherland churches, of
assimilating themselves already to the municipal palaces which they were
to suggest--was completed in the fourteenth century. The beautiful
facade, with its tower, was not completed till the year 1518. The
exquisite and daring spire, the gigantic stem upon which the consummate
flower of this architectural creation was to be at last unfolded, was a
plant of a whole century's growth. Rising to a height of nearly five
hundred feet, over a church of as many feet in length, it worthily
represented the upward tendency of Gothic architecture. Externally and
internally the cathedral was a true expression of the Christian principle
of devotion. Amid its vast accumulation of imagery, its endless
ornaments, its multiplicity of episodes, its infinite variety of details,
the central, maternal principle was ever visible. Every thing pointed
upwards, from the spire in the clouds to the arch which enshrined the
smallest sculptured saint in the chapels below. It was a sanctuary, not
like pagan temples, to enclose a visible deity, but an edifice where
mortals might worship an unseen Being in the realms above.

The church, placed in the centre of the city, with the noisy streets of
the busiest metropolis in Europe eddying around its walls, was a sacred
island in the tumultuous main. Through the perpetual twilight, tall
columnar trunks in thick profusion grew from a floor chequered with
prismatic lights and sepulchral shadows. Each shaft of the petrified
forest rose to a preternatural height, their many branches intermingling
in the space above, to form an impenetrable canopy. Foliage, flowers and
fruit of colossal luxuriance, strange birds, beasts, griffins and
chimeras in endless multitudes, the rank vegetation and the fantastic
zoology of a fresher or fabulous world, seemed to decorate and to animate
the serried trunks and pendant branches, while the shattering symphonies
or dying murmurs of the organ suggested the rushing of the wind through
the forest, now the full diapason of the storm and now the gentle cadence
of the evening breeze.

Internally, the whole church was rich beyond expression. All that opulent
devotion and inventive ingenuity could devise, in wood, bronze, marble,
silver, gold, precious jewelry, or blazing sacramental furniture, had
been profusely lavished. The penitential tears of centuries had incrusted
the whole interior with their glittering stalactites. Divided into five
naves, with external rows of chapels, but separated by no screens or
partitions, the great temple forming an imposing whole, the effect was
the more impressive, the vistas almost infinite in appearance. The
wealthy citizens, the twenty-seven guilds, the six military associations,
the rhythmical colleges, besides many other secular or religious
sodalities, had each their own chapels and altars. Tombs adorned with the
effigies of mailed crusaders and pious dames covered the floor, tattered
banners hung in the air, the escutcheons of the Golden Fleece, an order
typical of Flemish industry, but of which Emperors and Kings were proud
to be the chevaliers, decorated the columns. The vast and
beautifully-painted windows glowed with scriptural scenes, antique
portraits, homely allegories, painted in those brilliant and forgotten
colors which Art has not ceased to deplore. The daylight melting into
gloom or colored with fantastic brilliancy, priests in effulgent robes
chanting in unknown language, the sublime breathing of choral music, the
suffocating odors of myrrh and spikenard, suggestive of the oriental
scenery and imagery of Holy Writ, all combined to bewilder and exalt the
senses. The highest and humblest seemed to find themselves upon the same
level within those sacred precincts, where even the bloodstained criminal
was secure, and the arm of secular justice was paralyzed.

But the work of degeneration had commenced. The atmosphere of the
cathedral was no longer holy in the eyes of increasing multitudes. Better
the sanguinary rites of Belgic Druids, better the yell of slaughtered
victims from the "wild wood without mercy" of the pagan forefathers of
the nation, than this fantastic intermingling of divine music, glowing
colors, gorgeous ceremonies, with all the burning, beheading and
strangling work which had characterized the system of human sacrifice for
the past half-century.

Such was the church of Notre Dame at Antwerp. Thus indifferent or hostile
towards the architectural treasure were the inhabitants of a city, where
in a previous age the whole population would have risked their lives to
defend what they esteemed the pride and garland of their metropolis.

The Prince of Orange had been anxiously solicited by the Regent to attend
the conference at Duffel. After returning to Antwerp, he consented, in
consequence of the urgent entreaties of the senate, to delay his
departure until the 18th of August should be past. On the 13th of that
month he had agreed with the magistrates upon an ordinance, which was
accordingly published, and by which the preachings were restricted to the
fields. A deputation of merchants and others waited upon him with a
request to be permitted the exercises of the Reformed religion in the
city. This petition the Prince peremptorily refused, and the deputies, as
well as their constituents, acquiesced in the decision, "out of especial
regard and respect for his person." He, however, distinctly informed the
Duchess that it would be difficult or impossible to maintain such a
position long, and that his departure from the city would probably be
followed by an outbreak. He warned her that it was very imprudent for him
to leave Antwerp at that particular juncture. Nevertheless, the meeting
of the Fleece-knights seemed, in Margaret's opinion, imperatively to
require his presence in Brussels. She insisted by repeated letters that
he should leave Antwerp immediately.

Upon the 18th August, the great and time-honored ceremony of the Ommegang
occurred. Accordingly, the great procession, the principal object of
which was to conduct around the city a colossal image of the Virgin,
issued as usual from the door of the cathedral. The image, bedizened and
effulgent, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of her adorers, followed by
the guilds, the military associations, the rhetoricians, the religious
sodalities, all in glittering costume, bearing blazoned banners, and
marching triumphantly through the streets with sound of trumpet and beat
of drum. The pageant, solemn but noisy, was exactly such a show as was
most fitted at that moment to irritate Protestant minds and to lead to
mischief. No violent explosion of ill-feeling, however, took place. The
procession was followed by a rabble rout of scoffers, but they confined
themselves to words and insulting gestures. The image was incessantly
saluted, as she was borne along--the streets, with sneers, imprecations,
and the rudest, ribaldry. "Mayken! Mayken!" (little Mary) "your hour is
come. 'Tis your last promenade. The city is tired of you." Such were the
greetings which the representative of the Holy Virgin received from men
grown weary of antiquated mummery. A few missiles were thrown
occasionally at the procession as it passed through the city, but no
damage was inflicted. When the image was at last restored to its place,
and the pageant brought to a somewhat hurried conclusion, there seemed
cause for congratulation that no tumult had occurred.

On the following morning there was a large crowd collected in front of
the cathedral. The image, instead of standing in the centre of the
church, where, upon all former occasions, it had been accustomed during
the week succeeding the ceremony to receive congratulatory, visits, was
now ignominiously placed behind an iron railing within the choir. It had
been deemed imprudent to leave it exposed to sacrilegious hands. The
precaution excited derision. Many vagabonds of dangerous appearance, many
idle apprentices and ragged urchins were hanging for a long time about
the imprisoned image, peeping through the railings, and indulging in many
a brutal jest. "Mayken! Mayken!" they cried; "art thou terrified so soon?
Hast flown to thy nest so early? Dost think thyself beyond the reach of
mischief? Beware, Mayken! thine hour is fast approaching!" Others
thronged around the balustrade, shouting "Vivent les gueux!" and hoarsely
commanding the image to join in the beggars' cry. Then, leaving the spot,
the mob roamed idly about the magnificent church, sneering at the idols,
execrating the gorgeous ornaments, scoffing at crucifix and altar.

Presently one of the rabble, a ragged fellow of mechanical aspect, in a
tattered black doublet and an old straw hat, ascended the pulpit. Opening
a sacred volume which he found there, he began to deliver an
extemporaneous and coarse caricature of a monkish sermon. Some of the
bystanders applauded, some cried shame, some shouted "long live the
beggars!" some threw sticks and rubbish at the mountebank, some caught
him by the legs and strove to pull him from the place. He, on the other
hand, manfully maintained his ground, hurling back every missile,
struggling with his assailants, and continuing the while to pour forth a
malignant and obscene discourse. At last a young sailor, warm in the
Catholic Faith, and impulsive as mariners are prone to be, ascended the
pulpit from behind, sprang upon the mechanic, and flung him headlong down
the steps. The preacher grappled with his enemy as he fell, and both came
rolling to the ground. Neither was much injured, but a tumult ensued. A
pistol-shot was fired, and the sailor wounded in the arm. Daggers were
drawn, cudgels brandished, the bystanders taking part generally against
the sailor, while those who protected him were somewhat bruised and
belabored before they could convey him out of the church. Nothing more,
however, transpired that day, and the keepers of the cathedral were
enabled to expel the crowd and to close the doors for the night.

Information of this tumult was brought to the senate, then assembled in
the Hotel de Ville. That body was thrown into a state of great
perturbation. In losing the Prince of Orange, they seemed to have lost
their own brains, and the first measure which they took was to despatch a
messenger to implore his return. In the mean time, it was necessary that
they should do something for themselves. It was evident that a storm was
brewing. The pest which was sweeping so rapidly through the provinces
would soon be among them. Symptoms of the dreaded visitation were already
but too manifest. What precaution should: they take? Should they issue a
proclamation? Such documents had been too common of late, and had lost
their virtue. It was the time not to assert but to exercise authority.
Should they summon the ward-masters, and order the instant arming and
mustering of their respective companies? Should they assemble the
captains of the Military associations? Nothing better could have been
desired than such measures in cases of invasion or of ordinary tumult,
but who should say how deeply the poison had sunk into the body politic;
who should say with how much or how little alacrity the burgher militia
would obey the mandates of the magistracy? It would be better to issue no
proclamation unless they could enforce its provisions; it would be better
not to call out the citizen soldiery unless they were likely to prove
obedient. Should mercenary troops at this late hour be sent for? Would
not their appearance at this crisis rather inflame the rage than
intimidate the insolence of the sectaries? Never were magistrates in
greater perplexity. They knew not what course was likely to prove the
safest, and in their anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did
nothing at all. After a long and anxious consultation, the honest
burgomaster and his associates all went home to their beds, hoping that
the threatening flame of civil tumult would die out of itself, or perhaps
that their dreams would supply them with that wisdom which seemed denied
to their waking hours.

In the morning, as it was known that no precaution had been taken, the
audacity of the Reformers was naturally increased. Within the cathedral a
great crowd was at an early hour collected, whose savage looks and ragged
appearance denoted that the day and night were not likely to pass away so
peacefully as the last. The same taunts and imprecations were hurled at
the image of the Virgin; the same howling of the beggars' cry resounded
through the lofty arches. For a few hours, no act of violence was
committed, but the crowd increased. A few trifles, drifting, as usual,
before the event, seemed to indicate the approaching convulsion. A very
paltry old woman excited the image-breaking of Antwerp. She had for years
been accustomed to sit before the door of the cathedral with wax-tapers
and wafers, earning scanty subsistence from the profits of her meagre
trade, and by the small coins which she sometimes received in charity.
Some of the rabble began to chaffer with this ancient hucksteress. They
scoffed at her consecrated wares; they bandied with her ribald jests, of
which her public position had furnished her with a supply; they assured
her that the hour had come when her idolatrous traffic was to be forever
terminated, when she and her patroness, Mary, were to be given over to
destruction together. The old woman, enraged, answered threat with
threat, and gibe with gibe. Passing from words to deeds, she began to
catch from the ground every offensive missile or weapon which she could
find, and to lay about her in all directions. Her tormentors defended
themselves as they could. Having destroyed her whole stock-in-trade, they
provoked others to appear in her defence. The passers-by thronged to the
scene; the cathedral was soon filled to overflowing; a furious tumult was
already in progress.

Many persons fled in alarm to the town-house, carrying information of
this outbreak to the magistrates. John Van Immerzeel, Margrava of
Antwerp, was then holding communication with the senate, and awaiting the
arrival of the ward-masters, whom it had at last been thought expedient
to summon. Upon intelligence of this riot, which the militia, if
previously mustered, might have prevented, the senate determined to
proceed to the cathedral in a body, with the hope of quelling the mob by
the dignity of their presence. The margrave, who was the high executive
officer of the little commonwealth, marched down to the cathedral
accordingly, attended by the two burgomasters and all the senators. At
first their authority, solicitations, and personal influence, produced a
good effect. Some of those outside consented to retire, and the tumult
partially subsided within. As night, however, was fast approaching, many
of the mob insisted upon remaining for evening mass. They were informed
that there would be none that night, and that for once the people could
certainly dispense with their vespers.

Several persons now manifesting an intention of leaving the cathedral, it
was suggested to the senators that if, they should lead the way, the
populace would follow in their train, and so disperse to their homes. The
excellent magistrates took the advice, not caring, perhaps, to fulfil any
longer the dangerous but not dignified functions of police officers.
Before departing, they adopted the precaution of closing all the doors of
the church, leaving a single one open, that the rabble still remaining
might have an opportunity to depart. It seemed not to occur to the
senators that the same gate would as conveniently afford an entrance for
those without as an egress for those within. That unlooked-for event
happened, however. No sooner had the magistrates retired than the rabble
burst through the single door which had been left open, overpowered the
margrave, who, with a few attendants, had remained behind, vainly
endeavoring by threats and exhortations to appease the tumult, drove him
ignominiously from the church, and threw all the other portals wide open.
Then the populace flowed in like an angry sea. The whole of the cathedral
was at the mercy of the rioters, who were evidently bent on mischief. The
wardens and treasurers of the church, after a vain attempt to secure a
few of its most precious possessions, retired. They carried the news to
the senators, who, accompanied by a few halberdmen, again ventured to
approach the spot. It was but for a moment, however, for, appalled by the
furious sounds which came from within the church, as if subterranean and
invisible forces were preparing a catastrophe which no human power could
withstand, the magistrates fled precipitately from the scene. Fearing
that the next attack would be upon the town-house, they hastened to
concentrate at that point their available forces, and left the stately
cathedral to its fate.

And now, as the shadows of night were deepening the perpetual twilight of
the church, the work of destruction commenced. Instead of evening mass
rose the fierce music of a psalm, yelled by a thousand angry voices. It
seemed the preconcerted signal for a general attack. A band of marauders
flew upon the image of the Virgin, dragged it forth from its receptacle,
plunged daggers into its inanimate body, tore off its jewelled and
embroidered garments, broke the whole figure into a thousand pieces, and
scattered the fragments along the floor. A wild shout succeeded, and then
the work which seemed delegated to a comparatively small number of the
assembled crowd, went on with incredible celerity. Some were armed with
axes, some with bludgeons, some with sledge-hammers; others brought
ladders, pulleys, ropes, and levers. Every statue was hurled from its
niche, every picture torn from the wall, every wonderfully-painted window
shivered to atoms, every ancient monument shattered, every sculptured
decoration, however inaccessible in appearance, hurled to the ground.
Indefatigably, audaciously,--endowed, as it seemed, with preternatural
strength and nimbleness, these furious iconoclasts clambered up the dizzy
heights, shrieking and chattering like malignant apes, as they tore off
in triumph the slowly-matured fruit of centuries. In a space of time
wonderfully brief, they had accomplished their task.

A colossal and magnificent group of the Saviour crucified between two
thieves adorned the principal altar. The statue of Christ was wrenched
from its place with ropes and pulleys, while the malefactors, with bitter
and blasphemous irony, were left on high, the only representatives of the
marble crowd which had been destroyed. A very beautiful piece of
architecture decorated the choir,--the "repository," as it was called, in
which the body of Christ was figuratively enshrined. This much-admired
work rested upon a single column, but rose, arch upon arch, pillar upon
pillar, to the height of three hundred feet, till quite lost in the vault
above. "It was now shattered into a million pieces." The statues, images,
pictures, ornaments, as they lay upon the ground, were broken with
sledge-hammers, hewn with axes, trampled, torn; and beaten into shreds. A
troop of harlots, snatching waxen tapers from the altars, stood around
the destroyers and lighted them at their work. Nothing escaped their
omnivorous rage. They desecrated seventy chapels, forced open all the
chests of treasure, covered their own squalid attire with the gorgeous
robes of the ecclesiastics, broke the sacred bread, poured out the
sacramental wine into golden chalices, quaffing huge draughts to the
beggars' health; burned all the splendid missals and manuscripts, and
smeared their shoes with the sacred oil, with which kings and prelates
had been anointed. It seemed that each of these malicious creatures must
have been endowed with the strength of a hundred giants. How else, in the
few brief hours of a midsummer night, could such a monstrous desecration
have been accomplished by a troop which, according to all accounts, was
not more than one hundred in number. There was a multitude of spectators,
as upon all such occasions, but the actual spoilers were very few.

The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck, but the
fury of the spoilers was excited, not appeased. Each seizing a burning
torch, the whole herd rushed from the cathedral, and swept howling
through the streets. "Long live the beggars!" resounded through the
sultry midnight air, as the ravenous pack flew to and fro, smiting every
image of the Virgin, every crucifix, every sculptured saint, every
Catholic symbol which they met with upon their path. All night long, they
roamed from one sacred edifice to another, thoroughly destroying as they
went. Before morning they had sacked thirty churches within the city
walls. They entered the monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries,
destroyed their altars, statues, pictures, and descending into the
cellars, broached every cask which they found there, pouring out in one
great flood all the ancient wine and ale with which those holy men had
been wont to solace their retirement from generation to generation. They
invaded the nunneries, whence the occupants, panic-stricken, fled for
refuge to the houses of their friends and kindred. The streets were
filled with monks and nuns, running this way and that, shrieking and
fluttering, to escape the claws of these fiendish Calvinists. The terror
was imaginary, for not the least remarkable feature in these transactions
was, that neither insult nor injury was offered to man or woman, and that
not a farthing's value of the immense amount of property destroyed, was
appropriated. It was a war not against the living, but against graven
images, nor was the sentiment which prompted the onslaught in the least
commingled with a desire of plunder. The principal citizens of Antwerp,
expecting every instant that the storm would be diverted from the
ecclesiastical edifices to private dwellings, and that robbery, rape, and
murder would follow sacrilege, remained all night expecting the attack,
and prepared to defend their hearths, even if the altars were profaned.
The precaution was needless. It was asserted by the Catholics that the
confederates and other opulent Protestants had organized this company of
profligates for the meagre pittance of ten stivers day. On the other
hand, it was believed by many that the Catholics had themselves plotted
the whole outrage in order to bring odium upon the Reformers. Both
statements were equally unfounded. The task was most thoroughly
performed, but it was prompted: by a furious fanaticism, not by baser
motives.

Two days and nights longer the havoc raged unchecked through all the
churches of Antwerp and the neighboring villages. Hardly a statue or
picture escaped destruction. Fortunately, the illustrious artist, whose
labors were destined in the next generation to enrich and ennoble the
city, Rubens, most profound of colorists, most dramatic--of artists;
whose profuse tropical genius seemed to flower the more luxuriantly, as
if the destruction wrought by brutal hands were to be compensated by the
creative energy of one, divine spirit, had not yet been born. Of the
treasures which existed the destruction was complete. Yet the rage was
directed exclusively against stocks and stones. Not a man was wounded nor
a woman outraged. Prisoners, indeed, who had been languishing hopelessly
in dungeons were liberated. A monk, who had been in the prison of the
Barefoot Monastery, for twelve years, recovered his freedom. Art was
trampled in the dust, but humanity deplored no victims.

These leading features characterized the movement every where. The
process was simultaneous and almost universal. It was difficult to say
where it began and where it ended. A few days in the midst of August
sufficed for the whole work. The number of churches desecrated has never
been counted. In the single province of Flanders, four hundred were
sacked. In Limburg, Luxemburg, and Namur, there was no image-breaking. In
Mechlin, seventy or eighty persons accomplished the work thoroughly, in
the very teeth of the grand council, and of an astonished magistracy.

In Tournay, a city distinguished for its ecclesiastical splendor, the
reform had been making great progress during the summer. At the same time
the hatred between the two religions had been growing more and more
intense. Trifles and serious matters alike fed the mutual animosity.

A tremendous outbreak had been nearly occasioned by an insignificant
incident. A Jesuit of some notoriety had been preaching a glowing
discourse in the pulpit of Notre Dane. He earnestly avowed his wish that
he were good enough to die for all his hearers. He proved to
demonstration that no man should shrink from torture or martyrdom in
order to sustain the ancient faith. As he was thus expatiating, his
fervid discourse was suddenly interrupted by three sharp, sudden blows,
of a very peculiar character, struck upon the great portal of the Church.
The priest, forgetting his love for martyrdom, turned pale and dropped
under the pulpit. Hurrying down the steps, he took refuge in the vestry,
locking and barring the door. The congregation shared in his panic: "The
beggars are coming," was the general cry. There was a horrible tumult,
which extended through the city as the congregation poured precipitately
out of the Cathedral, to escape a band of destroying and furious
Calvinists. Yet when the shock had a little subsided, it was discovered
that a small urchin was the cause of the whole tumult. Having been
bathing in the Scheldt, he had returned by way of the church with a
couple of bladders under his arm. He had struck these against the door of
the Cathedral, partly to dry them, partly from a love of mischief. Thus a
great uproar, in the course of which it had been feared that Toumay was
to be sacked and drenched in blood, had been caused by a little wanton
boy who had been swimming on bladders.

This comedy preceded by a few days only the actual disaster. On the 22d
of August the news reached Tournay that the churches in Antwerp, Ghent,
and many other places, had been sacked. There was an instantaneous
movement towards imitating the example on the same evening. Pasquier de
la Barre, procureur-general of the city, succeeded by much entreaty in
tranquillizing the people for the night. The "guard of terror" was set,
and hopes were entertained that the storm might blow over. The
expectation, was vain. At daybreak next day, the mob swept upon the
churches and stripped them to the very walls. Pictures, statues; organs,
ornaments, chalices of silver and gold, reliquaries, albs, chasubles,
copes, ciboriea, crosses, chandeliers, lamps; censers, all of richest
material, glittering with pearls, rubies, and other precious stones, were
scattered in heaps of ruin upon the ground.

As the Spoilers burrowed among the ancient tombs, they performed, in one
or two instances, acts of startling posthumous justice. The embalmed body
of Duke Adolphus of Gueldres, last of the Egmonts, who had reigned in
that province, was dragged from its sepulchre and recognized. Although it
had been there for ninety years, it was as uncorrupted, "Owing to the
excellent spices which had preserved it from decay," as upon the day of
burial. Thrown upon the marble floor of the church, it lay several days
exposed to the execrations of the multitude. The Duke had committed a
crime against his father, in consequence of which the province which had
been ruled by native races, had passed under the dominion of Charles the
Bold. Weary of waiting for the old Duke's inheritance, he had risen
against him in open rebellion. Dragging him from his bed at midnight in
the depth of winter, he had compelled the old man, with no covering but
his night gear, to walk with naked feet twenty-five miles over ice and
snow from Grave to Buren, while he himself performed the same journey in
his company on horseback. He had then thrown him into a dungeon beneath
the tower of Buren castle, and kept him a close prisoner for six months.

   [Memoires de Philippe de Comines (Loud. et Paris, 1747), liv. iv.
   194-196. In the Royal Gallery at Berlin is a startling picture by
   Rembrandt, in which the old Duke is represented looking out of the
   bars of his dungeon at his son, who is threatening him with uplifted
   hand and savage face. No subject could be imagined better adapted
   to the gloomy and sarcastic genius of that painter.]

At last, the Duke of Burgundy summoned the two before his council, and
proposed that Adolphus should allow his father 6000 florins annually,
with the title of Duke till his death. "He told us," said Comines, "that
he would sooner throw the old man head-foremost down a well and jump in
himself afterwards. His father had been Duke forty-four years, and it was
time for him to retire." Adolphus being thus intractable, had been kept
in prison till after the death of Charles the Bold. To the memorable
insurrection of Ghent, in the time of the Lady Mary, he owed his liberty.
The insurgent citizens took him from prison, and caused him to lead them
in their foray against Tournay. Beneath the walls of that city he was
slain, and buried under its cathedral. And now as if his offence had not
been sufficiently atoned for by the loss of his ancestral honors, his
captivity, and his death, the earth, after the lapse of nearly a century,
had cast him forth from her bosom. There, once more beneath the sunlight,
amid a ribald crew of a later generation which had still preserved the
memory of his sin, lay the body of the more than parricide, whom
"excellent spices" had thus preserved from corruption, only to be the
mark of scorn and demoniac laughter.

A large assemblage of rioters, growing in numbers as they advanced, swept
over the province of Tournay, after accomplishing the sack of the city
churches. Armed with halberds, hammers, and pitchforks, they carried on
the war, day after day, against the images. At the convent of
Marchiennes, considered by contemporaries the most beautiful abbey in all
the Netherlands, they halted to sing the ten commandments in Marot's
verse. Hardly had the vast chorus finished the precept against graven
images;

          Taiiler ne to feras imaige
          De quelque chose que ce soit,
          Sy bonneur luy fail on hommaige,
          Bon Dieu jalousie en recoit,

when the whole mob seemed seized with sudden madness. Without waiting to
complete the Psalm, they fastened upon the company of marble martyrs, as
if they had possessed sensibility to feel the blows inflicted. In an hour
they had laid the whole in ruins.

Having accomplished this deed, they swept on towards Anchin. Here,
however, they were confronted by the Seigneur de la Tour, who, at the
head of a small company of peasants, attacked the marauders and gained a
complete victory. Five or six hundred of them were slain, others were
drowned in the river and adjacent swamps, the rest were dispersed. It was
thus proved that a little more spirit upon the part of the orderly
portion of the inhabitants, might have brought about a different result
than the universal image-breaking.

In Valenciennes, "the tragedy," as an eye-witness calls it, was performed
upon Saint Bartholomew's day. It was, however, only a tragedy of statues.
Hardly as many senseless stones were victims as there were to be living
Huguenots sacrificed in a single city upon a Bartholomew which was fast
approaching. In the Valenciennes massacre, not a human being was injured.

Such in general outline and in certain individual details, was the
celebrated iconomachy of the Netherlands. The movement was a sudden
explosion of popular revenge against the symbols of that Church from
which the Reformers had been enduring such terrible persecution. It was
also an expression of the general sympathy for the doctrines which had
taken possession of the national heart. It was the depravation of that
instinct which had in the beginning of the summer drawn Calvinists and
Lutherans forth in armed bodies, twenty thousand strong, to worship God
in the open fields. The difference between the two phenomena was, that
the field-preaching was a crime committed by the whole mass of the
Reformers; men, women, and children confronting the penalties of death,
by a general determination, while the imagebreaking was the act of a
small portion of the populace. A hundred persons belonging to the lowest
order of society sufficed for the desecration of the Antwerp churches. It
was, said Orange, "a mere handful of rabble" who did the deed. Sir
Richard Clough saw ten or twelve persons entirely sack church after
church, while ten thousand spectators looked on, indifferent or
horror-struck. The bands of iconoclasts were of the lowest character, and
few in number. Perhaps the largest assemblage was that which ravaged the
province of Tournay, but this was so weak as to be entirely routed by a
small and determined force. The duty of repression devolved upon both
Catholics and Protestants. Neither party stirred. All seemed overcome
with special wonder as the tempest swept over the land.

The ministers of the Reformed religion, and the chiefs of the liberal
party, all denounced the image-breaking. Francis Junius bitterly
regretted such excesses. Ambrose Wille, pure of all participation in the
crime, stood up before ten thousand Reformers at Tournay--even while the
storm was raging in the neighboring cities, and, when many voices around
him were hoarsely commanding similar depravities to rebuke the outrages
by which a sacred cause was disgraced. The Prince of Orange, in his
private letters, deplored the riots, and stigmatized the perpetrators.
Even Brederode, while, as Suzerain of his city of Viane, he ordered the
images there to be quietly taken from the churches, characterized this
popular insurrection as insensate and flagitious. Many of the leading
confederates not only were offended with the proceedings, but, in their
eagerness to chastise the iconoclasts and to escape from a league of
which they were weary, began to take severe measures against the
Ministers and Reformers, of whom they had constituted themselves in April
the especial protectors.

The next remarkable characteristic of these tumults was the almost entire
abstinence of the rioters from personal outrage and from pillage. The
testimony of a very bitter, but honest Catholic at Valenciennes, is
remarkable upon this point. "Certain chroniclers," said he, "have greatly
mistaken the character of this image-breaking. It has been said that the
Calvinists killed a hundred priests in this city, cutting some of them
into pieces, and burning others over a slow fire. I remember very well
every thing which happened upon that abominable day, and I can affirm
that not a single priest was injured. The Huguenots took good care not to
injure in any way the living images." This was the case every where.
Catholic and Protestant writers agree that no deeds of violence were
committed against man or woman.

It would be also very easy to accumulate a vast weight of testimony as to
their forbearance from robbery. They destroyed for destruction's sake,
not for purposes of plunder.

Although belonging to the lowest classes of society, they left heaps of
jewellery, of gold and silver plate, of costly embroidery, lying unheeded
upon the ground. They felt instinctively that a great passion would be
contaminated by admixture with paltry motives. In Flanders a company of
rioters hanged one of their own number for stealing articles to the value
of five Shillings. In Valenciennes the iconoclasts were offered large
sums if they would refrain from desecrating the churches of that city,
but they rejected the proposal with disdain. The honest Catholic burgher
who recorded the fact, observed that he did so because of the many
misrepresentations on the subject, not because he wished to flatter
heresy and rebellion.

At Tournay, the greatest scrupulousness was observed upon this point. The
floor of the cathedral was strewn with "pearls and precious stones, with
chalices and reliquaries of silver and gold;" but the ministers of the
reformed religion, in company with the magistrates, came to the spot, and
found no difficulty, although utterly without power to prevent the storm,
in taking quiet possession of the wreck. "We had every thing of value,"
says Procureur-General De la Barre, "carefully inventoried, weighed,
locked in chests, and placed under a strict guard in the prison of the
Halle, to which one set of keys were given to the ministers, and another
to the magistrates." Who will dare to censure in very severe language
this havoc among stocks and stones in a land where so many living men and
women, of more value than many statues, had been slaughtered by the
inquisition, and where Alva's "Blood Tribunal" was so soon to eclipse
even that terrible institution in the number of its victims and the
amount of its confiscations?

Yet the effect of the riots was destined to be most disastrous for a time
to the reforming party. It furnished plausible excuses for many lukewarm
friends of their cause to withdraw from all connection with it. Egmont
denounced the proceedings as highly flagitious, and busied himself with
punishing the criminals in Flanders. The Regent was beside herself with
indignation and terror. Philip, when he heard the news, fell into a
paroxysm of frenzy. "It shall cost them dear!" he cried, as he tore his
beard for rage; "it shall cost them dear! I swear it by the soul of my
father!" The Reformation in the Netherlands, by the fury of these
fanatics, was thus made apparently to abandon the high ground upon which
it had stood in the early summer. The sublime spectacle of the
multitudinous field-preaching was sullied by the excesses of the
image-breaking. The religious war, before imminent, became inevitable.

Nevertheless, the first effect of the tumults was a temporary advantage
to the Reformers. A great concession was extorted from the fears of the
Duchess Regent, who was certainly placed in a terrible position. Her
conduct was not heroic, although she might be forgiven for trepidation.
Her treachery, however, under these trying circumstances was less venial.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 22nd of August, Orange, Egmont,
Horn, Hoogatraaten, Mansfeld, and others were summoned to the palace.
They found her already equipped for flight, surrounded by her
waiting-women, chamberlains and lackeys, while the mules and hackneys
stood harnessed in the court-yard, and her body-guard were prepared to
mount at a moment's notice. She announced her intention of retreating at
once to Mons, in which city, owing to Aerschot's care, she hoped to find
refuge against the fury of the rebellion then sweeping the country. Her
alarm was almost beyond control. She was certain that the storm was ready
to burst upon Brussels, and that every Catholic was about to be massacred
before her eyes. Aremberg, Berlaymont, and Noircarmes were with the
Duchess when the other seigniors arrived.

A part of the Duke of Aerschot's company had been ordered out to escort
the projected flight to Mons. Orange, Horn, Egmont, and Hoogstraaten
implored her to desist from her fatal resolution. They represented that
such a retreat before a mob would be the very means of ruining the
country. They denounced all persons who had counselled the scheme, as
enemies of his Majesty and herself. They protested their readiness to die
at her feet in her defence, but besought her not to abandon the post of
duty in the hour of peril. While they were thus anxiously debating,
Viglius entered the chamber. With tears streaming down her cheeks,
Margaret turned to the aged President, uttering fierce reproaches and
desponding lamentations. Viglius brought the news that the citizens had
taken possession of the gates, and were resolved not to permit her
departure from the city. He reminded her, according to the indispensable
practice of all wise counsellors, that he had been constantly predicting
this result. He, however, failed in administering much consolation, or in
suggesting any remedy. He was, in truth, in as great a panic as herself,
and it was, according to the statement of the Duchess, mainly in order to
save the President from threatened danger, that she eventually resolved
to make concessions. "Viglius," wrote Margaret to Philip, "is so much
afraid of being cut to pieces, that his timidity has become incredible."
Upon the warm assurance of Count Horn, that he would enable her to escape
from the city, should it become necessary, or would perish in the
attempt, a promise in which he was seconded by the rest of the seigniors,
she consented to remain for the day in her palace.--Mansfeld was
appointed captain-general of the city; Egmont, Horn, Orange, and the
others agreed to serve under his orders, and all went down together to
the townhouse. The magistrates were summoned, a general meeting of the
citizens was convened, and the announcement made of Mansfeld's
appointment, together with an earnest appeal to all honest men to support
the Government. The appeal was answered by a shout of unanimous
approbation, an enthusiastic promise to live or die with the Regent, and
the expression of a resolution to permit neither reformed preaching nor
image-breaking within the city.

Nevertheless, at seven o'clock in the evening, the Duchess again sent for
the seigniors. She informed them that she had received fresh and certain
information, that the churches were to be sacked that very night; that
Viglius, Berlaymont, and Aremberg were to be killed, and that herself and
Egmont were to be taken prisoners. She repeated many times that she had
been ill-advised, expressed bitter regret at having deferred her flight
from the city, and called upon those who had obstructed her plan, now to
fulfil their promises. Turning fiercely upon Count Horn, she uttered a
volley of reproaches upon his share in the transaction. "You are the
cause," said she, "that I am now in this position. Why do you not redeem
your pledge and enable me to leave the place at once." Horn replied that
he was ready to do so if she were resolved to stay no longer. He would at
the instant cut his way through the guard at the Caudenberg gate, and
bring her out in safety, or die in the effort. At the same time he
assured her that he gave no faith to the idle reports flying about the
city, reminded her that nobles, magistrates, and citizens were united in
her defence, and in brief used the same arguments which had before been
used to pacify her alarm. The nobles were again successful in enforcing
their counsels, the Duchess was spared the ignominy and the disaster of a
retreat before an insurrection which was only directed against statues,
and the ecclesiastical treasures of Brussels were saved from sacrilege.

On the 25th August came the crowning act of what the Reformers considered
their most complete triumph, and the Regent her deepest degradation. It
was found necessary under the alarming aspect of affairs, that liberty of
worship, in places where it had been already established, should be
accorded to the new religion. Articles of agreement to this effect were
accordingly drawn up and exchanged between the Government and Lewis of
Nassau, attended by fifteen others of the confederacy. A corresponding
pledge was signed by them, that so long as the Regent was true to her
engagement, they would consider their previously existing league
annulled, and would assist cordially in every endeavor to maintain
tranquillity and support the authority of his Majesty. The important
Accord was then duly signed by the Duchess. It declared that the
inquisition was abolished, that his Majesty would soon issue a new
general edict, expressly and unequivocally protecting the nobles against
all evil consequences from past transactions, that they were to be
employed in the royal service, and that public preaching according to the
forms of the new religion was to be practised in places where it had
already taken place. Letters general were immediately despatched to the
senates of all the cities, proclaiming these articles of agreement and
ordering their execution. Thus for a fleeting moment there was a thrill
of joy throughout the Netherlands. The inquisition was thought forever
abolished, the era of religious reformation arrived.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All denounced the image-breaking
     Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
     Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
     Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
     Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
     Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
     Furious fanaticism
     Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
     Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
     No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
     Notre Dame at Antwerp
     Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
     Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
     Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
     Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
     Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
     Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
     The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
     Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
     Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1566, Complete:

     A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
     A country disinherited by nature of its rights
     Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
     Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
     Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
     Affecting to discredit them
     All offices were sold to the highest bidder
     All denounced the image-breaking
     All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
     All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
     Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
     An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
     An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
     Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
     Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
     Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
     Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
     As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
     Attacking the authority of the pope
     Attempting to swim in two waters
     Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
     Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
     Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
     Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
     Bishop is a consecrated pirate
     Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
     Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
     Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
     Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
     Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
     Condemning all heretics to death
     Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
     Courage of despair inflamed the French
     Craft meaning, simply, strength
     Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
     Criminals buying Paradise for money
     Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
     Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
     Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
     Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
     Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
     Difference between liberties and liberty
     Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
     Dissimulation and delay
     Divine right
     Drank of the water in which, he had washed
     Endure every hardship but hunger
     English Puritans
     Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
     Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
     Erasmus encourages the bold friar
     Erasmus of Rotterdam
     Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
     Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
     Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
     Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
     Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
     Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
     Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
     Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
     Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
     For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
     For women to lament, for men to remember
     Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
     Force clerical--the power of clerks
     Furious fanaticism
     Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
     Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
     German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
     Govern under the appearance of obeying
     Great science of political equilibrium
     Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
     Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
     Habeas corpus
     Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
     He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
     He did his best to be friends with all the world
     Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
     His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
     History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
     Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
     I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
     In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
     Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
     Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
     Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
     Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
     Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
     Inventing long speeches for historical characters
     July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
     King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
     Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
     Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
     Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
     Licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America
     Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
     Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
     Look through the cloud of dissimulation
     Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
     Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
     Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
     Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
     Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
     Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
     More accustomed to do well than to speak well
     No one can testify but a householder
     No calumny was too senseless to be invented
     No law but the law of the longest purse
     No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
     Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
     Notre Dame at Antwerp
     Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
     Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
     Often much tyranny in democracy
     One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
     Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
     Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
     Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
     Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
     Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
     Paying their passage through, purgatory
     Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
     Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
     Petty passion for contemptible details
     Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
     Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands
     Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
     Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
     Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
     Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
     Procrastination was always his first refuge
     Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
     Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
     Rashness alternating with hesitation
     Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
     Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
     Repentant females to be buried alive
     Repentant males to be executed with the sword
     Revocable benefices or feuds
     Ruinous honors
     Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
     Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
     Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
     Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
     Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
     Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
     Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
     Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
     Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
     Sonnets of Petrarch
     Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
     St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
     St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
     Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
     Tanchelyn
     Taxation upon sin
     Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
     That vile and mischievous animal called the people
     The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
     The Gaul was singularly unchaste
     The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
     The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
     The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
     These human victims, chained and burning at the stake
     They had at last burned one more preacher alive
     Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
     Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
     To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all
     To prefer poverty to the wealth attendant upon trade
     Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
     Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
     Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack
     Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
     Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
     Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
     Villagers, or villeins
     We believe our mothers to have been honest women
     When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
     William of Nassau, Prince of Orange
     Wiser simply to satisfy himself
     Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders







MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, 1566-1574, Complete
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855

VOLUME 2, Book 1., 1566
1566 [CHAPTER VIII.]

   Secret policy of the government--Berghen and Montigny in Spain--
   Debates at Segovia--Correspondence of the Duchess with Philip--
   Procrastination and dissimulation of the King--Secret communication
   to the Pope--Effect in the provinces of the King's letters to the
   government--Secret instructions to the Duchess--Desponding
   statements of Margaret--Her misrepresentations concerning Orange,
   Egmont, and others--Wrath and duplicity of Philip--Egmont's
   exertions in Flanders--Orange returns to Antwerp--His tolerant
   spirit--Agreement of 2d September--Horn at Tournay--Excavations in
   the Cathedral--Almost universal attendance at the preaching--
   Building of temples commenced--Difficult position of Horn--Preaching
   in the Clothiers' Hall--Horn recalled--Noircarmes at Tournay--
   Friendly correspondence of Margaret with Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
   Hoogstraaten--Her secret defamation of these persons.

Egmont in Flanders, Orange at Antwerp, Horn at Tournay; Hoogstraaten at
Mechlin, were exerting themselves to suppress insurrection and to avert
ruin. What, meanwhile, was the policy of the government? The secret
course pursued both at Brussels and at Madrid may be condensed into the
usual formula--dissimulation, procrastination, and again dissimulation.

It is at this point necessary to take a rapid survey of the open and the
secret proceedings of the King and his representatives from the moment at
which Berghen and Montigny arrived in Madrid. Those ill-fated gentlemen
had been received with apparent cordiality, and admitted to frequent, but
unmeaning, interviews with his Majesty. The current upon which they were
embarked was deep and treacherous, but it was smooth and very slow. They
assured the King that his letters, ordering the rigorous execution of the
inquisition and edicts, had engendered all the evils under which the
provinces were laboring. They told him that Spaniards and tools of
Spaniards had attempted to govern the country, to the exclusion of native
citizens and nobles, but that it would soon be found that Netherlanders
were not to be trodden upon like the abject inhabitants of Milan, Naples,
and Sicily. Such words as these struck with an unaccustomed sound upon
the royal ear, but the envoys, who were both Catholic and loyal, had no
idea, in thus expressing their opinions, according to their sense of
duty, and in obedience to the King's desire, upon the causes of the
discontent, that they were committing an act of high treason.

When the news of the public preaching reached Spain, there were almost
daily consultations at the grove of Segovia. The eminent personages who
composed the royal council were the Duke of Alva, the Count de Feria, Don
Antonio de Toledo, Don Juan Manrique de Lara, Ruy Gomez, Quixada,
Councillor Tisnacq, recently appointed President of the State Council,
and Councillor Hopper. Six Spaniards and two Netherlanders, one of whom,
too, a man of dull intellect and thoroughly subservient character, to
deal with the local affairs of the Netherlands in a time of intense
excitement! The instructions of the envoys had been to represent the
necessity of according three great points--abolition of the inquisition,
moderation of the edicts, according to the draft prepared in Brussels,
and an ample pardon for past transactions. There was much debate upon all
these propositions. Philip said little, but he listened attentively to
the long discourses in council, and he took an incredible quantity of
notes. It was the general opinion that this last demand on the part of
the Netherlanders was the fourth link in the chain of treason. The first
had been the cabal by which Granvelle had been expelled; the second, the
mission of Egmont, the main object of which had been to procure a
modification of the state council, in order to bring that body under the
control of a few haughty and rebellious nobles; the third had been the
presentation of the insolent and seditious Request; and now, to crown the
whole, came a proposition embodying the three points--abolition of the
inquisition, revocation of the edicts, and a pardon to criminals, for
whom death was the only sufficient punishment.

With regard to these three points, it was, after much wrangling, decided
to grant them under certain restrictions. To abolish the inquisition
would be to remove the only instrument by which the Church had been
accustomed to regulate the consciences and the doctrines of its subjects.
It would be equivalent to a concession of religious freedom, at least to
individuals within their own domiciles, than which no concession could be
more pernicious. Nevertheless, it might be advisable to permit the
temporary cessation of the papal inquisition, now that the episcopal
inquisition had been so much enlarged and strengthened in the
Netherlands, on the condition that this branch of the institution should
be maintained in energetic condition. With regard to the Moderation, it
was thought better to defer that matter till, the proposed visit of his
Majesty to the provinces. If, however, the Regent should think it
absolutely necessary to make a change, she must cause a new draft to be
made, as that which had been sent was not found admissible. Touching the
pardon general, it would be necessary to make many conditions and
restrictions before it could be granted. Provided these were sufficiently
minute to exclude all persons whom it might be found desirable to
chastise, the amnesty was possible. Otherwise it was quite out of the
question.

Meantime, Margaret of Parma had been urging her brother to come to a
decision, painting the distracted condition of the country in the
liveliest colors, and insisting, although perfectly aware of Philip's
private sentiments, upon a favorable decision as to the three points
demanded by the envoys. Especially she urged her incapacity to resist any
rebellion, and demanded succor of men and money in case the "Moderation"
were not accepted by his Majesty.

It was the last day of July before the King wrote at all, to communicate
his decisions upon the crisis which had occurred in the first week of
April. The disorder for which he had finally prepared a prescription had,
before his letter arrived, already passed through its subsequent stages
of the field-preaching and the image-breaking. Of course these fresh
symptoms would require much consultation, pondering, and note-taking
before they could be dealt with. In the mean time they would be
considered as not yet having happened. This was the masterly
procrastination of the sovereign, when his provinces were in a blaze.

His masterly dissimulation was employed in the direction suggested by his
councillors. Philip never originated a thought, nor laid down a plan, but
he was ever true to the falsehood of his nature, and was indefatigable in
following out the suggestions of others. No greater mistake can be made
than to ascribe talent to this plodding and pedantic monarch. The man's
intellect was contemptible, but malignity and duplicity, almost
superhuman; have effectually lifted his character out of the regions of
the common-place. He wrote accordingly to say that the pardon, under
certain conditions, might be granted, and that the papal inquisition
might cease--the bishops now being present in such numbers, "to take care
of their flocks," and the episcopal inquisition being, therefore
established upon so secure a basis. He added, that if a moderation of the
edicts were still desired, a new project might be sent to Madrid, as the
one brought by Berghen and Montigny was not satisfactory. In arranging
this wonderful scheme for composing the tumults of the country, which had
grown out of a determined rebellion to the inquisition in any form, he
followed not only the advice, but adopted the exact language of his
councillors.

Certainly, here was not much encouragement for patriotic hearts in the
Netherlands. A pardon, so restricted that none were likely to be forgiven
save those who had done no wrong; an episcopal inquisition stimulated to
renewed exertions, on the ground that the papal functionaries were to be
discharged; and a promise that, although the proposed Moderation of the
edicts seemed too mild for the monarch's acceptance, yet at some future
period another project would be matured for settling the matter to
universal satisfaction--such were the propositions of the Crown.
Nevertheless, Philip thought he had gone too far, even in administering
this meagre amount of mercy, and that he had been too frank in employing
so slender a deception, as in the scheme thus sketched. He therefore
summoned a notary, before whom, in presence of the Duke of Alva, the
Licentiate Menchaca and Dr. Velasco, he declared that, although he had
just authorized Margaret of Parma, by force of circumstances, to grant
pardon to all those who had been compromised in the late disturbances of
the Netherlands, yet as he had not done this spontaneously nor freely, he
did not consider himself bound by the authorization, but that, on the
contrary, he reserved his right to punish all the guilty, and
particularly those who had been the authors and encouragers of the
sedition.

So much for the pardon promised in his official correspondence.

With regard to the concessions, which he supposed himself to have made in
the matter of the inquisition and the edicts, he saved his conscience by
another process. Revoking with his right hand all which his left had been
doing, he had no sooner despatched his letters to the Duchess Regent than
he sent off another to his envoy at Rome. In this despatch he instructed
Requesens to inform the Pope as to the recent royal decisions upon the
three points, and to state that there had not been time to consult his
Holiness beforehand. Nevertheless, continued Philip "the prudent," it was
perhaps better thus, since the abolition could have no force, unless the
Pope, by whom the institution had been established, consented to its
suspension. This matter, however, was to be kept a profound secret. So
much for the inquisition matter. The papal institution, notwithstanding
the official letters, was to exist, unless the Pope chose to destroy it;
and his Holiness, as we have seen, had sent the Archbishop of Sorrento, a
few weeks before, to Brussels, for the purpose of concerting secret
measures for strengthening the "Holy Office" in the provinces.

With regard to the proposed moderation of the edicts, Philip informed
Pius the Fifth, through Requesens, that the project sent by the Duchess
not having been approved, orders had been transmitted for a new draft, in
which all the articles providing for the severe punishment of heretics
were to be retained, while alterations, to be agreed upon by the state
and privy councils, and the knights of the Fleece, were to be
adopted--certainly in no sense of clemency. On the contrary, the King
assured his Holiness, that if the severity of chastisement should be
mitigated the least in the world by the new articles, they would in no
case receive the royal approbation. Philip further implored the Pope "not
to be scandalized" with regard to the proposed pardon, as it would be by
no means extended to offenders against religion. All this was to be kept
entirely secret. The King added, that rather than permit the least
prejudice to the ancient religion, he would sacrifice all his states, and
lose a hundred lives if he had so many; for he would never consent to be
the sovereign of heretics. He said he would arrange the troubles of the
Netherlands, without violence, if possible, because forcible measures
would cause the entire destruction of the country. Nevertheless they
should be employed, if his purpose could be accomplished in no other way.
In that case the King would himself be the executor of his own design,
without allowing the peril which he should incur, nor the ruin of the
provinces, nor that of his other realms, to prevent him from doing all
which a Christian prince was bound to do, to maintain the Catholic
religion and the authority of the Holy See, as well as to testify his
personal regard for the reigning pontiff, whom he so much loved and
esteemed.

Here was plain speaking. Here were all the coming horrors distinctly
foreshadowed. Here was the truth told to the only being with whom Philip
ever was sincere. Yet even on this occasion, he permitted himself a
falsehood by which his Holiness was not deceived. Philip had no intention
of going to the Netherlands in person, and the Pope knew that he had
none. "I feel it in my bones," said Granvelle, mournfully, "that nobody
in Rome believes in his Majesty's journey to the provinces." From that
time forward, however, the King began to promise this visit, which was
held out as a panacea for every ill, and made to serve as an excuse for
constant delay.

It may well be supposed that if Philip's secret policy had been
thoroughly understood in the Netherlands, the outbreak would have come
sooner. On the receipt, however, of the public despatches from Madrid,
the administration in Brussels made great efforts to represent their
tenor as highly satisfactory. The papal inquisition was to be abolished,
a pardon was to be granted, a new moderation was to be arranged at some
indefinite period; what more would men have? Yet without seeing the face
of the cards, the people suspected the real truth, and Orange was
convinced of it. Viglius wrote that if the King did not make his intended
visit soon, he would come too late, and that every week more harm was
done by procrastination than could be repaired by months of labor and
perhaps by torrents of blood. What the precise process was, through which
Philip was to cure all disorders by his simple presence, the President
did not explain.

As for the measures propounded by the King after so long a delay, they
were of course worse than useless; for events had been marching while he
had been musing. The course suggested was, according to Viglius, but "a
plaster for a wound, but a drag-chain for the wheel." He urged that the
convocation of the states-general was the only remedy for the perils in
which the country was involved; unless the King should come in person. He
however expressed the hope that by general consultation some means would
be devised by which, if not a good, at least a less desperate aspect
would be given to public affairs, "so that the commonwealth, if fall it
must, might at least fall upon its feet like a cat, and break its legs
rather than its neck."

Notwithstanding this highly figurative view of the subject; and
notwithstanding the urgent representations of Duchess Margaret to her
brother, that nobles and people were all clamoring about the necessity of
convening the states general, Philip was true to his instincts on this as
on the other questions. He knew very well that the states-general of the
Netherlands and Spanish despotism were incompatible ideas, and he
recoiled from the idea of the assembly with infinite aversion. At the
same time a little wholesome deception could do no harm. He wrote to the
Duchess, therefore, that he was determined never to allow the
states-general to be convened. He forbade her to consent to the step
under any circumstances, but ordered her to keep his prohibition a
profound secret. He wished, he said, the people to think that it was only
for the moment that the convocation was forbidden, and that the Duchess
was expecting to receive the necessary permission at another time. It was
his desire, he distinctly stated, that the people should not despair of
obtaining the assembly, but he was resolved never to consent to the step,
for he knew very well what was meant by a meeting of the States-general.
Certainly after so ingenuous but secret a declaration from the disciple
of Macchiavelli, Margaret might well consider the arguments to be used
afterward by herself and others, in favor of the ardently desired
measure, as quite superfluous.

Such then was the policy secretly resolved upon by Philip; even before he
heard of the startling events which were afterwards to break upon him. He
would maintain the inquisition and the edicts; he would exterminate the
heretics, even if he lost all his realms and his own life in the cause;
he would never hear of the national representatives coming together. What
then were likely to be his emotions when he should be told of twenty
thousand armed heretics assembling at one spot, and fifteen thousand at
another, in almost every town in every province, to practice their
blasphemous rites; when he should be told of the whirlwind which had
swept all the ecclesiastical accumulations of ages out of existence; when
he should read Margaret's despairing letters, in which she acknowledged
that she had at last committed an act unworthy of God, of her King, and
of herself, in permitting liberty of worship to the renegades from the
ancient church!

The account given by the Duchess was in truth very dismal. She said that
grief consumed her soul and crimson suffused her cheeks while she related
the recent transactions. She took God to witness that she had resisted
long, that she had past many sleepless nights, that she had been wasted
with fever and grief. After this penitential preface she confessed that,
being a prisoner and almost besieged in her palace, sick in body and
soul, she had promised pardon and security to the confederates, with
liberty of holding assemblies to heretics in places where the practice
had already obtained. These concessions had been made valid until the
King by and with the consent of the states-general, should definitely
arrange the matter. She stated, however, that she had given her consent
to these two demands, not in the royal name, but in her own. The King was
not bound by her promise, and she expreesed the hope that he would have
no regard to any such obligation. She further implored her brother to
come forth as soon as possibe to avenge the injuries inflicted upon the
ancient church, adding, that if deprived of that consolation, she should
incontinently depart this life. That hope alone would prevent her death.

This was certainly strong language. She was also very explicit in her
representations of the influence which had been used by certain
personages to prevent the exercise of any authority upon her own part.
"Wherefore," said Margaret, "I eat my heart; and shall never have peace
till the arrival of your Majesty."

There was no doubt who those personages were who, as it was pretended,
had thus held the Duchess in bondage, and compelled her to grant these
infamous concessions. In her secret Italian letters, she furnished the
King with a tissue of most extravagant and improbable falsehoods,
supplied to her mainly by Noircarmes and Mansfeld, as to the course
pursued at this momentous crisis by Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten. They had all, she said, declared against God and against
religion.--Horn, at least, was for killing all the priests and monks in
the country, if full satisfaction were not given to the demands of the
heretics. Egmont had declared openly for the beggars, and was levying
troops in Germany. Orange had the firm intention of making himself master
of the whole country, and of dividing it among the other seigniors and
himself. The Prince had said that if she took refuge in Mons, as she had
proposed, they would instantly convoke the states-general, and take all
necessary measures. Egmont had held the same language, saying that he
would march at the head of forty thousand men to besiege her in that
city. All these seigniors, however, had avowed their determination to
prevent her flight, to assemble the estates, and to drag her by force
before the assembly, in order to compel her consent to every measure
which might be deemed expedient. Under all these circumstances, she had
been obliged to defer her retreat, and to make the concessions which had
overwhelmed her with disgrace.

With such infamous calumnies, utterly disproved by every fact in the
case, and unsupported by a tittle of evidence, save the hearsay reports
of a man like Noircarmes, did this "woman, nourished at Rome, in whom no
one could put confidence," dig the graves of men who were doing their
best to serve her.

Philip's rage at first hearing of the image-breaking has been indicated.
He was ill of an intermittent fever at the wood of Segovia when the news
arrived, and it may well be supposed that his wrath at these proceedings
was not likely to assuage his malady. Nevertheless, after the first burst
of indignation, he found relief in his usual deception. While slowly
maturing the most tremendous vengeance which anointed monarch ever
deliberately wreaked upon his people, he wrote to say, that it was "his
intention to treat his vassals and subjects in the provinces like a good
and clement prince, not to ruin them nor to put them into servitude, but
to exercise all humanity, sweetness, and grace, avoiding all harshness."
Such were the avowed intentions of the sovereign towards his people at
the moment when the terrible Alva, who was to be the exponent of all this
"humanity, sweetness, and grace," was already beginning the preparations
for his famous invasion of the Netherlands.

The essence of the compact agreed to upon the 23d August between the
confederates and the Regent, was that the preaching of the reformed
religion should be tolerated in places where it had previously to that
date been established. Upon this basis Egmont, Horn, Orange,
Hoogstraaten, and others, were directed once more to attempt the
pacification of the different provinces.

Egmont departed for his government of Flanders, and from that moment
vanished all his pretensions, which at best had been, slender enough, to
the character of a national chieftain. During the whole of the year his
course had been changeful. He had felt the influence of Orange; he had
generous instincts; he had much vanity; he had the pride of high rank;
which did not easily brook the domination of strangers, in a land which
he considered himself and his compeers entitled by their birth to rule.
At this juncture, however, particularly when in the company of
Noircarmes, Berlaymont, and Viglius, he expressed, notwithstanding their
calumnious misstatements, the deepest detestation of the heretics. He was
a fervent Catholic, and he regarded the image-breaking as an unpardon
able crime. "We must take up arms," said he, "sooner or later, to bring
these Reformers to reason, or they will end by laying down the law for
us." On the other hand, his anger would be often appeased by the grave
but gracious remonstrances of Orange. During a part of the summer, the
Reformers had been so strong in Flanders that upon a single day sixty
thousand armed men had been assembled at the different field-preachings
within that province. "All they needed was a Jacquemart, or a Philip van
Artevelde," says a Catholic, contemporary, "but they would have scorned
to march under the banner of a brewer; having dared to raise their eyes
for a chief, to the most illustrious warrior of his ages." No doubt, had
Egmont ever listened to these aspirations, he might have taken the field
against the government with an invincible force, seized the capital,
imprisoned the Regent, and mastered the whole country, which was entirely
defenceless, before Philip would have had time to write more than ten
despatches upon the subject.

These hopes of the Reformers, if hopes they could be called, were now
destined to be most bitterly disappointed. Egmont entered Flanders, not
as a chief of rebels--not as a wise pacificator, but as an unscrupulous
partisan of government, disposed to take summary vengeance on all
suspected persons who should fall in his way. He ordered numerous
executions of image-breakers and of other heretics. The whole province
was in a state of alarm; for, although he had not been furnished by the
Regent with a strong body of troops, yet the name of the conqueror at
Saint Quentin and Gravelines was worth many regiments. His severity was
excessive. His sanguinary exertions were ably seconded also by his
secretary Bakkerzeel, a man who exercised the greatest influence over his
chief, and who was now fiercely atoning for having signed the Compromise
by persecuting those whom that league had been formed to protect. "Amid
all the perplexities of the Duchess Regent," Says a Walloon historian,
"this virtuous princess was consoled by the exploits of Bakkerzeel,
gentleman in Count Egmont's service. On one occasion he hanged twenty
heretics, including a minister, at a single heat."

Such achievements as these by the hands or the orders of the
distinguished general who had been most absurdly held up as a possible
protector of the civil and religious liberties of the country, created
profound sensation. Flanders and Artois were filled with the wives and
children of suspected I thousands who had fled the country to escape the
wrath of Egmont. The cries and piteous lamentations of these unfortunate
creatures were heard on every side. Count Louis was earnestly implored to
intercede for the persecuted Reformers. "You who have been so nobly
gifted by Heaven, you who have good will and singular bounty written upon
your face," said Utenhove to Louis, "have the power to save these poor
victims from the throats of the ravenous wolves." The Count responded to
the appeal, and strove to soften the severity of Egmont, without,
however, producing any very signal effect. Flanders was soon pacified,
nor was that important province permitted to enjoy the benefits of the
agreement which had been extorted, from the Duchess. The preachings were
forbidden, and the ministers and congregations arrested and chastised,
even in places where the custom had been established previously to the
23d August. Certainly such vigorous exertions upon the part both of
master and man did not savor of treason to Philip, and hardly seemed to
indicate the final doom of Egmont and Bakkerzeel.

The course of Orange at Antwerp was consistent with his whole career. He
honestly came to arrange a pacification, but he knew that this end could
be gained only by loyally maintaining the Accord which had been signed
between the confederates and the Regent. He came back to the city on the
26th August, and found order partially re-established. The burghers
having at last become thoroughly alarmed, and the fury of the
image-breakers entirely appeased, it had been comparatively easy to
restore tranquillity. The tranquillity, however, rather restored itself,
and when the calm had succeeded to the tempest, the placid heads of the
burgomasters once, more emerged from the waves.

Three image-breakers, who had been taken in the act, were hanged by order
of the magistrates upon the 28th of August. The presence of Orange gave
them courage to achieve these executions which he could not prevent, as
the fifth article of the Accord enjoined the chastisement of the rioters.
The magistrates chose that the "chastisement" on this occasion should be
exemplary, and it was not in the power of Orange to interfere with the
regular government of the city when acting according to its laws. The
deed was not his, however, and he hastened, in order to obviate the
necessity of further violence, to prepare articles of agreement, upon the
basis of Margaret's concessions. Public preaching, according to the
Reformed religion, had already taken place within the city. Upon the 22d,
possession had been taken of at least three churches. The senate had
deputed pensionary Wesenbeck to expostulate with the ministers, for the
magistrates were at that moment not able to command. Taffin, the Walloon
preacher, had been tractable, and had agreed to postpone his exercises.
He furthermore had accompanied the pensionary to the cathedral, in order
to persuade Herman Modet that it would be better for him likewise to
defer his intended ministrations. They had found that eloquent enthusiast
already in the great church, burning with impatience to ascend upon the
ruins, and quite unable to resist the temptation of setting a Flemish
psalm and preaching a Flemish sermon within the walls which had for so
many centuries been vocal only to the Roman tongue and the Roman ritual.
All that he would concede to the entreaties of his colleague and of the
magistrate, was that his sermon should be short. In this, however, he had
overrated his powers of retention, for the sermon not only became a long
one, but he had preached another upon the afternoon of the same day. The
city of Antwerp, therefore, was clearly within the seventh clause of the
treaty of the 24th August, for preaching had taken place in the
cathedral, previously to the signing of that Accord.

Upon the 2d September, therefore, after many protracted interview with
the heads of the Reformed religion, the Prince drew up sixteen articles
of agreement between them, the magistrates and the government, which were
duly signed and exchanged. They were conceived in the true spirit of
statesmanship, and could the rulers of the land have elevated themselves
to the mental height of William de Nassau, had Philip been able of
comprehending such a mind, the Prince, who alone possessed the power in
those distracted times of governing the wills of all men, would have
enabled the monarch to transmit that beautiful cluster of provinces,
without the lose of a single jewel, to the inheritors of his crown.

If the Prince were playing a game, he played it honorably. To have
conceived the thought of religious toleration in an age of universal
dogmatism; to have labored to produce mutual respect among conflicting
opinions, at a period when many Dissenters were as bigoted as the
orthodox, and when most Reformers fiercely proclaimed not liberty for
every Christian doctrine, but only a new creed in place of all the
rest,--to have admitted the possibility of several roads, to heaven, when
zealots of all creeds would shut up all pathways but their own; if such
sentiments and purposes were sins, they would have been ill-exchanged for
the best virtues of the age. Yet, no doubt, this was his crying offence
in the opinion of many contemporaries. He was now becoming apostate from
the ancient Church, but he had long thought that Emperors, Kings, and
Popes had taken altogether too much care of men's souls in times past,
and had sent too many of them prematurely to their great account. He was
equally indisposed to grant full-powers for the same purpose to
Calvinists, Lutherans, or Anabaptists. "He censured the severity of our
theologians," said a Catholic contemporary, accumulating all the
religious offences of the Prince in a single paragraph, "because they
keep strictly the constitutions of the Church without conceding a single
point to their adversaries; he blamed the Calvinists as seditious and
unruly people, yet nevertheless had a horror for the imperial edicts
which condemned them to death; he said it was a cruel thing to take a
man's life for sustaining an erroneous opinion; in short, he fantasied in
his imagination a kind of religion, half Catholic, half Reformed, in
order to content all persons; a system which would have been adopted
could he have had his way." This picture, drawn by one of his most
brilliant and bitter enemies, excites our admiration while intended to
inspire aversion.

The articles of agreement at Antwerp thus promulgated assigned three
churches to the different sects of reformers, stipulated that no attempt
should be made by Catholics or Protestants to disturb the religious
worship of each other, and provided that neither by mutual taunts in
their sermons, nor by singing street ballads, together with improper
allusions and overt acts of hostility, should the good-fellowship which
ought to reign between brethren and fellow-citizens, even although
entertaining different opinions as to religious rites and doctrines, be
for the future interrupted.

This was the basis upon which the very brief religious peace, broken
almost as soon as established, was concluded by William of Orange, not
only at Antwerp, but at Utrecht, Amsterdam, and other principal cities
within his government. The Prince, however, notwithstanding his unwearied
exertions, had slender hopes of a peaceful result. He felt that the last
step taken by the Reformation had been off a precipice. He liked not such
rapid progress. He knew that the King would never forgive the
image-breaking. He felt that he would never recognize the Accord of the
24th August. Sir Thomas Gresham, who, as the representative of the
Protestant Queen of England in the great commercial metropolis of Europe,
was fully conversant with the turn things were taking, was already
advising some other place for the sale of English commodities. He gave
notice to his government that commerce would have no security at Antwerp
"in those brabbling times." He was on confidential terms with the Prince,
who invited him to dine upon the 4th September, and caused pensionary
Wesenbeck, who was also present, to read aloud the agreement which was
that day to be proclaimed at the town-house. Orange expressed himself,
however, very doubtfully as to the future prospects of the provinces, and
as to the probable temper of the King. "In all his talke," says Gresham,
"the Prince aside unto me, 'I know this will nothing contente the King!'"

While Egmont had been, thus busied in Flanders, and Orange at Antwerp,
Count Horn had been doing his best in the important city of Tournay. The
Admiral was not especially gifted with intellect, nor with the power of
managing men, but he went there with an honest purpose of seeing the
Accord executed, intending, if it should prove practicable, rather to
favor the Government than the Reformers. At the same time, for the
purpose of giving satisfaction to the members of "the religion," and of
manifesting his sincere desire for a pacification, he accepted lodgings
which had been prepared for him at the house of a Calvinist merchant in
the city, rather, than, take up his quarters with fierce old governor
Moulbais, in the citadel. This gave much offence to the Catholics; and
inspired the Reformers, with the hope of having their preaching inside
the town. To this privilege they were entitled, for the practice had
already been established there, previously to the 24th October.
Nevertheless, at first he was disposed to limit them, in accordance with
the wishes of the Duchess, to extra-mural exercises.

Upon his arrival, by a somewhat ominous conjuncture, he had supped with
some of the leading citizens in the hall of the "gehenna" or torture
room, certainly not a locality calculated to inspire a healthy appetite.
On the following Sunday he had been entertained with a great banquet, at
which all the principal burghers were present, held in a house on the
market-place. The festivities had been interrupted by a quarrel, which
had been taking place in the cathedral. Beneath the vaults of that
edifice, tradition said that a vast treasure was hidden, and the canons
had been known to boast that this buried wealth would be sufficient to
rebuild their temple more magnificently than ever, in case of its total
destruction. The Admiral had accordingly placed a strong guard in the
church as soon as he arrived, and commenced very extensive excavations in
search of this imaginary mine. The Regent informed her brother that the
Count was prosecuting this work with the view of appropriating whatever
might be found to his own benefit. As she knew that he was a ruined man,
there seemed no more satisfactory mode of accounting for these
proceedings. Horn had, however, expressly stated to her that every penny
which should come into his possession from that or any other source would
carefully be restored to the rightful owners. Nothing of consequence was
ever found to justify the golden legends of the monks, but in the mean
time the money-diggers gave great offence. The canons, naturally alarmed
for the safety of their fabulous treasure, had forced the guard, by
surreptitiously obtaining the countersign from a certain official of the
town. A quarrel ensued which ended in the appearance of this personage,
together with the commander of the military force on guard in the
cathedral, before the banqueting company. The Count, in the rough way
habitual with him, gave the culprit a sound rebuke for his intermeddling,
and threatened, in case the offence were repeated, to have him instantly
bound, gagged, and forwarded to Brussels for further punishment. The
matter thus satisfactorily adjusted, the banquet proceeded, the merchants
present being all delighted at seeing the said official, who was
exceedingly, unpopular, "so well huffed by the Count." The excavations
were continued for along time, until there seemed danger of destroying
the foundation of the church, but only a few bits of money were
discovered, with some other articles of small value.

Horn had taken his apartments in the city in order to be at hand to
suppress any tumults, and to inspire confidence in the people. He had
come to a city where five sixths of the inhabitants--were of the reformed
religion, and he did not, therefore, think it judicious to attempt
violently the suppression of their worship. Upon his arrival he had
issued a proclamation, ordering that all property which might have been
pillaged from the religious houses should be instantly restored to the
magistracy, under penalty that all who disobeyed the command should "be
forthwith strangled at the gibbet." Nothing was brought back, however,
for the simple reason that nothing had been stolen. There was, therefore,
no one to be strangled.

The next step was to publish the Accord of 24th August, and to signify
the intention of the Admiral to enforce its observance. The preachings
were as enthusiastically attended as ever, while the storm which had been
raging among the images had in the mean time been entirely allayed.
Congregations of fifteen thousand were still going to hear Ambrose Wille
in the suburbs, but they were very tranquil in their demeanor. It was
arranged between the Admiral and the leaders of the reformed
consistories, that three places, to be selected by Horn, should be
assigned for their places of worship. At these spots, which were outside
the walls, permission was given the Reformers to build meeting-houses. To
this arrangement the Duchess formally gave her consent.

Nicholas Taffin; councillor, in the name of the Reformers, made "a brave
and elegant harangue" before the magistrates, representing that, as on
the most moderate computation, three quarters of the population were
dissenters, as the Regent had ordered the construction of the new
temples, and as the Catholics retained possession of all the churches in
the city, it was no more than fair that the community should bear the
expense of the new buildings. It was indignantly replied, however, that
Catholics could not be expected to pay for the maintenance of heresy,
particularly when they had just been so much exasperated by the
image-breaking Councillor Taffin took nothing, therefore by his "brave
and elegant harangue," saving a small vote of forty livres.

The building was, however, immediately commenced. Many nobles and rich
citizens contributed to the work; some making donations in money; others
giving quantities of oaks, poplars, elms, and other timber trees, to be
used in the construction. The foundation of the first temple outside the
Ports de Cocquerel was immediately laid. Vast heaps of broken images and
other ornaments of the desecrated churches were most unwisely used for
this purpose, and the Catholics were exceedingly enraged at beholding
those male and female saints, who had for centuries been placed in such
"reverend and elevated positions," fallen so low as to be the
foundation-stones of temples whose builders denounced all those holy
things as idols.

As the autumn began to wane, the people were clamorous for permission to
have their preaching inside the city. The new buildings could not be
finished before the winter; but in the mean time the camp-meetings were
becoming, in the stormy seasons fast approaching, a very inconvenient
mode of worship. On the other hand, the Duchess was furious at the
proposition, and commanded Horn on no account to consent that the
interior of Tournay should be profaned by these heretical rites. It was
in vain that the Admiral represented the justice of the claim, as these
exercises had taken place in several of the city churches previously to
the Accord of the 24th of August.

That agreement had been made by the Duchess only to be broken. She had
already received money and the permission to make levies, and was fast
assuming a tone very different from the abject demeanor which had
characterized her in August. Count Horn had been used even as Egmont,
Orange and Hoogstraaten had been employed, in order that their personal
influence with the Reformers might be turned to account. The tools and
the work accomplished by them were to be thrown away at the most
convenient opportunity.

The Admiral was placed in a most intolerable position. An honest,
common-place, sullen kind of man, he had come to a city full of heretics,
to enforce concessions just made by the government to heresy. He soon
found himself watched, paltered with, suspected by the administration at
Brussels. Governor Moulbais in the citadel, who was nominally under his
authority, refused obedience to his orders, was evidently receiving
secret instructions from the Regent, and was determined to cannonade the
city into submission at a very early day. Horn required him to pledge
himself that no fresh troops should enter the castle. Moulbais swore he
would make no such promise to a living soul. The Admiral stormed with his
usual violence, expressed his regret that his brother Montigny had so bad
a lieutenant in the citadel, but could make no impression upon the
determined veteran, who knew, better than Horn, the game which was
preparing. Small reinforcements were daily arriving at the castle; the
soldiers of the garrison had been heard to boast "that they would soon
carve and eat the townsmen's flesh on their dressers," and all the good
effect from the Admiral's proclamation on arriving, had completely
vanished.

Horn complained bitterly of the situation in which he was placed. He knew
himself the mark of incessant and calumnious misrepresentation both at
Brussels and Madrid. He had been doing his best, at a momentous crisis,
to serve the government without violating its engagements, but he
declared himself to be neither theologian nor jurist, and incapable,
while suspected and unassisted, of performing a task which the most
learned doctors of the council would find impracticable. He would rather,
he bitterly exclaimed, endure a siege in any fortress by the Turks, than
be placed in such a position. He was doing all that he was capable of
doing, yet whatever he did was wrong. There was a great difference, he
said, between being in a place and talking about it at a distance.

In the middle of October he was recalled by the Duchess, whose letters
had been uniformly so ambiguous that he confessed he was quite unable to
divine their meaning. Before he left the city, he committed his most
unpardonable crime. Urged by the leaders of the reformed congregations to
permit their exercises in the Clothiers' Hall until their temples should
be finished, the Count accorded his consent provisionally, and subject to
revocation by the Regent, to whom the arrangement was immediately to be
communicated.

Horn departed, and the Reformers took instant possession of the hall. It
was found in a very dirty and disorderly condition, encumbered with
benches, scaffoldings, stakes, gibbets, and all the machinery used for
public executions upon the market-place. A vast body of men went to work
with a will; scrubbing, cleaning, whitewashing, and removing all the foul
lumber of the hall; singing in chorus, as they did so, the hymns of
Clement Marot. By dinner-time the place was ready. The pulpit and benches
for the congregation had taken the place of the gibbet timber. It is
difficult to comprehend that such work as this was a deadly crime.
Nevertheless, Horn, who was himself a sincere Catholic, had committed the
most mortal of all his offences against Philip and against God, by having
countenanced so flagitious a transaction.

The Admiral went to Brussels. Secretary de la Torre, a very second-rate
personage, was despatched to Tournay to convey the orders of the Regent.
Governor Moulbais, now in charge of affairs both civil and military, was
to prepare all things for the garrison, which was soon to be despatched
under Noircarmes. The Duchess had now arms in her hands, and her language
was bold. La Torre advised the Reformers to be wise "while the rod was
yet green and growing, lest it should be gathered for their backs; for it
was unbecoming is subjects to make bargains with their King." There was
hardly any decent pretext used in violating the Accord of the 24th
August, so soon as the government was strong enough to break it. It was
always said that the preachings suppressed, had not been established
previously to that arrangement; but the preachings had in reality
obtained almost every where, and were now universally abolished. The
ridiculous quibble was also used that, in the preachings other religious
exercises were not included, whereas it was notorious that they had never
been separated. It is, however, a gratuitous task, to unravel the
deceptions of tyranny when it hardly deigns to disguise itself. The
dissimulations which have resisted the influence of centuries are more
worthy of serious investigation, and of these the epoch offers us a
sufficient supply.

At the close of the year, the city of Tournay was completely subjugated
and the reformed religion suppressed. Upon the 2nd day of January, 1567,
the Seignior de Noircarmes arrived before the gates at the head of eleven
companies, with orders from Duchess Margaret to strengthen the garrison
and disarm the citizens. He gave the magistrates exactly one hour and a
half to decide whether they would submit without a murmur. He expressed
an intention of maintaining the Accord of 24th August; a ridiculous
affectation under the circumstances, as the event proved. The notables
were summoned, submission agreed upon, and within the prescribed time the
magistrates came before Noircarmes, with an unconditional acceptance of
his terms. That truculent personage told them, in reply, that they had
done wisely, for if they had delayed receiving the garrison a minute
longer, he would have instantly burned the city to ashes and put every
one of the inhabitants to the sword. He had been fully authorized to do
so, and subsequent events were to show, upon more than one dreadful
occasion, how capable Noircarmes would have been of fulfilling this
menace.

The soldiers, who had made a forced march all night, and who had been
firmly persuaded that the city would refuse the terms demanded, were
excessively disappointed at being obliged to forego the sack and pillage
upon which they had reckoned. Eight or nine hundred rascally peasants,
too, who had followed in the skirts of the regiments, each provided with
a great empty bag, which they expected to fill with booty which they
might purchase of the soldiers, or steal in the midst of the expected
carnage and rapine, shared the discontent of the soldiery, by whom they
were now driven ignominiously out of the town.

The citizens were immediately disarmed. All the fine weapons which they
had been obliged to purchase at their own expense, when they had been
arranged by the magistrates under eight banners, for defence of the city
against tumult and invasion, were taken from them; the most beautiful
cutlasses, carbines, poniards, and pistols, being divided by Noircarmes
among his officers. Thus Tournay was tranquillized.

During the whole of these proceedings in Flanders, and at Antwerp,
Tournay, and Mechlin, the conduct of the Duchess had been marked with
more than her usual treachery. She had been disavowing acts which the men
upon whom she relied in her utmost need had been doing by her authority;
she had been affecting to praise their conduct, while she was secretly
misrepresenting their actions and maligning their motives, and she had
been straining every nerve to make foreign levies, while attempting to
amuse the confederates and sectaries with an affectation of clemency.

When Orange complained that she had been censuring his proceedings at
Antwerp, and holding language unfavorable to his character, she protested
that she thoroughly approved his arrangements--excepting only the two
points of the intramural preachings and the permission to heretics of
other exercises than sermons--and that if she were displeased with him he
might be sure that she would rather tell him so than speak ill of him
behind his back. The Prince, who had been compelled by necessity, and
fully authorized by the terms of the "Accord", to grant those two points
which were the vital matter in his arrangements, answered very calmly,
that he was not so frivolous as to believe in her having used language to
his discredit had he not been quite certain of the fact, as he would soon
prove by evidence. Orange was not the man to be deceived as to the
position in which he stood, nor as to the character of those with whom he
dealt. Margaret wrote, however, in the same vein concerning him to
Hoogstmaten, affirming that nothing could be further from her intention
than to characterize the proceedings of "her cousin, the Prince of
Orange, as contrary to the service of his Majesty; knowing, as she did,
how constant had been his affection, and how diligent his actions, in the
cause of God and the King."

She also sent councillor d'Assonleville on a special mission to the
Prince, instructing that smooth personage to inform her said cousin of
Orange that he was and always had been "loved and cherished by his
Majesty, and that for herself she had ever loved him like a brother or a
child."

She wrote to Horn, approving of his conduct in the main, although in
obscure terms, and expressing great confidence in his zeal, loyalty, and
good intentions. She accorded the same praise to Hoogstraaten, while as
to Egmont she was perpetually reproaching him for the suspicions which he
seemed obstinately to entertain as to her disposition and that of Philip,
in regard to his conduct and character.

It has already been partly seen what were her private sentiments and
secret representations as to the career of the distinguished personages
thus encouraged and commended. Her pictures were painted in daily
darkening colors. She told her brother that Orange, Egmont, and Horn were
about to place themselves at the head of the confederates, who were to
take up arms and had been levying troops; that the Lutheran religion was
to be forcibly established, that the whole power of the government was to
be placed in the triumvirate thus created by those seigniors, and that
Philip was in reality to be excluded entirely from those provinces which
were his ancient patrimony. All this information she had obtained from
Mansfeld, at whom the nobles were constantly sneering as at a faithful
valet who would never receive his wages.

She also informed the King that the scheme for dividing the country was
already arranged: that Augustus of Saxony was to have Friesland and
Overyssel; Count Brederode, Holland; the Dukes of Cleves and Lorraine,
Gueldres; the King of France, Flanders, Artois, and Hainault, of which
territories Egmont was to be perpetual stadholder; the Prince of Orange,
Brabant; and so on indefinitely. A general massacre of all the Catholics
had been arranged by Orange, Horn, and Egmont, to commence as soon as the
King should put his foot on shipboard to come to the country. This last
remarkable fact Margaret reported to Philip, upon the respectable
authority of Noircarmes.

She apologized for having employed the service of these nobles, on the
ground of necessity. Their proceedings in Flanders, at Antwerp, Tournay,
Mechlin, had been highly reprehensible, and she had been obliged to
disavow them in the most important particulars. As for Egmont, she had
most unwillingly entrusted forces to his hands for the purpose of putting
down the Flemish sectaries. She had been afraid to show a want of
confidence in his character, but at the same time she believed that all
soldiers under Egmont's orders would be so many enemies to the king.
Notwithstanding his protestations of fidelity to the ancient religion and
to his Majesty, she feared that he was busied with some great plot
against God and the King. When we remember the ruthless manner in which
the unfortunate Count had actually been raging against the sectaries, and
the sanguinary proofs which he had been giving of his fidelity to "God
and the King," it seems almost incredible that Margaret could have
written down all these monstrous assertions.

The Duchess gave, moreover, repeated warnings to her brother, that the
nobles were in the habit of obtaining possession of all the
correspondence between Madrid and Brussels; and that they spent a vast
deal of money in order to read her own and Philip's most private letters.
She warned him therefore, to be upon his guard, for she believed that
almost all their despatches were read. Such being the cases and the tenor
of those documents being what we have seen it to be, her complaints as to
the incredulity of those seigniors to her affectionate protestations,
seem quite wonderful.




CHAPTER IX., Part 1., 1566

   Position of Orange--The interview at Dendermonde--The supposititious
   letters of Alava--Views of Egmont--Isolation of Orange--Conduct of
   Egmont and of Horn--Confederacy, of the nobles dissolved--Weak
   behavior of prominent personages----Watchfulness of Orange--
   Convocation of States General demanded--Pamphlet of Orange--City of
   Valenciennes refuses a garrison--Influence of La Grange and De Bray
   --City, declared in a state of siege--Invested by Noircarmes--
   Movements to relieve the place--Calvinists defeated at Lannoy and at
   Waterlots--Elation of the government--The siege pressed more
   closely--Cruelties practised upon the country people--Courage of the
   inhabitants--Remonstrance to the Knights of the Fleece--Conduct of
   Brederode--Orange at Amsterdam--New Oath demanded by Government--
   Orange refuses--He offers his resignation of all offices--Meeting at
   Breda--New "Request" of Brederode--He creates disturbances and
   levies troops in Antwerp--Conduct of Hoogstraaten--Plans of
   Brederode--Supposed connivance of Orange--Alarm at Brussels--
   Tholouse at Ostrawell--Brederode in Holland--De Beauvoir defeats
   Tholouse--Excitement at Antwerp--Determined conduct of Orange--Three
   days' tumult at Antwerp suppressed by the wisdom and courage of
   Orange.

It is necessary to allude to certain important events contemporaneous
with those recorded in the last chapter, that the reader may thoroughly
understand the position of the leading personages in this great drama at
the close of the year 1566.

The Prince of Orange had, as we have seen, bean exerting all his energies
faithfully to accomplish the pacification of the commercial metropolis,
upon the basis assented to beforehand by the Duchess. He had established
a temporary religious peace, by which alone at that crisis the gathering
tempest could be averted; but he had permitted the law to take its course
upon certain rioters, who had been regularly condemned by courts of
justice. He had worked day and night--notwithstanding immense obstacles,
calumnious misstatements, and conflicting opinions--to restore order out
of chaos; he had freely imperilled his own life--dashing into a
tumultuous mob on one occasion, wounding several with the halberd which
he snatched from one of his guard, and dispersing almost with his single
arm a dangerous and threatening insurrection--and he had remained in
Antwerp, at the pressing solicitations of the magistracy, who represented
that the lives of not a single ecclesiastic would be safe as soon as his
back was turned, and that all the merchants would forthwith depart from
the city. It was nevertheless necessary that he should make a personal
visit to his government of Holland, where similar disorders had been
prevailing, and where men of all ranks and parties were clamoring for
their stadholder.

Notwithstanding all his exertions however, he was thoroughly aware of the
position in which he stood towards the government. The sugared phrases of
Margaret, the deliberate commendation of the "benign and debonair"
Philip, produced no effect upon this statesman, who was accustomed to
look through and through men's actions to the core of their hearts. In
the hearts of Philip and Margaret he already saw treachery and revenge
indelibly imprinted. He had been especially indignant at the insult which
the Duchess Regent had put upon him, by sending Duke Eric of Brunswick
with an armed force into Holland in order to protect Gouda, Woerden, and
other places within the Prince's own government. He was thoroughly
conversant with the general tone in which the other seigniors and himself
were described to their sovereign. He, was already convinced that the
country was to be conquered by foreign mercenaries, and that his own
life, with these of many other nobles, was to be sacrificed. The moment
had arrived in which he was justified in looking about him for means of
defence, both for himself and his country, if the King should be so
insane as to carry out the purposes which the Prince suspected. The time
was fast approaching in which a statesman placed upon such an elevation
before the world as that which he occupied, would be obliged to choose
his part for life. To be the unscrupulous tool of tyranny, a rebel, or an
exile, was his necessary fate. To a man so prone to read the future, the
moment for his choice seemed already arrived. Moreover, he thought it
doubtful, and events were most signally to justify his doubts, whether he
could be accepted as the instrument of despotism, even were he inclined
to prostitute himself to such service. At this point, therefore,
undoubtedly began the treasonable thoughts of William the Silent, if it
be treason to attempt the protection of ancient and chartered liberties
against a foreign oppressor. He despatched a private envoy to Egmont,
representing the grave suspicions manifested by the Duchess in sending
Duke Eric into Holland, and proposing that means should be taken into
consideration for obviating the dangers with which the country was
menaced. Catholics as well as Protestants, he intimated, were to be
crushed in one universal conquest as soon as Philip had completed the
formidable preparations which he was making for invading the provinces.
For himself, he said, he would not remain in the land to witness the
utter desolation of the people, nor to fall an unresisting victim to the
vengeance which he foresaw. If, however, he might rely upon the
co-operation of Egmont and Horn, he was willing, with the advice of the
states-general, to risk preparations against the armed invasion of
Spaniards by which the country was to be reduced to slavery. It was
incumbent, however, upon men placed as they were, "not to let the grass
grow under their feet;" and the moment for action was fast approaching.

This was the scheme which Orange was willing to attempt. To make use of
his own influence and that of his friends, to interpose between a
sovereign insane with bigotry, and a people in a state of religious
frenzy, to resist brutal violence if need should be by force, and to
compel the sovereign to respect the charters which he had sworn to
maintain, and which were far more ancient than his sovereignty; so much
of treason did William of Orange already contemplate, for in no other way
could he be loyal to his country and his own honor.

Nothing came of this secret embassy, for Egmont's heart and fate were
already fixed. Before Orange departed, however; for the north, where his
presence in the Dutch provinces was now imperatively required, a
memorable interview took place at Dendermonde between Orange, Horn,
Egmont, Hoogstraaten, and Count Louis. The nature of this conference was
probably similar to that of the secret mission from Orange to Egmont just
recorded. It was not a long consultation. The gentlemen met at eleven
o'clock, and conversed until dinner was ready, which was between twelve
and one in the afternoon. They discussed the contents of a letter
recently received by Horn from his brother Montigny at Segovia, giving a
lively picture of Philip's fury at the recent events in the Netherlands,
and expressing the Baron's own astonishment and indignation that it had
been impossible for the seigniors to prevent such outrages as the public
preaching, the image-breaking and the Accord. They had also some
conversation concerning the dissatisfaction manifested by the Duchess at
the proceedings of Count Horn at Tournay, and they read a very remarkable
letter which had been furnished them, as having been written by the
Spanish envoy in Paris, Don Francis of Alava, to Margaret of Parma. This
letter was forged. At least the Regent, in her Italian correspondence,
asserted it to be fictitious, and in those secret letters to Philip she
usually told the truth. The astuteness of William of Orange had in this
instance been deceived. The striking fidelity, however, with which the
present and future policy of the government was sketched, the accuracy
with which many unborn events were foreshadowed, together with the minute
touches which gave an air of genuineness to the fictitious despatch,
might well deceive even so sagacious an observer as the Prince.

The letters alluded to the deep and long-settled hostility of Philip to
Orange, Horn, and Egmont, as to a fact entirely within the writer's
knowledge, and that of his correspondent, but urged upon the Duchess the
assumption of an extraordinary degree of apparent cordiality in her
intercourse with them. It was the King's intention to use them and to
destroy them, said the writer, and it was the Regent's duty to second the
design. "The tumults and troubles have not been without their secret
concurrence," said the supposititious Alava, "and your Highness may rest
assured that they will be the first upon whom his Majesty will seize, not
to confer benefits, but to chastise them as they deserve. Your Highness,
however, should show no symptom of displeasure, but should constantly
maintain in their minds the idea that his Majesty considers them as the
most faithful of his servants. While they are persuaded of this, they can
be more easily used, but when the time comes, they will be treated in
another manner. Your Highness may rest assured that his Majesty is not
less inclined than your Highness that they should receive the punishment
which they merit." The Duchess was furthermore recommended "to deal with
the three seigniors according to the example of the Spanish Governments
in its intercourse with the envoys, Bergen and Montigny, who are met with
a smiling face, but who are closely watched, and who will never be
permitted to leave Spain alive." The remainder of the letter alludes to
supposed engagements between France and Spain for the extirpation of
heresy, from which allusion to the generally accepted but mistaken notion
as to the Bayonne conference, a decided proof seems to be furnished that
the letter was not genuine. Great complaints, however, are made, as to
the conduct of the Queen Regent, who is described as "a certain lady well
known to her Highness, and as a person without faith, friendship, or
truth; the most consummate hypocrite in the world." After giving
instances of the duplicity manifested by Catherine de Medici, the writer
continues: "She sends her little black dwarf to me upon frequent errands,
in order that by means of this spy she may worm out my secrets. I am,
however, upon my guard, and flatter myself that I learn more from him
than she from me. She shall never be able to boast of having deceived a
Spaniard."

An extract or two from this very celebrated document seemed
indispensable, because of the great importance attached to it, both at
the Dendermonde Conference, and at the trials of Egmont and Horn. The
contemporary writers of Holland had no doubt of its genuineness, and what
is more remarkable, Strada, the historiographer of the Farnese family,
after quoting Margaret's denial of the authenticity of the letter, coolly
observes: "Whether this were only an invention of the conspirators, or
actually a despatch from Alava, I shall not decide. It is certain,
however, that the Duchess declared it to be false."

Certainly, as we read the epistles, and observe how profoundly the writer
seems to have sounded the deep guile of the Spanish Cabinet, and how
distinctly events, then far in the future, are indicated, we are tempted
to exclaim: "aut Alava, aut Diabolus;" either the envoy wrote the
despatch, or Orange. Who else could look into the future, and into
Philip's heart so unerringly?

As the charge has never been made, so far as we are aware, against the
Prince, it is superfluous to discuss the amount of immorality which
should belong to such a deception. A tendency to employ stratagem in his
warfare against Spain was, no doubt, a blemish upon his--high character.
Before he is condemned, however, in the Court of Conscience, the
ineffable wiles of the policy with which he had to combat must be
thoroughly scanned, as well as the pure and lofty purpose for which his
life's long battle was fought.

There was, doubtless, some conversation at Dendermonde on the propriety
or possibility of forcible resistance to a Spanish army, with which it
seemed probable that Philip was about to invade the provinces, and take
the lives of the leading nobles. Count Louis was in favor of making
provision in Germany for the accomplishment of this purpose. It is also
highly probable that the Prince may have encouraged the proposition. In
the sense of his former communication to Egmont, he may have reasoned on
the necessity of making levies to sustain the decisions of the
states-general against violence. There is, however, no proof of any such
fact. Egmont, at any rate, opposed the scheme, on the ground that "it was
wrong to entertain any such ill opinion of so good a king as Philip, that
he had never done any thing unjust towards his subjects, and that if any
one was in fear, he had better leave the country."

Egmont, moreover; doubted the authenticity of the letters from Alava, but
agreed to carry them to Brussels, and to lay them before the Regent. That
lady, when she saw them, warmly assured the Count that they were
inventions.

The Conference broke up after it had lasted an hour and a half. The
nobles then went to dinner, at which other persons appear to have been
present, and the celebrated Dendermonde meeting was brought to a close.
After the repast was finished, each of the five nobles mounted his horse,
and departed on his separate way.

From this time forth the position of, these leading seigniors became more
sharply defined. Orange was left in almost complete isolation. Without
the assistance of Egmont, any effective resistance to the impending
invasion from Spain seemed out of the question. The Count, however, had
taken his irrevocable and fatal resolution. After various oscillations
during the stormy period which had elapsed, his mind, notwithstanding all
the disturbing causes by which it had hitherto been partially influenced,
now pointed steadily to the point of loyalty. The guidance of that pole
star was to lead him to utter shipwreck. The unfortunate noble,
entrenched against all fear of Philip by the brazen wall of an easy
conscience; saw no fault in his past at which he should grow pale with
apprehension. Moreover, he was sanguine by nature, a Catholic in
religion, a royalist from habit and conviction. Henceforth he was
determined that his services to the crown should more than counterbalance
any idle speeches or insolent demonstrations of which he might have been
previously guilty.

Horn pursued a different course, but one which separated him also from
the Prince, while it led to the same fate which Egmont was blindly
pursuing.--The Admiral had committed no act of treason. On the contrary,
he had been doing his best, under most difficult circumstances, to avert
rebellion and save the interests of a most ungrateful sovereign. He was
now disposed to wrap himself in his virtue, to retreat from a court life,
for which he had never felt a vocation, and to resign all connection with
a government by which he felt himself very badly, treated. Moody,
wrathful, disappointed, ruined, and calumniated, he would no longer keep
terms with King or Duchess. He had griefs of long standing against the
whole of the royal family. He had never forgiven the Emperor for refusing
him, when young, the appointment of chamberlain. He had served Philip
long and faithfully, but he had never received a stiver of salary or
"merced," notwithstanding all his work as state councillor, as admiral,
as superintendent in Spain; while his younger brother had long been in
receipt of nine or ten thousand florins yearly. He had spent four hundred
thousand florins in the King's service; his estates were mortgaged to
their full value; he had been obliged to sell, his family plate. He had
done his best in Tourney to serve the Duchess, and he had averted the
"Sicilian vespers," which had been imminent at his arrival. He had saved
the Catholics from a general massacre, yet he heard nevertheless from
Montigny, that all his actions were distorted in Spain, and his motives
blackened. His heart no longer inclined him to continue in Philip's
service, even were he furnished with the means of doing so. He had
instructed his secretary, Alonzo de la Loo, whom he had despatched many
months previously to Madrid, that he was no longer to press his master's
claims for a "merced," but to signify that he abandoned all demands and
resigned all posts. He could turn hermit for the rest of his days, as
well as the Emperor Charles. If he had little, he could live upon little.
It was in this sense that he spoke to Margaret of Parma, to Assonleville,
to all around him. It was precisely in this strain and temper that he
wrote to Philip, indignantly defending his course at Tourney, protesting
against the tortuous conduct of the Duchess, and bluntly declaring that
he would treat no longer with ladies upon matters which concerned a man's
honor.

Thus, smarting under a sense of gross injustice, the Admiral expressed
himself in terms which Philip was not likely to forgive. He had
undertaken the pacification of Tournay, because it was Montigny's
government, and he had promised his services whenever they should be
requisite. Horn was a loyal and affectionate brother, and it is pathetic
to find him congratulating Montigny on being, after all, better off in
Spain than in the Netherlands. Neither loyalty nor the sincere
Catholicism for which Montigny at this period commended Horn in his
private letters, could save the two brothers from the doom which was now
fast approaching.

Thus Horn, blind as Egmont--not being aware that a single step beyond
implicit obedience had created an impassable gulf between Philip and
himself--resolved to meet his destiny in sullen retirement. Not an
entirely disinterested man, perhaps, but an honest one, as the world
went, mediocre in mind, but brave, generous, and direct of purpose,
goaded by the shafts of calumny, hunted down by the whole pack which
fawned upon power as it grew more powerful, he now retreated to his
"desert," as he called his ruined home at Weert, where he stood at bay,
growling defiance at the Regent, at Philip, at all the world.

Thus were the two prominent personages upon whose co-operation Orange had
hitherto endeavored to rely, entirely separated from him. The confederacy
of nobles, too, was dissolved, having accomplished little,
notwithstanding all its noisy demonstrations, and having lost all credit
with the people by the formal cessation of the Compromise in consequence
of the Accord of August. As a body, they had justified the sarcasm of
Hubert Languet, that "the confederated nobles had ruined their country by
their folly and incapacity." They had profaned a holy cause by indecent
orgies, compromised it by seditious demonstrations, abandoned it when
most in need of assistance. Bakkerzeel had distinguished himself by
hanging sectaries in Flanders. "Golden Fleece" de Hammes, after creating
great scandal in and about Antwerp, since the Accord, had ended by
accepting an artillery commission in the Emperor's army, together with
three hundred crowns for convoy from Duchess Margaret. Culemburg was
serving the cause of religious freedom by defacing the churches within
his ancestral domains, pulling down statues, dining in chapels and giving
the holy wafer to his parrot. Nothing could be more stupid than these
acts of irreverence, by which Catholics were offended and honest patriots
disgusted. Nothing could be more opposed to the sentiments of Orange,
whose first principle was abstinence by all denominations of Christians
from mutual insults. At the same time, it is somewhat revolting to
observe the indignation with which such offences were regarded by men of
the most abandoned character. Thus, Armenteros, whose name was synonymous
with government swindling, who had been rolling up money year after year,
by peculations, auctioneering of high posts in church and state, bribes,
and all kinds of picking and stealing, could not contain his horror as he
referred to wafers eaten by parrots, or "toasted on forks" by renegade
priests; and poured out his emotions on the subject into the faithful
bosom of Antonio Perez, the man with whose debaucheries, political
villanies, and deliberate murders all Europe was to ring.

No doubt there were many individuals in the confederacy for whom it was
reserved to render honorable service in the national cause. The names of
Louis Nassau, Mamix of St. Aldegonde, Bernard de Merode, were to be
written in golden letters in their country's rolls; but at this moment
they were impatient, inconsiderate, out of the control of Orange. Louis
was anxious for the King to come from Spain with his army, and for "the
bear dance to begin." Brederode, noisy, bawling, and absurd as ever, was
bringing ridicule upon the national cause by his buffoonery, and
endangering the whole people by his inadequate yet rebellious exertions.

What course was the Prince of Orange to adopt? He could find no one to
comprehend his views. He felt certain at the close of the year that the
purpose of the government was fixed. He made no secret of his
determination never to lend himself as an instrument for the contemplated
subjugation of the people. He had repeatedly resigned all his offices. He
was now determined that the resignation once for all should be accepted.
If he used dissimulation, it was because Philip's deception permitted no
man to be frank. If the sovereign constantly disavowed all hostile
purposes against his people, and manifested extreme affection for the men
whom he had already doomed to the scaffold, how could the Prince openly
denounce him? It was his duty to save his country and his friends from
impending ruin. He preserved, therefore, an attitude of watchfulness.
Philip, in the depth of his cabinet, was under a constant inspection by
the sleepless Prince. The sovereign assured his sister that her
apprehensions about their correspondence was groundless. He always locked
up his papers, and took the key with him. Nevertheless, the key was taken
out of his pocket and the papers read. Orange was accustomed to observe,
that men of leisure might occupy themselves with philosophical pursuits
and with the secrets of nature, but that it was his business to study the
hearts of kings. He knew the man and the woman with whom he had to deal.
We have seen enough of the policy secretly pursued by Philip and Margaret
to appreciate the accuracy with which the Prince, groping as it were in
the dark, had judged the whole situation. Had his friends taken his
warnings, they might have lived to render services against tyranny. Had
he imitated their example of false loyalty, there would have been one
additional victim, more illustrious than all the rest, and a whole
country hopelessly enslaved.

It is by keeping these considerations in view, that we can explain his
connection with such a man as Brederode. The enterprises of that noble,
of Tholouse, and others, and the resistance of Valenciennes, could hardly
have been prevented even by the opposition of the Prince. But why should
he take the field against men who, however rashly or ineffectually, were
endeavoring to oppose tyranny, when he knew himself already proscribed
and doomed by the tyrant? Such loyalty he left to Egmont. Till late in
the autumn, he had still believed in the possibility of convoking the
states-general, and of making preparations in Germany to enforce their
decrees.

The confederates and sectaries had boasted that they could easily raise
an army of sixty thousand men within the provinces,--that twelve hundred
thousand florins monthly would be furnished by the rich merchants of
Antwerp, and that it was ridiculous to suppose that the German
mercenaries enrolled by the Duchess in Saxony, Hesse, and other
Protestant countries, would ever render serious assistance against the
adherents of the reformed religion. Without placing much confidence in
such exaggerated statements, the Prince might well be justified in
believing himself strong enough, if backed by the confederacy, by Egmont,
and by his own boundless influence, both at Antwerp and in his own
government, to sustain the constituted authorities of the nation even
against a Spanish army, and to interpose with legitimate and irresistible
strength between the insane tyrant and the country which he was preparing
to crush. It was the opinion of the best informed Catholics that, if
Egmont should declare for the confederacy, he could take the field with
sixty thousand men, and make himself master of the whole country at a
blow. In conjunction with Orange, the moral and physical force would have
been invincible.

It was therefore not Orange alone, but the Catholics and Protestants
alike, the whole population of the country, and the Duchess Regent
herself, who desired the convocation of the estates. Notwithstanding
Philip's deliberate but secret determination never to assemble that body,
although the hope was ever to be held out that they should be convened,
Margaret had been most importunate that her brother should permit the
measure. "There was less danger," she felt herself compelled to say, "in
assembling than in not assembling the States; it was better to preserve
the Catholic religion for a part of the country, than to lose it
altogether." "The more it was delayed," she said, "the more ruinous and
desperate became the public affairs. If the measure were postponed much
longer, all Flanders, half Brabant, the whole of Holland, Zeland,
Gueldrea, Tournay, Lille, Mechlin, would be lost forever, without a
chance of ever restoring the ancient religion." The country, in short,
was "without faith, King, or law," and nothing worse could be apprehended
from any deliberation of the states-general. These being the opinions of
the Duchess, and according to her statement those of nearly all the good
Catholics in the country, it could hardly seem astonishing or treasonable
that the Prince should also be in favor of the measure.

As the Duchess grew stronger, however, and as the people, aghast at the
fate of Tournay and Valenciennes, began to lose courage, she saw less
reason for assembling the states. Orange, on the other hand, completely
deserted by Egmont and Horn, and having little confidence in the
characters of the ex-confederates, remained comparatively quiescent but
watchful.

At the close of the year, an important pamphlet from his hand was
circulated, in which his views as to the necessity of allowing some
degree of religious freedom were urged upon the royal government with his
usual sagacity of thought, moderation of language, and modesty in tone.
The man who had held the most important civil and military offices in the
country almost from boyhood, and who was looked up to by friend and foe
as the most important personage in the three millions of its inhabitants,
apologized for his "presumption" in coming forward publicly with his
advice. "I would not," he said, "in matters of such importance, affect to
be wiser or to make greater pretensions than my age or experience
warrants, yet seeing affairs in such perplexity, I will rather incur the
risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect that which I consider
my duty."

This, then, was the attitude of the principal personages in the
Netherlands, and the situation of affairs at the end of the eventful year
1566, the last year of peace which the men then living or their children
were to know. The government, weak at the commencement, was strong at the
close. The confederacy was broken and scattered. The Request, the beggar
banquets, the public preaching, the image-breaking, the Accord of August,
had been followed by reaction. Tournay had accepted its garrison. Egmont,
completely obedient to the crown, was compelling all the cities of
Flanders and Artois to receive soldiers sufficient to maintain implicit
obedience, and to extinguish all heretical demonstrations, so that the
Regent was at comparative leisure to effect the reduction of
Valenciennes.

This ancient city, in the province of Hainault, and on the frontier of
France, had been founded by the Emperor Valentinian, from whom it had
derived its name. Originally established by him as a city of refuge, it
had received the privilege of affording an asylum to debtors, to outlaws,
and even to murderers. This ancient right had been continued, under
certain modifications, even till the period with which we are now
occupied. Never, however, according to the government, had the right of
asylum, even in the wildest times, been so abused by the city before.
What were debtors, robbers, murderers, compared to heretics? yet these
worst enemies of their race swarmed in the rebellious city, practising
even now the foulest rites of Calvin, and obeying those most pestilential
of all preachers, Guido de Bray, and Peregrine de la Grange. The place
was the hot-bed of heresy and sedition, and it seemed to be agreed, as by
common accord, that the last struggle for what was called the new
religion, should take place beneath its walls.

Pleasantly situated in a fertile valley, provided with very strong
fortifications and very deep moats, Valenciennes, with the Scheld flowing
through its centre, and furnishing the means of laying the circumjacent
meadows under water, was considered in those days almost impregnable. The
city was summoned, almost at the same time as Tournay, to accept a
garrison. This demand of government was met by a peremptory refusal.
Noircarmes, towards the middle of December, ordered the magistrates to
send a deputation to confer with him at Conde. Pensionary Outreman
accordingly repaired to that neighboring city, accompanied by some of his
colleagues. This committee was not unfavorable to the demands of
government. The magistracies of the cities, generally, were far from
rebellious; but in the case of Valenciennes the real power at that moment
was with the Calvinist consistory, and the ministers. The deputies, after
their return from Conde, summoned the leading members of the reformed
religion, together with the preachers. It was urged that it was their
duty forthwith to use their influence in favor of the demand made by the
government upon the city.

"May I grow mute as a fish!" answered de la Grange, stoutly, "may the
tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, before I persuade my people to
accept a garrison of cruel mercenaries, by whom their rights of
conscience are to be trampled upon!"

Councillor Outreman reasoned with the fiery minister, that if he and his
colleague were afraid of their own lives, ample provision should be made
with government for their departure under safe conduct. La Grange replied
that he had no fears for himself, that the Lord would protect those who
preached and those who believed in his holy word, but that He would not
forgive them should they now bend their necks to His enemies.

It was soon very obvious that no arrangement could be made. The
magistrates could exert no authority, the preachers were all-powerful;
and the citizens, said a Catholic inhabitant of Valenciennes, "allowed
themselves to be led by their ministers like oxen." Upon the 17th
December, 1566, a proclamation was accordingly issued by the Duchess
Regent, declaring the city in a state of siege, and all its inhabitants
rebels. The crimes for which this penalty was denounced, were elaborately
set forth in the edict. Preaching according to the reformed religion had
been permitted in two or three churches, the sacrament according to the
Calvinistic manner had been publicly administered, together with a
renunciation by the communicants of their adhesion to the Catholic
Church, and now a rebellious refusal to receive the garrison sent to them
by the Duchess had been added to the list of their iniquities. For
offences like these the Regent deemed it her duty to forbid all
inhabitants of any city, village, or province of the Netherlands holding
communication with Valenciennes, buying or selling with its inhabitants,
or furnishing them with provisions; on pain of being considered
accomplices in their rebellion, and as such of being executed with the
halter.

The city was now invested by Noircarmes with all the troops which could
be spared. The confederates gave promises of assistance to the
beleaguered citizens, Orange privately encouraged them to holdout in
their legitimate refusal. Brederode and others busied themselves with
hostile demonstrations which were destined to remain barren; but in the
mean time the inhabitants had nothing to rely upon save their own stout
hearts and arms.

At first, the siege was sustained with a light heart. Frequent sallies
were made, smart skirmishes were ventured, in which the Huguenots, on the
testimony of a most bitter Catholic contemporary, conducted themselves
with the bravery of veteran troops, and as if they had done nothing all
their lives but fight; forays were made upon the monasteries of the
neighborhood for the purpose of procuring supplies, and the broken
statues of the dismantled churches were used to build a bridge across an
arm of the river, which was called in derision the Bridge of Idols.
Noircarmes and the six officers under him, who were thought to be
conducting their operations with languor, were christened the Seven
Sleepers. Gigantic spectacles, three feet in circumference, were planted
derisively upon the ramparts, in order that the artillery, which it was
said that the papists of Arras were sending, might be seen, as soon as it
should arrive. Councillor Outreman, who had left the city before the
siege, came into it again, on commission from Noircarmes. He was received
with contempt, his proposals on behalf of the government were answered
with outcries of fury; he was pelted with stones, and was very glad to
make his escape alive. The pulpits thundered with the valiant deeds of
Joshua, Judas Maccabeus, and other bible heroes. The miracles wrought in
their behalf served to encourage the enthusiasm of the people, while the
movements making at various points in the neighborhood encouraged a hope
of a general rising throughout the country.

Those hopes were destined to disappointment. There were large assemblages
made, to be sure, at two points. Nearly three thousand sectaries had been
collected at Lannoy under Pierre Comaille, who, having been a locksmith
and afterwards a Calvinist preacher, was now disposed to try his fortune
as a general. His band was, however, disorderly. Rustics armed with
pitchforks, young students and old soldiers out of employment, furnished
with rusty matchlocks, pikes and halberds, composed his force. A company
similar in character, and already amounting to some twelve hundred in
number, was collecting at Waterlots. It was hoped that an imposing array
would soon be assembled, and that the two bands, making a junction, would
then march to the relief of Valenciennes. It was boasted that in a very
short time, thirty thousand men would be in the field. There was even a
fear of some such result felt by the Catholics.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     1566, the last year of peace
     Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
     If he had little, he could live upon little
     Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
     Not to let the grass grow under their feet




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 13.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855

1567 [CHAPTER IX., Part 2.]

   Calvinists defeated at Lannoy and at Waterlots--Elation of the
   government--The siege pressed more closely--Cruelties practised upon
   the country people--Courage of the inhabitants--Remonstrance to the
   Knights of the Fleece--Conduct of Brederode--Orange at Amsterdam--
   New Oath demanded by Government--Orange refuses--He offers his
   resignation of all offices--Meeting at Breda--New "Request" of
   Brederode--He creates disturbances and levies troops in Antwerp--
   Conduct of Hoogstraaten--Plans of Brederode--Supposed connivance of
   Orange--Alarm at Brussels--Tholouse at Ostrawell--Brederode in
   Holland--De Beauvoir defeats Tholouse--Excitement at Antwerp--
   Determined conduct of Orange--Three days' tumult at Antwerp
   suppressed by the wisdom and courage of Orange.

It was then that Noircarmes and his "seven sleepers" showed that they
were awake. Early in January, 1567, that fierce soldier, among whose
vices slothfulness was certainly never reckoned before or afterwards,
fell upon the locksmith's army at Zannoy, while the Seigneur de
Rassinghem attacked the force at Waterlots on the same day. Noircarmes
destroyed half his enemies at the very first charge. The ill-assorted
rabble fell asunder at once. The preacher fought well, but his
undisciplined force fled at the first sight of the enemy. Those who
carried arquebusses threw them down without a single discharge, that they
might run the faster. At least a thousand were soon stretched dead upon
the field; others were hunted into the river. Twenty-six hundred,
according to the Catholic accounts, were exterminated in an hour.

Rassinghem, on his part, with five or six hundred regulars, attacked
Teriel's force, numbering at least twice as many. Half of these were soon
cut to pieces and put to flight. Six hundred, however, who had seen some
service, took refuge in the cemetery of Waterlots. Here, from behind the
stone wall of the inclosure, they sustained the attack of the Catholics
with some spirit. The repose of the dead in the quiet country church-yard
was disturbed by the uproar of a most sanguinary conflict. The temporary
fort was soon carried, and the Huguenots retreated into the church. A
rattling arquebusade was poured in upon them as they struggled in the
narrow doorway. At least four hundred corpses were soon strewn among the
ancient graves. The rest were hunted, into the church, and from the
church into the belfry. A fire was then made in the steeple and kept up
till all were roasted or suffocated. Not a man escaped.

This was the issue in the first stricken field in the Netherlands, for
the cause of religious liberty. It must be confessed that it was not very
encouraging to the lovers of freedom. The partisans of government were
elated, in proportion to the apprehension which had been felt for the
result of this rising in the Walloon country. "These good hypocrites,"
wrote a correspondent of Orange, "are lifting up their heads like so many
dromedaries. They are becoming unmanageable with pride." The Duke of
Aerschot and Count Meghem gave great banquets in Brussels, where all the
good chevaliers drank deep in honor of the victory, and to the health of
his Majesty and Madame. "I saw Berlaymont just go by the window," wrote
Schwartz to the Prince. "He was coming from Aerschot's dinner with a face
as red as the Cardinal's new hat."

On the other hand, the citizens of Valenciennes were depressed in equal
measure with the exultation of their antagonists. There was no more talk
of seven sleepers now, no more lunettes stuck upon lances, to spy the
coming forces of the enemy. It was felt that the government was wide
awake, and that the city would soon see the impending horrors without
telescopes. The siege was pressed more closely. Noircarmes took up a
commanding position at Saint Armand, by which he was enabled to cut off
all communication between the city and the surrounding country. All the
villages in the neighborhood were pillaged; all the fields laid waste.
All the infamies which an insolent soldiery can inflict upon helpless
peasantry were daily enacted. Men and women who attempted any
communication--with the city, were murdered in cold blood by hundreds.
The villagers were plundered of their miserable possessions, children
were stripped naked in the midst of winter for the sake of the rags which
covered them; matrons and virgins were sold at public auction by the tap
of drum; sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires, to afford
amusement to the soldiers. In brief, the whole unmitigated curse which
military power inflamed by religious bigotry can embody, had descended
upon the heads of these unfortunate provincials who had dared to worship
God in Christian churches without a Roman ritual.

Meantime the city maintained, a stout heart still. The whole population
were arranged under different banners. The rich and poor alike took arms
to defend the walls which sheltered them. The town paupers were enrolled
in three companies, which bore the significant title of the "Tons-nulls"
or the "Stark-nakeds," and many was the fierce conflict delivered outside
the gates by men, who, in the words of a Catholic then in the city, might
rather be taken for "experienced veterans than for burghers and
artisans." At the same time, to the honor of Valenciennes, it must be
stated, upon the same incontestable authority, that not a Catholic in the
city was injured or insulted. The priests who had remained there were not
allowed to say mass, but they never met with an opprobrious word or look
from the people.

The inhabitants of the city called upon the confederates for assistance.
They also issued an address to the Knights of the Fleece; a paper which
narrated the story of their wrongs in pathetic and startling language.
They appealed to those puissant and illustrious chevaliers to prevent the
perpetration of the great wrong which was now impending over so many
innocent heads. "Wait not," they said, "till the thunderbolt has fallen,
till the deluge has overwhelmed us, till the fires already blazing have
laid the land in coals and ashes, till no other course be possible, but
to abandon the country in its desolation to foreign barbarity. Let the
cause of the oppressed come to your ears. So shall your conscience become
a shield of iron; so shall the happiness of a whole country witness
before the angels, of your truth to his Majesty, in the cause of his true
grandeur and glory."

These stirring appeals to an order of which Philip was chief, Viglius
chancellor, Egmont, Mansfeld, Aerschot, Berlaymont, and others,
chevaliers, were not likely to produce much effect. The city could rely
upon no assistance in those high quarters.

Meantime, however, the bold Brederode was attempting a very extensive
diversion, which, if successful, would have saved Valenciennes and the
whole country beside. That eccentric personage, during the autumn and
winter had been creating disturbances in various parts of the country.
Wherever he happened to be established, there came from the windows of
his apartments a sound of revelry and uproar. Suspicious characters in
various costumes thronged his door and dogged his footsteps. At the same
time the authorities felt themselves obliged to treat him with respect.
At Horn he had entertained many of the leading citizens at a great
banquet.--The-health-of-the-beggars had been drunk in mighty potations,
and their shibboleth had resounded through the house. In the midst of the
festivities, Brederode had suspended a beggar's-medal around the neck of
the burgomaster, who had consented to be his guest upon that occasion,
but who had no intention of enrolling himself in the fraternities of
actual or political mendicants. The excellent magistrate, however, was
near becoming a member of both. The emblem by which he had been
conspicuously adorned proved very embarrassing to him upon his recovery
from the effects of his orgies with the "great beggar," and he was
subsequently punished for his imprudence by the confiscation of half his
property.

Early in January, Brederode had stationed himself in his city of Viane.
There, in virtue of his seignorial rights, he had removed all statues and
other popish emblems from the churches, performing the operation,
however, with much quietness and decorum. He had also collected many
disorderly men at arms in this city, and had strengthened its
fortifications, to resist, as he said, the threatened attacks of Duke
Eric of Brunswick and his German mercenaries. A printing-press was
established in the place, whence satirical pamphlets, hymn-books, and
other pestiferous productions, were constantly issuing to the annoyance
of government. Many lawless and uproarious individuals enjoyed the
Count's hospitality. All the dregs and filth of the provinces, according
to Doctor Viglius, were accumulated at Viane as in a cesspool. Along the
placid banks of the Lech, on which river the city stands, the "hydra of
rebellion" lay ever coiled and threatening.

Brederode was supposed to be revolving vast schemes, both political and
military, and Margaret of Parma was kept in continual apprehension by the
bravado of this very noisy conspirator. She called upon William of
Orange, as usual, for assistance. The Prince, however, was very
ill-disposed to come to her relief. An extreme disgust for the policy of
the government already began to, characterize his public language. In the
autumn and winter he had done all that man could do for the safety of the
monarch's crown, and for the people's happiness. His services in Antwerp
have been recorded. As soon as he could tear himself from that city,
where the magistrates and all classes of citizens clung to him as to
their only saviour, he had hastened to tranquillize the provinces of
Holland, Zeland, and Utrecht. He had made arrangements in the principal
cities there upon the same basis which he had adopted in Antwerp, and to
which Margaret had consented in August. It was quite out of the question
to establish order without permitting the reformers, who constituted much
the larger portion of the population, to have liberty of religious
exercises at some places, not consecrated, within the cities.

At Amsterdam, for instance, as he informed the Duchess, there were swarms
of unlearned, barbarous people, mariners and the like, who could by no
means perceive the propriety of doing their preaching in the open
country, seeing that the open country, at that season, was quite under
water.--Margaret's gracious suggestion that, perhaps, something might be
done with boats, was also considered inadmissible. "I know not," said
Orange, "who could have advised your highness to make such a
proposition." He informed her, likewise; that the barbarous mariners had
a clear right to their preaching; for the custom had already been
established previously to the August treaty, at a place called the
"Lastadge," among the wharves. "In the name of God, then," wrote
Margaret; "let them continue to preach in the Lastadge." This being all
the barbarians wanted, an Accord, with the full consent of the Regent,
was drawn up at Amsterdam and the other northern cities. The Catholics
kept churches and cathedrals, but in the winter season, the greater part
of the population obtained permission to worship God upon dry land, in
warehouses and dock-yards.

Within a very few weeks, however, the whole arrangement was coolly
cancelled by the Duchess, her permission revoked, and peremptory
prohibition of all preaching within or without the walls proclaimed. The
government was growing stronger. Had not Noircarmes and Rassinghem cut to
pieces three or four thousand of these sectaries marching to battle under
parsons, locksmiths, and similar chieftains? Were not all lovers of good
government "erecting their heads like dromedaries?"

It may easily be comprehended that the Prince could not with complacency
permit himself to be thus perpetually stultified by a weak, false, and
imperious woman. She had repeatedly called upon him when she was appalled
at the tempest and sinking in the ocean; and she had as constantly
disavowed his deeds and reviled his character when she felt herself in
safety again. He had tranquillized the old Batavian provinces, where the
old Batavian spirit still lingered, by his personal influence and his
unwearied exertions. Men of all ranks and religions were grateful for his
labors. The Reformers had not gained much, but they were satisfied. The
Catholics retained their churches, their property, their consideration.
The states of Holland had voted him fifty thousand florins, as an
acknowledgment of his efforts in restoring peace. He had refused the
present. He was in debt, pressed for money, but he did not choose, as he
informed Philip, "that men should think his actions governed by motives
of avarice or particular interest, instead of the true affection which he
bore to his Majesty's service and the good of the country." Nevertheless,
his back was hardly turned before all his work was undone by the Regent.

A new and important step on the part of the government had now placed him
in an attitude of almost avowed rebellion. All functionaries, from
governors of provinces down to subalterns in the army, were required to
take a new oath of allegiance, "novum et hactenua inusitatum religionia
juramentum," as the Prince characterized it, which was, he said, quite
equal to the inquisition. Every man who bore his Majesty's commission was
ordered solemnly to pledge himself to obey the orders of government,
every where, and against every person, without limitation or
restriction.--Count Mansfeld, now "factotum at Brussels," had taken the
oath with great fervor. So had Aerachot, Berlaymont, Meghem, and, after a
little wavering, Egmont. Orange spurned the proposition. He had taken
oaths enough which he had never broken, nor intended now to break: He was
ready still to do every thing conducive to the real interest of the
monarch. Who dared do more was no true servant to the government, no true
lover of the country. He would never disgrace himself by a blind pledge,
through which he might be constrained to do acts detrimental, in his
opinion, to the safety of the crown, the happiness of the commonwealth,
and his own honor. The alternative presented he willingly embraced. He
renounced all his offices, and desired no longer to serve a government
whose policy he did not approve, a King by whom he was suspected.

His resignation was not accepted by the Duchess, who still made efforts
to retain the services of a man who was necessary to her administration.
She begged him, notwithstanding the purely defensive and watchful
attitude which he had now assumed, to take measures that Brederode should
abandon his mischievous courses. She also reproached the Prince with
having furnished that personage with artillery for his fortifications.
Orange answered, somewhat contemptuously, that he was not Brederode's
keeper, and had no occasion to meddle with his affairs. He had given him
three small field-pieces, promised long ago; not that he mentioned that
circumstance as an excuse for the donation. "Thank God," said he, "we
have always had the liberty in this country of making to friends or
relatives what presents we liked, and methinks that things have come to a
pretty pass when such trifles are scrutinized." Certainly, as Suzerain of
Viane, and threatened with invasion in his seignorial rights, the Count
might think himself justified in strengthening the bulwarks of his little
stronghold, and the Prince could hardly be deemed very seriously to
endanger the safety of the crown by the insignificant present which had
annoyed the Regent.

It is not so agreeable to contemplate the apparent intimacy which the
Prince accorded to so disreputable a character, but Orange was now in
hostility to the government, was convinced by evidence, whose accuracy
time was most signally to establish, that his own head, as well as many
others, were already doomed to the block, while the whole country was
devoted to abject servitude, and he was therefore disposed to look with
more indulgence upon the follies of those who were endeavoring, however
weakly and insanely, to avert the horrors which he foresaw. The time for
reasoning had passed. All that true wisdom and practical statesmanship
could suggest, he had already placed at the disposal of a woman who
stabbed him in the back even while she leaned upon his arm--of a king who
had already drawn his death warrant, while reproaching his "cousin of
Orange" for want of confidence in the royal friendship. Was he now to
attempt the subjugation of his country by interfering with the
proceedings of men whom he had no power to command, and who, at least,
were attempting to oppose tyranny? Even if he should do so, he was
perfectly aware of the reward, reserved for his loyalty. He liked not
such honors as he foresaw for all those who had ever interposed between
the monarch and his vengeance. For himself he had the liberation of a
country, the foundation of a free commonwealth to achieve. There was much
work for those hands before he should fall a victim to the crowned
assassin.

Early in February, Brederode, Hoogstraaten, Horn, and some other
gentlemen, visited the Prince at Breda. Here it is supposed the advice of
Orange was asked concerning the new movement contemplated by Brederode.
He was bent upon presenting a new petition to the Duchess with great
solemnity. There is no evidence to show that the Prince approved the
step, which must have seemed to him superfluous, if not puerile. He
probably regarded the matter with indifference. Brederode, however, who
was fond of making demonstrations, and thought himself endowed with a
genius for such work, wrote to the Regent for letters of safe conduct
that he might come to Brussels with his petition. The passports were
contemptuously refused. He then came to Antwerp, from which city he
forwarded the document to Brussels in a letter.

By this new Request, the exercise of the reformed religion was claimed as
a right, while the Duchess was summoned to disband the forces which she
had been collecting, and to maintain in good faith the "August" treaty.
These claims were somewhat bolder than those of the previous April,
although the liberal party was much weaker and the confederacy entirely
disbanded. Brederode, no doubt, thought it good generalship to throw the
last loaf of bread into the enemy's camp before the city should
surrender. His haughty tone was at once taken down by Margaret of Parma.
"She wondered," she said, "what manner of nobles these were, who, after
requesting, a year before, to be saved only from the inquisition, now
presumed to talk about preaching in the cities." The concessions of
August had always been odious, and were now canceled. "As for you and
your accomplices," she continued to the Count, "you will do well to go to
your homes at once without meddling with public affairs, for, in case of
disobedience, I shall deal with you as I shall deem expedient."

Brederode not easily abashed, disregarded the advice, and continued in
Antwerp. Here, accepting the answer of the Regent as a formal declaration
of hostilities, he busied himself in levying troops in and about the
city.

Orange had returned to Antwerp early in February. During his absence,
Hoogstraaten had acted as governor at the instance of the Prince and of
the Regent. During the winter that nobleman, who was very young and very
fiery, had carried matters with a high hand, whenever there had been the
least attempt at sedition. Liberal in principles, and the devoted friend
of Orange, he was disposed however to prove that the champions of
religious liberty were not the patrons of sedition. A riot occurring in
the cathedral, where a violent mob were engaged in defacing whatever was
left to deface in that church, and in heaping insults on the papists at
their worship, the little Count, who, says a Catholic contemporary, "had
the courage of a lion," dashed in among them, sword in hand, killed three
upon the spot, and, aided by his followers, succeeded in slaying,
wounding, or capturing all the rest. He had also tracked the ringleader
of the tumult to his lodging, where he had caused him to be arrested at
midnight, and hanged at once in his shirt without any form of trial. Such
rapid proceedings little resembled the calm and judicious moderation of
Orange upon all occasions, but they certainly might have sufficed to
convince Philip that all antagonists of the inquisition were not heretics
and outlaws. Upon the arrival of the Prince in Antwerp, it was considered
advisable that Hoogstraaten should remain associated with him in the
temporary government of the city.

During the month of February, Brederode remained in Antwerp, secretly
enrolling troops. It was probably his intention--if so desultory and
irresponsible an individual could be said to have an intention--to make
an attempt upon the Island of Walcheren. If such important cities as
Flushing and Middelburg could be gained, he thought it possible to
prevent the armed invasion now soon expected from Spain. Orange had sent
an officer to those cities, who was to reconnoitre their condition, and
to advise them against receiving a garrison from government without his
authority. So far he connived at Brederode's proceedings, as he had a
perfect right to do, for Walcheren was within what had been the Prince's
government, and he had no disposition that these cities should share the
fate of Tourney, Valenciennes, Bois le Duc, and other towns which had
already passed or were passing under the spears of foreign mercenaries.

It is also probable that he did not take any special pains to check the
enrolments of Brederode. The peace of Antwerp was not endangered, and to
the preservation of that city the Prince seemed now to limit himself. He
was hereditary burgrave of Antwerp, but officer of Philip's never more.
Despite the shrill demands of Duchess Margaret, therefore; the Prince did
not take very active measures by which the crown of Philip might be
secured. He, perhaps, looked upon the struggle almost with indifference.
Nevertheless, he issued a formal proclamation by which the Count's
enlistments were forbidden. Van der Aa, a gentleman who had been active
in making these levies, was compelled to leave the city. Brederode was
already gone to the north to busy himself with further enrolments.

In the mean time there had been much alarm in Brussels. Egmont, who
omitted no opportunity of manifesting his loyalty, offered to throw
himself at once into the Isle of Walcheren, for the purpose of dislodging
any rebels who might have effected an entrance. He collected accordingly
seven or eight hundred Walloon veterans, at his disposal in Flanders, in
the little port of Sas de Ghent, prepared at once to execute his
intention, "worthy," says a Catholic writer, "of his well-known courage
and magnanimity." The Duchess expressed gratitude for the Count's
devotion and loyalty, but his services in the sequel proved unnecessary.
The rebels, several boat-loads of whom had been cruising about in the
neighborhood of Flushing during the early part of March, had been refused
admittance into any of the ports on the island. They therefore sailed up
the Scheld, and landed at a little village called Ostrawell, at the
distance of somewhat more than a mile from Antwerp.

The commander of the expedition was Marnix of Tholouse, brother to Marnix
of Saint Aldegonde. This young nobleman, who had left college to fight
for the cause of religious liberty, was possessed of fine talents and
accomplishments. Like his illustrious brother, he was already a sincere
convert to the doctrines of the reformed Church. He had nothing, however,
but courage to recommend him as a leader in a military expedition. He was
a mere boy, utterly without experience in the field. His troops were raw
levies, vagabonds and outlaws.

Such as it was, however, his army was soon posted at Ostrawell in a
convenient position, and with considerable judgment. He had the Scheld
and its dykes in his rear, on his right and left the dykes and the
village. In front he threw up a breastwork and sunk a trench. Here then
was set up the standard of rebellion, and hither flocked daily many
malcontents from the country round. Within a few days three thousand men
were in his camp. On the other handy Brederode was busy in Holland, and
boasted of taking the field ere long with six thousand soldiers at the
very least. Together they would march to the relief of Valenciennes, and
dictate peace in Brussels.

It was obvious that this matter could not be allowed to go on. The
Duchess, with some trepidation, accepted the offer made by Philip de
Lannoy, Seigneur de Beauvoir, commander of her body-guard in Brussels, to
destroy this nest of rebels without delay. Half the whole number of these
soldiers was placed at his disposition, and Egmont supplied De Beauvoir
with four hundred of his veteran Walloons.

With a force numbering only eight hundred, but all picked men, the
intrepid officer undertook his enterprise, with great despatch and
secrecy. Upon the 12th March, the whole troop was sent off in small
parties, to avoid suspicion, and armed only with sword and dagger. Their
helmets, bucklers, arquebusses, corselets, spears, standards and drums,
were delivered to their officers, by whom they were conveyed noiselessly
to the place of rendezvous. Before daybreak, upon the following morning,
De Beauvoir met his soldiers at the abbey of Saint Bernard, within a
league of Antwerp. Here he gave them their arms, supplied them with
refreshments, and made them a brief speech. He instructed them that they
were to advance, with furled banners and without beat of drum, till
within sight of the enemy, that the foremost section was to deliver its
fire, retreat to the rear and load, to be followed by the next, which was
to do the same, and above all, that not an arquebus should be discharged
till the faces of the enemy could be distinguished.

The troop started. After a few minutes' march they were in full sight of
Ostrawell. They then displayed their flags and advanced upon the fort
with loud huzzas. Tholouse was as much taken by surprise as if they had
suddenly emerged from the bowels of the earth. He had been informed that
the government at Brussels was in extreme trepidation. When he first
heard the advancing trumpets and sudden shouts, he thought it a
detachment of Brederode's promised force. The cross on the banners soon
undeceived him. Nevertheless "like a brave and generous young gentleman
as he was," he lost no time in drawing up his men for action, implored
them to defend their breastworks, which were impregnable against so small
a force, and instructed them to wait patiently with their fire, till the
enemy were near enough to be marked.

These orders were disobeyed. The "young scholar," as De Beauvoir had
designated him, had no power to infuse his own spirit into his rabble
rout of followers. They were already panic-struck by the unexpected
appearance of the enemy. The Catholics came on with the coolness of
veterans, taking as deliberate aim as if it had been they, not their
enemies, who were behind breastworks. The troops of Tholouse fired
wildly, precipitately, quite over the heads of the assailants. Many of
the defenders were slain as fast as they showed themselves above their
bulwarks. The ditch was crossed, the breastwork carried at, a single
determined charge. The rebels made little resistance, but fled as soon as
the enemy entered their fort. It was a hunt, not a battle. Hundreds were
stretched dead in the camp; hundreds were driven into the Scheld; six or
eight hundred took refuge in a farm-house; but De Beauvoir's men set fire
to the building, and every rebel who had entered it was burned alive or
shot. No quarter was given. Hardly a man of the three thousand who had
held the fort escaped. The body of Tholouse was cut into a hundred
pieces. The Seigneur de Beauvoir had reason, in the brief letter which
gave an account of this exploit, to assure her Highness that there were
"some very valiant fellows in his little troop." Certainly they had
accomplished the enterprise entrusted to them with promptness, neatness,
and entire success. Of the great rebellious gathering, which every day
had seemed to grow more formidable, not a vestige was left.

This bloody drama had been enacted in full sight of Antwerp. The fight
had lasted from daybreak till ten o'clock in the forenoon, during the
whole of which period, the city ramparts looking towards Ostrawell, the
roofs of houses, the towers of churches had been swarming with eager
spectators. The sound of drum and trumpet, the rattle of musketry, the
shouts of victory, the despairing cries of the vanquished were heard by
thousands who deeply sympathized with the rebels thus enduring so
sanguinary a chastisement. In Antwerp there were forty thousand people
opposed to the Church of Rome. Of this number the greater proportion were
Calvinists, and of these Calvinists there were thousands looking down
from the battlements upon the disastrous fight.

The excitement soon became uncontrollable. Before ten o'clock vast
numbers of sectaries came pouring towards the Red Gate, which afforded
the readiest egress to the scene of action; the drawbridge of the
Ostrawell Gate having been destroyed the night before by command of
Orange. They came from every street and alley of the city. Some were
armed with lance, pike, or arquebus; some bore sledge-hammers; others had
the partisans, battle-axes, and huge two-handed swords of the previous
century; all were determined upon issuing forth to the rescue of their
friends in the fields outside the town. The wife of Tholouse, not yet
aware of her husband's death, although his defeat was obvious, flew from
street to street, calling upon the Calvinists to save or to avenge their
perishing brethren.

A terrible tumult prevailed. Ten thousand men were already up and in
arms.--It was then that the Prince of Orange, who was sometimes described
by his enemies as timid and pusillanimous by nature, showed the mettle he
was made of. His sense of duty no longer bade him defend the crown of
Philip--which thenceforth was to be entrusted to the hirelings of the
Inquisition--but the vast population of Antwerp, the women, the children,
and the enormous wealth of the richest Deity in the world had been
confided to his care, and he had accepted the responsibility. Mounting
his horse, he made his appearance instantly at the Red Gate, before as
formidable a mob as man has ever faced. He came there almost alone,
without guards. Hoogstraaten arrived soon afterwards with the same
intention. The Prince was received with howls of execration. A thousand
hoarse voices called him the Pope's servant, minister of Antichrist, and
lavished upon him many more epithets of the same nature. His life was in
imminent danger. A furious clothier levelled an arquebus full at his
breast. "Die, treacherous villain?" he cried; "thou who art the cause
that our brethren have perished thus miserably in yonder field." The
loaded weapon was struck away by another hand in the crowd, while the
Prince, neither daunted by the ferocious demonstrations against his life,
nor enraged by the virulent abuse to which he was subjected, continued
tranquilly, earnestly, imperatively to address the crowd. William of
Orange had that in his face and tongue "which men willingly call
master-authority." With what other talisman could he, without violence
and without soldiers, have quelled even for a moment ten thousand furious
Calvinists, armed, enraged against his person, and thirsting for
vengeance on Catholics. The postern of the Red Gate had already been
broken through before Orange and his colleague, Hoogstraaten, had
arrived. The most excited of the Calvinists were preparing to rush forth
upon the enemy at Ostrawell. The Prince, after he had gained the ear of
the multitude, urged that the battle was now over, that the reformers
were entirely cut to pieces, the enemy, retiring, and that a disorderly
and ill-armed mob would be unable to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
Many were persuaded to abandon the design. Five hundred of the most
violent, however, insisted upon leaving the gates, and the governors,
distinctly warning these zealots that their blood must be upon their own
heads, reluctantly permitted that number to issue from the city. The rest
of the mob, not appeased, but uncertain, and disposed to take vengeance
upon the Catholics within the walls, for the disaster which had been
occurring without, thronged tumultuously to the long, wide street, called
the Mere, situate in the very heart of the city.

Meantime the ardor of those who had sallied from the gate grew sensibly
cooler, when they found themselves in the open fields. De Beauvoir, whose
men, after the victory, had scattered in pursuit of the fugitives, now
heard the tumult in the city. Suspecting an attack, he rallied his
compact little army again for a fresh encounter. The last of the
vanquished Tholousians who had been captured; more fortunate than their
predecessors, had been spared for ransom. There were three hundred of
them; rather a dangerous number of prisoners for a force of eight
hundred, who were just going into another battle. De Beauvoir commanded
his soldiers, therefore, to shoot them all. This order having been
accomplished, the Catholics marched towards Antwerp, drums beating,
colors flying. The five hundred Calvinists, not liking their appearance,
and being in reality outnumbered, retreated within; the gates as hastily
as they had just issued from them. De Beauvoir advanced close to the city
moat, on the margin of which he planted the banners of the unfortunate
Tholouse, and sounded a trumpet of defiance. Finding that the citizens
had apparently no stomach for the fight, he removed his trophies, and
took his departure.

On the other hand, the tumult within the walls had again increased. The
Calvinists had been collecting in great numbers upon the Mere. This was a
large and splendid thoroughfare, rather an oblong market-place than a
street, filled with stately buildings, and communicating by various cross
streets with the Exchange and with many other public edifices. By an
early hour in the afternoon twelve or fifteen thousand Calvinists, all
armed and fighting men, had assembled upon the place. They had barricaded
the whole precinct with pavements and upturned wagons. They had already
broken into the arsenal and obtained many field-pieces, which were
planted at the entrance of every street and by-way. They had stormed the
city jail and liberated the prisoners, all of whom, grateful and
ferocious, came to swell the numbers who defended the stronghold on the
Mere. A tremendous mischief was afoot. Threats of pillaging the churches
and the houses of the Catholics, of sacking the whole opulent city, were
distinctly heard among this powerful mob, excited by religious
enthusiasm, but containing within one great heterogeneous mass the
elements of every crime which humanity can commit. The alarm throughout
the city was indescribable. The cries of women and children, as they
remained in trembling expectation of what the next hour might bring
forth, were, said one who heard them, "enough to soften the hardest
hearts."

Nevertheless the diligence and courage of the Prince kept pace with the
insurrection. He had caused the eight companies of guards enrolled in
September, to be mustered upon the square in front of the city hall, for
the protection of that building and of the magistracy. He had summoned
the senate of the city, the board of ancients, the deans of guilds, the
ward masters, to consult with him at the council-room. At the peril of
his life he had again gone before the angry mob in the Mere, advancing
against their cannon and their outcries, and compelling them to appoint
eight deputies to treat with him and the magistrates at the town-hall.
This done, quickly but deliberately he had drawn up six articles, to
which those deputies gave their assent, and in which the city government
cordially united. These articles provided that the keys of the city
should remain in the possession of the Prince and of Hoogstraaten, that
the watch should be held by burghers and soldiers together, that the
magistrates should permit the entrance of no garrison, and that the
citizens should be entrusted with the care of, the charters, especially
with that of the joyful entrance.

These arrangements, when laid before the assembly at the Mere by their
deputies, were not received with favor. The Calvinists demanded the keys
of the city. They did not choose to be locked up at the mercy of any man.
They had already threatened to blow the city hall into the air if the
keys were not delivered to them. They claimed that burghers, without
distinction of religion, instead of mercenary troops, should be allowed
to guard the market-place in front of the town-hall.

It was now nightfall, and no definite arrangement had been concluded.
Nevertheless, a temporary truce was made, by means of a concession as to
the guard. It was agreed that the burghers, Calvinists and Lutherans, as
well as Catholics, should be employed to protect the city. By subtlety,
however, the Calvinists detailed for that service, were posted not in the
town-house square, but on the ramparts and at the gates.

A night of dreadful expectation was passed. The army of fifteen thousand
mutineers remained encamped and barricaded on the Mere, with guns loaded
and artillery pointed. Fierce cries of "Long live the beggars,"--"Down
with the papists," and other significant watchwords, were heard all night
long, but no more serious outbreak occurred.

During the whole of the following day, the Calvinists remained in their
encampment, the Catholics and the city guardsmen at their posts near the
city hall. The Prince was occupied in the council-chamber from morning
till night with the municipal authorities, the deputies of "the
religion," and the guild officers, in framing a new treaty of peace.
Towards evening fifteen articles were agreed upon, which were to be
proposed forthwith to the insurgents, and in case of nonacceptance to be
enforced. The arrangement provided that there should be no garrison; that
the September contracts permitting the reformed worship at certain places
within the city should be maintained; that men of different parties
should refrain from mutual insults; that the two governors, the Prince
and Hoogstraaten, should keep the keys; that the city should be guarded
by both soldiers and citizens, without distinction of religious creed;
that a band of four hundred cavalry and a small flotilla of vessels of
war should be maintained for the defence of the place, and that the
expenses to be incurred should be levied upon all classes, clerical and
lay, Catholic and Reformed, without any exception.

It had been intended that the governors, accompanied by the magistrates,
should forthwith proceed to the Mere, for the purpose of laying these
terms before the insurgents. Night had, however, already arrived, and it
was understood that the ill-temper of the Calvinists had rather increased
than diminished, so that it was doubtful whether the arrangement would be
accepted. It was, therefore, necessary to await the issue of another day,
rather than to provoke a night battle in the streets.

During the night the Prince labored incessantly to provide against the
dangers of the morrow. The Calvinists had fiercely expressed their
disinclination to any reasonable arrangement. They had threatened,
without farther pause, to plunder the religious houses and the mansions
of all the wealthy Catholics, and to drive every papist out of town. They
had summoned the Lutherans to join with them in their revolt, and menaced
them, in case of refusal, with the same fate which awaited the Catholics.
The Prince, who was himself a Lutheran, not entirely free from the
universal prejudice against the Calvinists, whose sect he afterwards
embraced, was fully aware of the deplorable fact, that the enmity at that
day between Calvinists and Lutherans was as fierce as that between
Reformers and Catholics. He now made use of this feeling, and of his
influence with those of the Augsburg Confession, to save the city. During
the night he had interviews with the ministers and notable members of the
Lutheran churches, and induced them to form an alliance upon this
occasion with the Catholics and with all friends of order, against an
army of outlaws who were threatening to burn and sack the city. The
Lutherans, in the silence of night, took arms and encamped, to the number
of three or four thousand, upon the river side, in the neighborhood of
Saint Michael's cloister. The Prince also sent for the deans of all the
foreign mercantile associations--Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English,
Hanseatic, engaged their assistance also for the protection of the city,
and commanded them to remain in their armor at their respective
factories, ready to act at a moment's warning. It was agreed that they
should be informed at frequent intervals as to the progress of events.

On the morning of the 15th, the city of Antwerp presented a fearful
sight. Three distinct armies were arrayed at different points within its
walls. The Calvinists, fifteen thousand strong, lay in their encampment
on the Mere; the Lutherans, armed, and eager for action, were at St.
Michael's; the Catholics and the regulars of the city guard were posted
on the square. Between thirty-five and forty thousand men were up,
according to the most moderate computation. All parties were excited, and
eager for the fray. The fires of religious hatred burned fiercely in
every breast. Many malefactors and outlaws, who had found refuge in the
course of recent events at Antwerp, were in the ranks of the Calvinists,
profaning a sacred cause, and inspiring a fanatical party with bloody
resolutions. Papists, once and forever, were to be hunted down, even as
they had been for years pursuing Reformers. Let the men who had fed fat
on the spoils of plundered Christians be dealt with in like fashion. Let
their homes be sacked, their bodies given to the dogs--such were the
cries uttered by thousands of armed men.

On the other hand, the Lutherans, as angry and as rich as the Catholics,
saw in every Calvinist a murderer and a robber. They thirsted after their
blood; for the spirit of religious frenzy; the characteristic of the
century, can with difficulty be comprehended in our colder and more
sceptical age. There was every probability that a bloody battle was to be
fought that day in the streets of Antwerp--a general engagement, in the
course of which, whoever might be the victors, the city was sure to be
delivered over to fire, sack, and outrage. Such would have been the
result, according to the concurrent testimony of eye-witnesses, and
contemporary historians of every country and creed, but for the courage
and wisdom of one man. William of Orange knew what would be the
consequence of a battle, pent up within the walls of Antwerp. He foresaw
the horrible havoc which was to be expected, the desolation which would
be brought to every hearth in the city. "Never were men so desperate and
so willing to fight," said Sir Thomas Gresham, who had been expecting
every hour his summons to share in the conflict. If the Prince were
unable that morning to avert the impending calamity, no other power,
under heaven, could save Antwerp from destruction.

The articles prepared on the 14th had been already approved by those who
represented the Catholic and Lutheran interests. They were read early in
the morning to the troops assembled on the square and at St. Michael's,
and received with hearty cheers. It was now necessary that the Calvinists
should accept them, or that the quarrel should be fought out at once. At
ten o'clock, William of Orange, attended by his colleague, Hoogstraaten,
together with a committee of the municipal authorities, and followed by a
hundred troopers, rode to the Mere. They wore red scarfs over their
armor, as symbols by which all those who had united to put down the
insurrection were distinguished. The fifteen thousand Calvinists, fierce
and disorderly as ever, maintained a threatening aspect. Nevertheless,
the Prince was allowed to ride into the midst of the square. The articles
were then read aloud by his command, after which, with great composure,
he made a few observations. He pointed out that the arrangement offered
them was founded upon the September concessions, that the right of
worship was conceded, that the foreign garrison was forbidden, and that
nothing further could be justly demanded or honorably admitted. He told
them that a struggle upon their part would be hopeless, for the Catholics
and Lutherans, who were all agreed as to the justice of the treaty,
outnumbered them by nearly two to one. He, therefore, most earnestly and
affectionately adjured them to testify their acceptance to the peace
offered by repeating the words with which he should conclude. Then, with
a firm voice; the Prince exclaimed, "God Save the King!" It was the last
time that those words were ever heard from the lips of the man already
proscribed by Philip. The crowd of Calvinists hesitated an instant, and
then, unable to resist the tranquil influence, convinced by his
reasonable language, they raised one tremendous shout of "Vive le Roi!"

The deed was done, the peace accepted, the dreadful battle averted,
Antwerp saved. The deputies of the Calvinists now formally accepted and
signed the articles. Kind words were exchanged among the various classes
of fellow-citizens, who but an hour before had been thirsting for each
other's blood, the artillery and other weapons of war were restored to
the arsenals, Calvinists, Lutherans, and Catholics, all laid down their
arms, and the city, by three o'clock, was entirely quiet. Fifty thousand
armed men had been up, according to some estimates, yet, after three days
of dreadful expectation, not a single person had been injured, and the
tumult was now appeased.

The Prince had, in truth, used the mutual animosity of Protestant sects
to a good purpose; averting bloodshed by the very weapons with which the
battle was to have been waged. Had it been possible for a man like
William the Silent to occupy the throne where Philip the Prudent sat, how
different might have been the history of Spain and the fate of the
Netherlands. Gresham was right, however, in his conjecture that the
Regent and court would not "take the business well." Margaret of Parma
was incapable of comprehending such a mind as that of Orange, or of
appreciating its efforts. She was surrounded by unscrupulous and
mercenary soldiers, who hailed the coming civil war as the most
profitable of speculations. "Factotum" Mansfeld; the Counts Aremberg and
Meghem, the Duke of Aerschot, the Sanguinary Noircarmes, were already
counting their share in the coming confiscations. In the internecine
conflict approaching, there would be gold for the gathering, even if no
honorable laurels would wreath their swords. "Meghen with his regiment is
desolating the country," wrote William of Orange to the Landgrave of
Hesse, "and reducing many people to poverty. Aremberg is doing the same
in Friesland. They are only thinking how, under the pretext of religion,
they may grind the poor Christians, and grow rich and powerful upon their
estates and their blood."

The Seignior de Beauvoir wrote to the Duchess, claiming all the estates
of Tholouse, and of his brother St. Aldegonde, as his reward for the
Ostrawell victory, while Noircarmes was at this very moment to commence
at Valenciennes that career of murder and spoliation which, continued at
Mons a few years afterwards, was to load his name with infamy.

From such a Regent, surrounded by such councillors, was the work of
William de Nassau's hands to gain applause? What was it to them that
carnage and plunder had been spared in one of the richest and most
populous cities in Christendom? Were not carnage and plunder the very
elements in which they disported themselves? And what more dreadful
offence against God and Philip could be committed than to permit, as the
Prince had just permitted, the right of worship in a Christian land to
Calvinists and Lutherans? As a matter of course, therefore, Margaret of
Parma denounced the terms by which Antwerp had been saved as a "novel and
exorbitant capitulation," and had no intention of signifying her
approbation either to prince or magistrate.




1567 [CHAPTER X.]

   Egmont and Aerschot before Valenciennes--Severity of Egmont--
   Capitulation of the city--Escape and capture of the ministers--
   Execution of La Grange and De Bray--Horrible cruelty at
   Valenciennes--Effects of the reduction of Valenciennes--The Duchess
   at Antwerp--Armed invasion of the provinces decided upon in Spain--
   Appointment of Alva--Indignation of Margaret--Mission of De Billy--
   Pretended visit of Philip--Attempts of the Duchess to gain over
   Orange--Mission of Berty--Interview between Orange and Egmont at
   Willebroek--Orange's letters to Philip, to Egmont, and to Horn--
   Orange departs from the Netherlands--Philip's letter to Egmont--
   Secret intelligence received by Orange--La Torre's mission to
   Brederode--Brederode's departure and death--Death of Bergen--Despair
   in the provinces--Great emigration--Cruelties practised upon those
   of the new religion--Edict of 24th May--Wrath of the King.

Valenciennes, whose fate depended so closely upon the issue of these
various events, was now trembling to her fall. Noircarmes had been
drawing the lines more and more closely about the city, and by a
refinement of cruelty had compelled many Calvinists from Tournay to act
as pioneers in the trenches against their own brethren in Valenciennes.
After the defeat of Tholouse, and the consequent frustration of all
Brederode's arrangements to relieve the siege, the Duchess had sent a
fresh summons to Valenciennes, together with letters acquainting the
citizens with the results of the Ostrawell battle. The intelligence was
not believed. Egmont and Aerschot, however, to whom Margaret had
entrusted this last mission to the beleaguered town, roundly rebuked the
deputies who came to treat with them, for their insolence in daring to
doubt the word of the Regent. The two seigniors had established
themselves in the Chateau of Beusnage, at a league's distance from
Valenciennes. Here they received commissioners from the city, half of
whom were Catholics appointed by the magistrates, half Calvinists deputed
by the consistories. These envoys were informed that the Duchess would
pardon the city for its past offences, provided the gates should now be
opened, the garrison received, and a complete suppression of all religion
except that of Rome acquiesced in without a murmur. As nearly the whole
population was of the Calvinist faith, these terms could hardly be
thought favorable. It was, however, added, that fourteen days should be
allowed to the Reformers for the purpose of converting their property,
and retiring from the country.

The deputies, after conferring with their constituents in the city,
returned on the following day with counter-propositions, which were not
more likely to find favor with the government. They offered to accept the
garrison, provided the soldiers should live at their own expense, without
any tax to the citizens for their board, lodging, or pay. They claimed
that all property which had been seized should be restored, all persons
accused of treason liberated. They demanded the unconditional revocation
of the edict by which the city had been declared rebellious, together
with a guarantee from the Knights of the Fleece and the state council
that the terms of the propose& treaty should be strictly observed.

As soon as these terms had been read to the two seigniors, the Duke of
Aerschot burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. He protested that
nothing could be more ludicrous than such propositions, worthy of a
conqueror dictating a peace, thus offered by a city closely beleaguered,
and entirely at the mercy of the enemy. The Duke's hilarity was not
shared by Egmont, who, on the contrary, fell into a furious passion. He
swore that the city should be burned about their ears, and that every one
of the inhabitants should be put to the sword for the insolent language
which they had thus dared to address to a most clement sovereign. He
ordered the trembling deputies instantly to return with this peremptory
rejection of their terms, and with his command that the proposals of
government should be accepted within three days' delay.

The commissioners fell upon their knees at Egmont's feet, and begged for
mercy. They implored him at least to send this imperious message by some
other hand than theirs, and to permit them to absent themselves from the
city. They should be torn limb from limb, they said, by the enraged
inhabitants, if they dared to present themselves with such instructions
before them. Egmont, however, assured them that they should be sent into
the city, bound hand and foot, if they did not instantly obey his orders.
The deputies, therefore, with heavy hearts, were fain to return home with
this bitter result to their negotiations. The terms were rejected, as a
matter of course, but the gloomy forebodings of the commissioners, as to
their own fate at the hands of their fellow-citizens, were not fulfilled.

Instant measures were now taken to cannonade the city. Egmont, at the
hazard of his life, descended into the foss, to reconnoitre the works,
and to form an opinion as to the most eligible quarter at which to direct
the batteries. Having communicated the result of his investigations to
Noircarmes, he returned to report all these proceedings to the Regent at
Brussels. Certainly the Count had now separated himself far enough from
William of Orange, and was manifesting an energy in the cause of tyranny
which was sufficiently unscrupulous. Many people who had been deceived by
his more generous demonstrations in former times, tried to persuade
themselves that he was acting a part. Noircarmes, however--and no man was
more competent to decide the question distinctly--expressed his entire
confidence in Egmont's loyalty. Margaret had responded warmly to his
eulogies, had read with approbation secret letters from Egmont to
Noircarmes, and had expressed the utmost respect and affection for "the
Count." Egmont had also lost no time in writing to Philip, informing him
that he had selected the most eligible spot for battering down the
obstinate city of Valenciennes, regretting that he could not have had the
eight or ten military companies, now at his disposal, at an earlier day,
in which case he should have been able to suppress many tumults, but
congratulating his sovereign that the preachers were all fugitive, the
reformed religion suppressed, and the people disarmed. He assured the
King that he would neglect no effort to prevent any renewal of the
tumults, and expressed the hope that his Majesty would be satisfied with
his conduct, notwithstanding the calumnies of which the times were full.

Noircarmes meanwhile, had unmasked his batteries, and opened his fire
exactly according to Egmont's suggestions.

The artillery played first upon what was called the "White Tower," which
happened to bear this ancient, rhyming inscription:

       "When every man receives his own,
        And justice reigns for strong and weak,
        Perfect shall be this tower of stone,
        And all the dumb will learn to speak."

       "Quand chacun sera satisfaict,
        Et la justice regnera,
        Ce boulevard sera parfaict,
        Et--la muette parlera."--Valenciennes MS.

For some unknown reason, the rather insipid quatrain was tortured into a
baleful prophecy. It was considered very ominous that the battery should
be first opened against this Sibylline tower. The chimes, too, which had
been playing, all through the siege, the music of Marot's sacred songs,
happened that morning to be sounding forth from every belfry the
twenty-second psalm: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

It was Palm Sunday, 23d of March. The women and children were going
mournfully about the streets, bearing green branches in their hands, and
praying upon their knees, in every part of the city. Despair and
superstition had taken possession of citizens, who up to that period had
justified La Noue's assertion, that none could endure a siege like
Huguenots. As soon as the cannonading began, the spirit of the
inhabitants seemed to depart. The ministers exhorted their flocks in vain
as the tiles and chimneys began to topple into the streets, and the
concussions of the artillery were responded to by the universal wailing
of affrighted women.

Upon the very first day after the unmasking of the batteries, the city
sent to Noircarmes, offering almost an unconditional surrender. Not the
slightest breach had been effected--not the least danger of an assault
existed--yet the citizens, who had earned the respect of their
antagonists by the courageous manner in which they had sallied and
skirmished during the siege, now in despair at any hope of eventual
succor, and completely demoralized by the course of recent events outside
their walls, surrendered ignominiously, and at discretion. The only
stipulation agreed to by Noircarmes was, that the city should not be
sacked, and that the lives of the inhabitants should be spared.

This pledge was, however, only made to be broken. Noircarmes entered the
city and closed the gates. All the richest citizens, who of course were
deemed the most criminal, were instantly arrested. The soldiers, although
not permitted formally to sack the city, were quartered upon the
inhabitants, whom they robbed and murdered, according to the testimony of
a Catholic citizen, almost at their pleasure.

Michael Herlin, a very wealthy and distinguished burgher, was arrested
upon the first day. The two ministers, Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la
Grange, together with the son of Herlin, effected their escape by the
water-gate. Having taken refuge in a tavern at Saint Arnaud, they were
observed, as they sat at supper, by a peasant, who forthwith ran off to
the mayor of the borough with the intelligence that some individuals, who
looked like fugitives, had arrived at Saint Arnaud. One of them, said the
informer, was richly dressed; and wore a gold-hilted sword with velvet
scabbard. By the description, the mayor recognized Herlin the
younger,--and suspected his companions. They were all arrested, and sent
to Noircarmes. The two Herlins, father and son, were immediately
beheaded. Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la Grange were loaded with
chains, and thrown into a filthy dungeon, previously to their being
hanged. Here they were visited by the Countess de Roeulx, who was curious
to see how the Calvinists sustained themselves in their martyrdom. She
asked them how they could sleep, eat, or drink, when covered with such
heavy fetters. "The cause, and my good conscience," answered De Bray,
"make me eat, drink, and sleep better than those who are doing me wrong.
These shackles are more honorable to me than golden rings and chains.
They are more useful to me, and as I hear their clank, methinks I hear
the music of sweet voices and the tinkling of lutes."

This exultation never deserted these courageous enthusiasts. They
received their condemnation to death "as if it had been an invitation to
a marriage feast." They encouraged the friends who crowded their path to
the scaffold with exhortations to remain true in the Reformed faith. La
Grange, standing upon the ladder, proclaimed with a loud voice, that he
was slain for having preached the pure word of God to a Christian people
in a Christian land. De Bray, under the same gibbet; testified stoutly
that he, too, had committed that offence alone. He warned his friends to
obey the magistrates, and all others in authority, except in matters of
conscience; to abstain from sedition; but to obey the will of God. The
executioner threw him from the ladder while he was yet speaking. So ended
the lives of two eloquent, learned, and highly-gifted divines.

Many hundreds of victims were sacrificed in the unfortunate city. "There
were a great many other citizens strangled or beheaded," says an
aristocratic Catholic historian of the time, "but they were mostly
personages of little quality, whose names are quite unknown to
me."--[Pontus Payen]--The franchises of the city were all revoked. There
was a prodigious amount of property confiscated to the benefit of
Noircarmes and the rest of the "Seven Sleepers." Many Calvinists were
burned, others were hanged. "For--two whole years," says another
Catholic, who was a citizen of Valenciennes at the time, "there was,
scarcely a week in which several citizens were not executed and often a
great number were despatched at a time. All this gave so much alarm to
the good and innocent, that many quitted the city as fast as they could."
If the good and innocent happened to be rich, they might be sure that
Noircarmes would deem that a crime for which no goodness and innocence
could atone.

Upon the fate of Valenciennes had depended, as if by common agreement,
the whole destiny of the anti-Catholic party. "People had learned at
last," says another Walloon, "that the King had long arms, and that he
had not been enlisting soldiers to string beads. So they drew in their
horns and their evil tempers, meaning to put them forth again, should the
government not succeed at the siege of Valenciennes." The government had
succeeded, however, and the consternation was extreme, the general
submission immediate and even abject. "The capture of Valenciennes,"
wrote Noircarmes to Granvelle, "has worked a miracle. The other cities
all come forth to meet me, putting the rope around their own necks." No
opposition was offered any where. Tournay had been crushed; Valenciennes,
Bois le Duc, and all other important places, accepted their garrisons
without a murmur. Even Antwerp had made its last struggle, and as soon as
the back of Orange was turned, knelt down in the dust to receive its
bridle. The Prince had been able, by his courage and wisdom, to avert a
sanguinary conflict within its walls, but his personal presence alone
could guarantee any thing like religious liberty for the inhabitants, now
that the rest of the country was subdued. On the 26th April, sixteen
companies of infantry, under Count Mansfeld, entered the gates. On the
28th the Duchess made a visit to the city, where she was received with
respect, but where her eyes were shocked by that which she termed the
"abominable, sad, and hideous spectacle of the desolated churches."

To the eyes of all who loved their fatherland and their race, the sight
of a desolate country, with its ancient charters superseded by brute
force, its industrious population swarming from the land in droves, as if
the pestilence were raging, with gibbets and scaffolds erected in every
village, and with a Sickening and universal apprehension of still darker
disasters to follow, was a spectacle still more sad, hideous, and
abominable.

For it was now decided that the Duke of Alva, at the head of a Spanish
army, should forthwith take his departure for the Netherlands. A land
already subjugated was to be crushed, and every vestige of its ancient
liberties destroyed. The conquered provinces, once the abode of municipal
liberty, of science, art, and literature, and blessed with an unexampled
mercantile and manufacturing prosperity, were to be placed in absolute
subjection to the cabinet council at Madrid. A dull and malignant bigot,
assisted by a few Spanish grandees, and residing at the other extremity
of Europe, was thenceforth to exercise despotic authority over countries
which for centuries had enjoyed a local administration, and a system
nearly approaching to complete self-government. Such was the policy
devised by Granvelle and Spinosa, which the Duke of Alva, upon the 15th
April, had left Madrid to enforce.

It was very natural that Margaret of Parma should be indignant at being
thus superseded. She considered herself as having acquired much credit by
the manner in which the latter insurrectionary movements had been
suppressed, so soon as Philip, after his endless tergiversations, had
supplied her with arms and money. Therefore she wrote in a tone of great
asperity to her brother, expressing her discontent. She had always been
trammelled in her action, she said, by his restrictions upon her
authority. She complained that he had no regard for her reputation or her
peace of mind. Notwithstanding, all impediments and dangers, she had at
last settled the country, and now another person was to reap the honor.
She also despatched the Seigneur de Billy to Spain, for the purpose of
making verbal representations to his Majesty upon the inexpediency of
sending the Duke of Alva to the Netherlands at that juncture with a
Spanish army.

Margaret gained nothing, however, by her letters and her envoy, save a
round rebuke from Philip, who was not accustomed to brook the language of
remonstrance; even from his sister. His purpose was fixed. Absolute
submission was now to be rendered by all. "He was highly astonished and
dissatisfied," he said, "that she should dare to write to him with so
much passion, and in so resolute a manner. If she received no other
recompense, save the glory of having restored the service of God, she
ought to express her gratitude to the King for having given her the
opportunity of so doing."

The affectation of clement intentions was still maintained, together with
the empty pretence of the royal visit. Alva and his army were coming
merely to prepare the way for the King, who still represented himself as
"debonair and gentle, slow to anger, and averse from bloodshed."
Superficial people believed that the King was really coming, and hoped
wonders from his advent. The Duchess knew better. The Pope never believed
in it, Granvelle never believed in it, the Prince of Orange never
believed in it, Councillor d'Assonleville never believed in it. "His
Majesty," says the Walloon historian, who wrote from Assonleville's
papers, "had many imperative reasons for not coming. He was fond of
quiet, he was a great negotiator, distinguished for phlegm and modesty,
disinclined to long journeys, particularly to sea voyages, which were
very painful to him. Moreover, he was then building his Escorial with so
much taste and affection that it was impossible for him to leave home."
These excellent reasons sufficed to detain the monarch, in whose place a
general was appointed, who, it must be confessed, was neither phlegmatic
nor modest, and whose energies were quite equal to the work required.
There had in truth never been any thing in the King's project of visiting
the Netherlands but pretence.

On the other hand, the work of Orange for the time was finished. He had
saved Antwerp, he had done his best to maintain the liberties of the
country, the rights of conscience, and the royal authority, so far as
they were compatible with each other. The alternative had now been
distinctly forced upon every man, either to promise blind obedience or to
accept the position of a rebel. William of Orange had thus become a
rebel. He had been requested to sign the new oath, greedily taken by the
Mansfelds, the Berlaymont, the Aerachot, and the Egmonts, to obey every
order which he might receive, against every person and in every place,
without restriction or limitation,--and he had distinctly and repeatedly
declined the demand. He had again and again insisted upon resigning all
his offices. The Duchess, more and more anxious to gain over such an
influential personage to the cause of tyranny, had been most importunate
in her requisitions. "A man with so noble a heart," she wrote to the
Prince, "and with a descent from, such illustrious and loyal ancestors,
can surely not forget his duties to his Majesty and the country."

William of Orange knew his duty to both better than the Duchess could
understand. He answered this fresh summons by reminding her that he had
uniformly refused the new and extraordinary pledge required of him. He
had been true to his old oaths, and therefore no fresh pledge was
necessary. Moreover, a pledge without limitation he would never take. The
case might happen, he said, that he should be ordered to do things
contrary to his conscience, prejudicial to his Majesty's service, and in
violation of his oaths to maintain the laws of the country. He therefore
once more resigned all his offices, and signified his intention of
leaving the provinces.

Margaret had previously invited him to an interview at Brussels, which he
had declined, because he had discovered a conspiracy in that place to
"play him a trick." Assonleville had already been sent to him without
effect. He had refused to meet a deputation of Fleece Knights at Mechlin,
from the same suspicion of foul play. After the termination of the
Antwerp tumult, Orange again wrote to the Duchess, upon the 19th March,
repeating his refusal to take the oath, and stating that he considered
himself as at least suspended from all his functions, since she had
refused, upon the ground of incapacity, to accept his formal resignation.
Margaret now determined, by the advice of the state council, to send
Secretary Berty, provided with an ample letter of instructions, upon a
special mission to the Prince at Antwerp. That respectable functionary
performed his task with credit, going through the usual formalities, and
adducing the threadbare arguments in favor of the unlimited oath, with
much adroitness and decorum. He mildly pointed out the impropriety of
laying down such responsible posts as those which the Prince now occupied
at such a juncture. He alluded to the distress which the step must
occasion to the debonair sovereign.

William of Orange became somewhat impatient under the official lecture of
this secretary to the privy council, a mere man of sealing-wax and
protocols. The slender stock of platitudes with which he had come
provided was soon exhausted. His arguments shrivelled at once in the
scorn with which the Prince received them. The great statesman, who, it
was hoped, would be entrapped to ruin, dishonor, and death by such very
feeble artifices, asked indignantly whether it were really expected that
he should acknowledge himself perjured to his old obligations by now
signing new ones; that he should disgrace himself by an unlimited pledge
which might require him to break his oaths to the provincial statutes and
to the Emperor; that he should consent to administer the religious edicts
which he abhorred; that he should act as executioner of Christians on
account of their religious opinions, an office against which his soul
revolted; that he should bind himself by an unlimited promise which might
require, him to put his own wife to death, because she was a Lutheran?
Moreover, was it to be supposed that he would obey without restriction
any orders issued to him in his Majesty's name, when the King's
representative might be a person whose supremacy it ill became one of
his' race to acknowledge? Was William of Orange to receive absolute
commands from the Duke of Alva? Having mentioned that name with
indignation, the Prince became silent.

It was very obvious that no impression was to be made upon the man by
formalists. Poor Berty having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
through all its moods and tenses, returned to his green board in the
council-room with his proces verbal of the conference. Before he took his
leave, however, he prevailed upon Orange to hold an interview with the
Duke of Aerschot, Count Mansfeld, and Count Egmont.

This memorable meeting took place at Willebroek, a village midway between
Antwerp and Brussels, in the first week of April. The Duke of Aerschot
was prevented from attending, but Mansfeld and Egmont--accompanied by the
faithful Berty, to make another proces verbal--duly made their
appearance. The Prince had never felt much sympathy with Mansfeld, but a
tender and honest friendship had always existed between himself and
Egmont, notwithstanding the difference of their characters, the incessant
artifices employed by the Spanish court to separate them, and the
impassable chasm which now, existed between their respective positions
towards the government.

The same common-places of argument and rhetoric were now discussed
between Orange and the other three personages, the Prince distinctly
stating, in conclusion, that he considered himself as discharged from all
his offices, and that he was about to leave the Netherlands for Germany.
The interview, had it been confined to such formal conversation, would
have but little historic interest. Egmont's choice had been made. Several
months before he had signified his determination to hold those for
enemies who should cease to conduct themselves as faithful vassals,
declared himself to be without fear that the country was to be placed in
the hands of Spaniards, and disavowed all intention, in any case
whatever, of taking arms against the King. His subsequent course, as we
have seen, had been entirely in conformity with these solemn
declarations. Nevertheless, the Prince, to whom they had been made,
thought it still possible to withdraw his friend from the precipice upon
which he stood, and to save him from his impending fate. His love for
Egmont had, in his own noble; and pathetic language, "struck its roots
too deeply into his heart" to permit him, in this their parting
interview, to neglect a last effort, even if this solemn warning were
destined to be disregarded.

By any reasonable construction of history, Philip was an unscrupulous
usurper, who was attempting to convert himself from a Duke of Brabant and
a Count of Holland into an absolute king. It was William who was
maintaining, Philip who was destroying; and the monarch who was thus
blasting the happiness of the provinces, and about to decimate their
population, was by the same process to undermine his own power forever,
and to divest himself of his richest inheritance. The man on whom he
might have leaned for support, had he been capable of comprehending his
character, and of understanding the age in which he had himself been
called upon to reign, was, through Philip's own insanity, converted into
the instrument by which his most valuable provinces were, to be taken
from him, and eventually re-organized into: an independent commonwealth.
Could a vision, like that imagined by the immortal dramatist for another
tyrant and murderer, have revealed the future to Philip, he, too, might
have beheld his victim, not crowned himself, but pointing to a line of
kings, even to some who 'two-fold balls and treble sceptres carried', and
smiling on them for his. But such considerations as these had no effect
upon the Prince of Orange. He knew himself already proscribed, and he
knew that the secret condemnation had extended to Egmont also. He was
anxious that his friend should prefer the privations of exile, with the
chance of becoming the champion of a struggling country, to the wretched
fate towards which his blind confidence was leading him. Even then it
seemed possible that the brave soldier, who had been recently defiling
his sword in the cause of tyranny, might be come mindful of his brighter
and earlier fame. Had Egmont been as true to his native land as, until
"the long divorce of steel fell on him," he was faithful to Philip, he
might yet have earned brighter laurels than those gained at St. Quentin
and Gravelines. Was he doomed to fall, he might find a glorious death
upon freedom's battle-field, in place of that darker departure then so
near him, which the prophetic language of Orange depicted, but which he
was too sanguine to fear. He spoke with confidence of the royal clemency.
"Alas, Egmont," answered the Prince, "the King's clemency, of which you
boast, will destroy you. Would that I might be deceived, but I foresee
too clearly that you are to be the bridge which the Spaniards will
destroy so soon as they have passed over it to invade our country." With
these last, solemn words he concluded his appeal to awaken the Count from
his fatal security. Then, as if persuaded that he was looking upon his
friend for the last time, William of Orange threw his arms around Egmont,
and held him for a moment in a close embrace. Tears fell from the eyes of
both at this parting moment--and then the brief scene of simple and lofty
pathos terminated--Egmont and Orange separated from each other, never to
meet again on earth.

A few days afterwards, Orange addressed a letter to Philip once more
resigning all his offices, and announcing his intention of departing from
the Netherlands for Germany. He added, that he should be always ready to
place himself and his property at the King's orders in every thing which
he believed conducive to the true service of his Majesty. The Prince had
already received a remarkable warning from old Landgrave Philip of Hesse,
who had not forgotten the insidious manner in which his own memorable
captivity had been brought about by the arts of Granvelle and of Alva.
"Let them not smear your mouths with honey," said the Landgrave. "If the
three seigniors, of whom the Duchess Margaret has had so much to say, are
invited to court by Alva, under pretext of friendly consultation, let
them be wary, and think twice ere they accept. I know the Duke of Alva
and the Spaniards, and how they dealt with me."

The Prince, before he departed, took a final leave of Horn and Egmont, by
letters, which, as if aware of the monumental character they were to
assume for posterity, he drew up in Latin. He desired, now that he was
turning his back upon the country, that those two nobles who had refused
to imitate, and had advised against his course, should remember that, he
was acting deliberately, conscientiously, and in pursuance of a
long-settled plan.

To Count Horn he declared himself unable to connive longer at the sins
daily committed against the country and his own conscience. He assured
him that the government had been accustoming the country to panniers, in
order that it might now accept patiently the saddle and bridle. For
himself, he said, his back was not strong enough for the weight already
imposed upon it, and he preferred to endure any calamity which might
happen to him in exile, rather than be compelled by those whom they had
all condemned to acquiesce in the object so long and steadily pursued.

He reminded Egmont, who had been urging him by letter to remain, that his
resolution had been deliberately taken, and long since communicated to
his friends. He could not, in conscience, take the oath required; nor
would he, now that all eyes were turned upon him, remain in the land, the
only recusant. He preferred to encounter all that could happen, rather
than attempt to please others by the sacrifice of liberty, of his
fatherland, of his own conscience. "I hope, therefore," said he to Egmont
in conclusion, "that you, after weighing my reasons, will not disapprove
my departure. The rest I leave to God, who will dispose of all as may
most conduce to the glory of his name. For yourself, I pray you to
believe that you have no more sincere friend than I am. My love for you
has struck such deep root into my heart, that it can be lessened by no
distance of time or place, and I pray you in return to maintain the same
feelings towards me which you have always cherished."

The Prince had left Antwerp upon the 11th April, and had written these
letters from Breda, upon the 13th of the same month. Upon the 22d, he
took his departure for Dillenburg, the ancestral seat of his family in
Germany, by the way of Grave and Cleves.

It was not to be supposed that this parting message would influence
Egmont's decision with regard to his own movements, when his
determination had not been shaken at his memorable interview with the
Prince. The Count's fate was sealed. Had he not been praised by
Noircarmes; had he not earned the hypocritical commendations of Duchess
Margaret; nay more, had he not just received a most affectionate letter
of, thanks and approbation from the King of Spain himself? This letter,
one of the most striking monuments of Philip's cold-blooded perfidy, was
dated the 26th of March. "I am pleased, my cousin," wrote the monarch to
Egmont, "that you have taken the new oath, not that I considered it at
all necessary so far as regards yourself, but for the example which you
have thus given to others, and which I hope they will all follow. I have
received not less pleasure in hearing of the excellent manner in which
you are doing your duty, the assistance you are rendering, and the offers
which you are making to my sister, for which I thank you, and request you
to continue in the same course."

The words were written by the royal hand which had already signed the
death-warrant of the man to whom they were addressed. Alva, who came
provided with full powers to carry out the great scheme resolved upon,
unrestrained by provincial laws or by the statutes of the Golden Fleece,
had left Madrid to embark for Carthagena, at the very moment when Egmont
was reading the royal letter. "The Spanish honey," to use once more old
Landgrave Philip's homely metaphor, had done its work, and the
unfortunate victim was already entrapped.

Count Horn remained in gloomy silence in his lair at Weert, awaiting the
hunters of men, already on their way. It seemed inconceivable that he,
too, who knew himself suspected and disliked, should have thus blinded
himself to his position. It will be seen, however, that the same perfidy
was to be employed to ensnare him which proved so successful with Egmont.

As for the Prince himself, he did not move too soon. Not long after his
arrival in Germany, Vandenesse, the King's private secretary, but
Orange's secret agent, wrote him word that he had read letters from the
King to Alva in which the Duke was instructed to "arrest the Prince as
soon as he could lay hands upon him, and not to let his trial last more
than twenty-four hours."

Brederode had remained at Viane, and afterwards at Amsterdam, since the
ill-starred expedition of Tholouse, which he had organized, but at which
he had not assisted. He had given much annoyance to the magistracy of
Amsterdam, and to all respectable persons, Calvinist or Catholic. He made
much mischief, but excited no hopes in the minds of reformers. He was
ever surrounded by a host of pot companions, swaggering nobles disguised
as sailors, bankrupt tradesmen, fugitives and outlaws of every
description, excellent people to drink the beggars' health and to bawl
the beggars' songs, but quite unfit for any serious enterprise. People of
substance were wary of him, for they had no confidence in his capacity,
and were afraid of his frequent demands for contributions to the
patriotic cause. He spent his time in the pleasure gardens, shooting at
the mark with arquebuss or crossbow, drinking with his comrades, and
shrieking "Vivent les gueux."

The Regent, determined to dislodge him, had sent Secretary La Torre to
him in March, with instructions that if Brederode refused to leave
Amsterdam, the magistracy were to call for assistance upon Count Meghem,
who had a regiment at Utrecht. This clause made it impossible for La
Torre to exhibit his instructions to Brederode. Upon his refusal, that
personage, although he knew the secretary as well as he knew his own
father, coolly informed him that he knew nothing about him; that he did
not consider him as respectable a person as he pretended to be; that he
did not believe a word of his having any commission from the Duchess, and
that he should therefore take no notice whatever of his demands. La Torre
answered meekly, that he was not so presumptuous, nor so destitute of
sense as to put himself into comparison with a gentleman of Count
Brederode's quality, but that as he had served as secretary to the privy
council for twenty-three years, he had thought that he might be believed
upon his word. Hereupon La Tome drew up a formal protest, and Brederode
drew up another. La Torre made a proces verbal of their interview, while
Brederode stormed like a madman, and abused the Duchess for a capricious
and unreasonable tyrant. He ended by imprisoning La Torre for a day or
two, and seizing his papers. By a singular coincidence, these events took
place on the 13th, 24th, and 15th of March, the very days of the great
Antwerp tumult. The manner in which the Prince of Orange had been dealing
with forty or fifty thousand armed men, anxious to cut each other's
throats, while Brederode was thus occupied in browbeating a pragmatical
but decent old secretary, illustrated the difference in calibre of the
two men.

This was the Count's last exploit. He remained at Amsterdam some weeks
longer, but the events which succeeded changed the Hector into a faithful
vassal. Before the 12th of April, he wrote to Egmont, begging his
intercession with Margaret of Parma, and offering "carte blanche" as to
terms, if he might only be allowed to make his peace with government. It
was, however, somewhat late in the day for the "great beggar" to make his
submission. No terms were accorded him, but he was allowed by the Duchess
to enjoy his revenues provisionally, subject to the King's pleasure. Upon
the 25th April, he entertained a select circle of friends at his hotel in
Amsterdam, and then embarked at midnight for Embden. A numerous
procession of his adherents escorted him to the ship, bearing lighted
torches, and singing bacchanalian songs. He died within a year
afterwards, of disappointment and hard drinking, at Castle Hardenberg, in
Germany, after all his fretting and fury, and notwithstanding his
vehement protestations to die a poor soldier at the feet of Louis Nassau.

That "good chevalier and good Christian," as his brother affectionately
called him, was in Germany, girding himself for the manly work which
Providence had destined him to perform. The life of Brederode, who had
engaged in the early struggle, perhaps from the frivolous expectation of
hearing himself called Count of Holland, as his ancestors had been, had
contributed nothing to the cause of freedom, nor did his death occasion
regret. His disorderly band of followers dispersed in every direction
upon the departure of their chief. A vessel in which Batenburg, Galaina,
and other nobles, with their men-at-arms, were escaping towards a German
port, was carried into Harlingen, while those gentlemen, overpowered by
sleep and wassail, were unaware of their danger, and delivered over to
Count Meghem, by the treachery of their pilot. The soldiers, were
immediately hanged. The noblemen were reserved to grace the first great
scaffold which Alva was to erect upon the horse-market in Brussels.

The confederacy was entirely broken to pieces. Of the chieftains to whom
the people had been accustomed to look for support and encouragement,
some had rallied to the government, some were in exile, some were in
prison. Montigny, closely watched in Spain, was virtually a captive,
pining for the young bride to whom he had been wedded amid such brilliant
festivities but a few months before his departure, and for the child
which was never to look upon its father's face.

His colleague, Marquis Berghen, more fortunate, was already dead. The
excellent Viglius seized the opportunity to put in a good word for
Noircarmes, who had been grinding Tournay in the dust, and butchering the
inhabitants of Valenciennes. "We have heard of Berghen's death," wrote
the President to his faithful Joachim. "The Lord of Noircarmes, who has
been his substitute in the governorship of Hainault, has given a specimen
of what he can do. Although I have no private intimacy with that
nobleman, I can not help embracing him with all my benevolence.
Therefore, oh my Hopper, pray do your best to have him appointed
governor."

With the departure of Orange, a total eclipse seemed to come over the
Netherlands. The country was absolutely helpless, the popular heart cold
with apprehension. All persons at all implicated in the late troubles, or
suspected of heresy, fled from their homes. Fugitive soldiers were hunted
into rivers, cut to pieces in the fields, hanged, burned, or drowned,
like dogs, without quarter, and without remorse. The most industrious and
valuable part of the population left the land in droves. The tide swept
outwards with such rapidity that the Netherlands seemed fast becoming the
desolate waste which they had been before the Christian era. Throughout
the country, those Reformers who were unable to effect their escape
betook themselves to their old lurking-places. The new religion was
banished from all the cities, every conventicle was broken up by armed
men, the preachers and leading members were hanged, their disciples
beaten with rods, reduced to beggary, or imprisoned, even if they
sometimes escaped the scaffold. An incredible number, however, were
executed for religious causes. Hardly a village so small, says the
Antwerp chronicler,--[Meteren]--but that it could furnish one, two, or
three hundred victims to the executioner. The new churches were levelled
to the ground, and out of their timbers gallows were constructed. It was
thought an ingenious pleasantry to hang the Reformers upon the beams
under which they had hoped to worship God. The property of the fugitives
was confiscated. The beggars in name became beggars in reality. Many who
felt obliged to remain, and who loved their possessions better than their
creed, were suddenly converted into the most zealous of Catholics.
Persons who had for years not gone to mass, never omitted now their daily
and nightly visits to the churches. Persons who had never spoken to an
ecclesiastic but with contumely, now could not eat their dinners without
one at their table. Many who were suspected of having participated in
Calvinistic rites, were foremost and loudest in putting down and
denouncing all forms and shows of the reformation. The country was as
completely "pacified," to use the conqueror's expression, as Gaul had
been by Caesar.

The Regent issued a fresh edict upon the 24th May, to refresh the
memories of those who might have forgotten previous statutes, which were,
however, not calculated to make men oblivious. By this new proclamation,
all ministers and teachers were sentenced to the gallows. All persons who
had suffered their houses to be used for religious purposes were
sentenced to the gallows. All parents or masters whose children or
servants had attended such meetings were sentenced to the gallows, while
the children and servants were only to be beaten with rods. All people
who sang hymns at the burial of their relations were sentenced to the
gallows. Parents who allowed their newly-born children to be baptized by
other hands than those of the Catholic priest were sentenced to the
gallows. The same punishment was denounced against the persons who should
christen the child or act as its sponsors. Schoolmasters who should teach
any error or false doctrine were likewise to be punished with death.
Those who infringed the statutes against the buying and selling of
religious books and songs were to receive the same doom; after the first
offence. All sneers or insults against priests and ecclesiastics were
also made capital crimes. Vagabonds, fugitives; apostates, runaway monks,
were ordered forthwith to depart from every city on pain of death. In all
cases confiscation of the whole property of the criminal was added to the
hanging.

This edict, says a contemporary historian, increased the fear of those
professing the new religion to such an extent that they left the country
"in great heaps." It became necessary, therefore, to issue a subsequent
proclamation forbidding all persons, whether foreigners or natives, to
leave the land or to send away their property, and prohibiting all
shipmasters, wagoners, and other agents of travel, from assisting in the
flight of such fugitives, all upon pain of death.

Yet will it be credited that the edict of 24th May, the provisions of
which have just been sketched, actually excited the wrath of Philip on
account of their clemency? He wrote to the Duchess, expressing the pain
and dissatisfaction which he felt, that an edict so indecent, so illegal,
so contrary to the Christian religion, should have been published.
Nothing, he said, could offend or distress him more deeply, than any
outrage whatever, even the slightest one, offered to God and to His Roman
Catholic Church. He therefore commanded his sister instantly to revoke
the edict. One might almost imagine from reading the King's letter that
Philip was at last appalled at the horrors committed in his name. Alas,
he was only indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang who ought
to have been burned, and that a few narrow and almost impossible
loopholes had been left through which those who had offended alight
effect their escape.

And thus, while the country is paralyzed with present and expected woe,
the swiftly advancing trumpets of the Spanish army resound from beyond
the Alps. The curtain is falling upon the prelude to the great tragedy
which the prophetic lips of Orange had foretold. When it is again lifted,
scenes of disaster and of bloodshed, battles, sieges, executions, deeds
of unfaltering but valiant tyranny, of superhuman and successful
resistance, of heroic self-sacrifice, fanatical courage and insane
cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right, will be revealed
in awful succession--a spectacle of human energy, human suffering, and
human strength to suffer, such as has not often been displayed upon the
stage of the world's events.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     God Save the King! It was the last time
     Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
     Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
     Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
     Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
     Slender stock of platitudes
     The time for reasoning had passed
     Who loved their possessions better than their creed




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 14.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855

1567 [Part III., ALVA, CHAPTER 1.]

   Continued dissensions in the Spanish cabinet--Ruy Gomez and Alva--
   Conquest of the Netherlands entrusted to the Duke--Birth, previous
   career and character of Alva--Organization of the invading army--
   Its march to the provinces--Complaints of Duchess Margaret--Alva
   receives deputations on the frontier--Interview between the Duke and
   Egmont--Reception of Alva by the Duchess of Parma--Circular letters
   to the cities requiring their acceptance of garrisons--Margaret's
   secret correspondence--Universal apprehension--Keys of the great
   cities demanded by Alva--Secret plans of the government, arranged
   before the Duke's departure--Arrest of Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
   others, determined upon--Stealthy course of the government towards
   them--Infatuation of Egmont--Warnings addressed to him by De Billy
   and others--Measures to entrap Count Horn--Banquet of the Grand
   Prior--The Grand Prior's warning to Egmont--Evil counsels of
   Noircarmes--Arrests of Egmont, Horn, Bakkerzeel and Straalen--
   Popular consternation--Petulant conduct of Duchess Margaret--
   Characteristic comments of Granvelle--His secret machinations and
   disclaimers--Berghen and Montigny--Last moments of Marquis Berghen--
   Perfidy of Ruy Gomez--Establishment of the "Blood-Council"--Its
   leading features--Insidious behavior of Viglius--Secret
   correspondence, concerning the President, between Philip and Alva--
   Members of the "Blood-Council"--Portraits of Vargas and Hessels--
   Mode of proceeding adopted by the council--Wholesale executions--
   Despair in the provinces--The resignation of Duchess Margaret
   accepted--Her departure from the Netherlands--Renewed civil war in
   France--Death of Montmorency--Auxiliary troops sent by Alva to
   France--Erection of Antwerp citadel--Description of the citadel.

The armed invasion of the Netherlands was the necessary consequence of
all which had gone before. That the inevitable result had been so long
deferred lay rather in the incomprehensible tardiness of Philip's
character than in the circumstances of the case. Never did a monarch hold
so steadfastly to a deadly purpose, or proceed so languidly and with so
much circumvolution to his goal. The mask of benignity, of possible
clemency, was now thrown off, but the delusion of his intended visit to
the provinces was still maintained. He assured the Regent that he should
be governed by her advice, and as she had made all needful preparations
to receive him in Zeland, that it would be in Zeland he should arrive.

The same two men among Philip's advisers were prominent as at an earlier
day--the Prince of Eboli and the Duke of Alva. They still represented
entirely opposite ideas, and in character, temper, and history, each was
the reverse of the other. The policy of the Prince was pacific and
temporizing; that of the Duke uncompromising and ferocious. Ruy Gomez was
disposed to prevent, if possible, the armed mission of Alva, and he now
openly counselled the King to fulfil his long-deferred promise, and to
make his appearance in person before his rebellious subjects. The
jealousy and hatred which existed between the Prince and the
Duke--between the man of peace and the man of wrath--were constantly
exploding, even in the presence of the King. The wrangling in the council
was incessant. Determined, if possible; to prevent the elevation of his
rival, the favorite was even for a moment disposed to ask for the command
of the army himself. There was something ludicrous in the notion, that a
man whose life had been pacific, and who trembled at the noise of arms,
should seek to supersede the terrible Alva, of whom his eulogists
asserted, with, Castilian exaggeration, that the very name of fear
inspired him with horror. But there was a limit beyond which the
influence of Anna de Mendoza and her husband did not extend. Philip was
not to be driven to the Netherlands against his will, nor to be prevented
from assigning the command of the army to the most appropriate man in
Europe for his purpose.

It was determined at last that the Netherland heresy should be conquered
by force of arms. The invasion resembled both a crusade against the
infidel, and a treasure-hunting foray into the auriferous Indies,
achievements by which Spanish chivalry had so often illustrated itself.
The banner of the cross was to be replanted upon the conquered
battlements of three hundred infidel cities, and a torrent of wealth,
richer than ever flowed from Mexican or Peruvian mines, was to flow into
the royal treasury from the perennial fountains of confiscation. Who so
fit to be the Tancred and the Pizarro of this bicolored expedition as the
Duke of Alva, the man who had been devoted from his earliest childhood,
and from his father's grave, to hostility against unbelievers, and who
had prophesied that treasure would flow in a stream, a yard deep, from
the Netherlands as soon as the heretics began to meet with their deserts.
An army of chosen troops was forthwith collected, by taking the four
legions, or terzios, of Naples, Sicily, Sardinia, and Lombardy, and
filling their places in Italy by fresh levies. About ten thousand picked
and veteran soldiers were thus obtained, of which the Duke of Alva was
appointed general-in-chief.

Ferdinando Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, was now in his sixtieth year.
He was the most successful and experienced general of Spain, or of
Europe. No man had studied more deeply, or practised more constantly, the
military science. In the most important of all arts at that epoch he was
the most consummate artist. In the only honorable profession of the age,
he was the most thorough and the most pedantic professor. Since the days
of Demetrius Poliorcetes, no man had besieged so many cities. Since the
days of Fabius Cunctator; no general had avoided so many battles, and no
soldier, courageous as he was, ever attained to a more sublime
indifference to calumny or depreciation. Having proved in his boyhood, at
Fontarabia, and in his maturity: at Muhlberg, that he could exhibit
heroism and headlong courage; when necessary, he could afford to look
with contempt upon the witless gibes which his enemies had occasionally
perpetrated at his expense. Conscious of holding his armies in his hand,
by the power of an unrivalled discipline, and the magic of a name
illustrated by a hundred triumphs, he, could bear with patience and
benevolence the murmurs of his soldiers when their battles were denied
them.

He was born in 1508, of a family which boasted, imperial descent. A
Palaeologus, brother of a Byzantine emperor, had conquered the city of
Toledo, and transmitted its appellation as a family name. The father of
Ferdinando, Don Garcia, had been slain on the isle of Gerbes, in battle
with the Moors, when his son was but four years of age. The child was
brought up by his grandfather, Don Frederic, and trained from his
tenderest infancy to arms. Hatred to the infidel, and a determination to
avenge his father's blood; crying to him from a foreign grave, were the
earliest of his instincts. As a youth he was distinguished for his
prowess. His maiden sword was fleshed at Fontarabia, where, although but
sixteen years of age, he was considered, by his constancy in hardship, by
his brilliant and desperate courage, and by the example of military
discipline which he afforded to the troops, to have contributed in no
small degree to the success of the Spanish arms.

In 1530, he accompanied the Emperor in his campaign against the Turk.
Charles, instinctively recognizing the merit of the youth who was
destined to be the life-long companion of his toils and glories,
distinguished him with his favor at the opening of his career. Young,
brave, and enthusiastic, Ferdinand de Toledo at this period was as
interesting a hero as ever illustrated the pages of Castilian romance.
His mad ride from Hungary to Spain and back again, accomplished in
seventeen days, for the sake of a brief visit to his newly-married wife,
is not the least attractive episode in the history of an existence which
was destined to be so dark and sanguinary. In 1535, he accompanied the
Emperor on his memorable expedition to Tunis. In 1546 and 1547 he was
generalissimo in the war against the Smalcaldian league. His most
brilliant feat of arms-perhaps the most brilliant exploit of the
Emperor's reign--was the passage of the Elbe and the battle of Muhlberg,
accomplished in spite of Maximilian's bitter and violent reproaches, and
the tremendous possibilities of a defeat. That battle had finished the
war. The gigantic and magnanimous John Frederic, surprised at his
devotions in the church, fled in dismay, leaving his boots behind him,
which for their superhuman size, were ridiculously said afterwards to be
treasured among the trophies of the Toledo house.

   [Hist. du Due d'Albe, i. 274. Brantome, Hom. Illust., etc.
   (ch. v.), says that one of the boots was "large enough to hold a
   camp bedstead," p. 11. I insert the anecdote only as a specimen of
   the manner in which similar absurdities, both of great and, of
   little consequence, are perpetuated by writers in every land and
   age. The armor of the noble-hearted and unfortunate John Frederic
   may still be seen in Dresden. Its size indicates a man very much
   above the average height, while the external length of the iron
   shoe, on-the contrary, is less than eleven inches.]

The rout was total. "I came, I saw, and God conquered," said the Emperor,
in pious parody of his immortal predecessor's epigram. Maximilian, with a
thousand apologies for his previous insults, embraced the heroic Don
Ferdinand over and over again, as, arrayed in a plain suit of blue armor,
unadorned save with streaks of his enemies' blood, he returned from
pursuit of the fugitives. So complete and so sudden was the victory, that
it was found impossible to account for it, save on the ground of
miraculous interposition. Like Joshua, in the vale of Ajalon, Don
Ferdinand was supposed to have commanded the sun to stand still for a
season, and to have been obeyed. Otherwise, how could the passage of the
river, which was only concluded at six in the evening, and the complete
overthrow of the Protestant forces, have all been accomplished within the
narrow space of an April twilight? The reply of the Duke to Henry the
Second of France, who questioned him subsequently upon the subject, is
well known. "Your Majesty, I was too much occupied that evening with what
was taking place on the earth beneath, to pay much heed to the evolutions
of the heavenly bodies." Spared as he had been by his good fortune from
taking any part in the Algerine expedition, or in witnessing the
ignominious retreat from Innspruck, he was obliged to submit to the
intercalation of the disastrous siege of Metz in the long history of his
successes. Doing the duty of a field-marshal and a sentinel, supporting
his army by his firmness and his discipline when nothing else could have
supported them, he was at last enabled, after half the hundred thousand
men with whom Charles had begun the siege had been sacrificed, to induce
his imperial master to raise the siege before the remaining fifty
thousand had been frozen or starved to death.

The culminating career of Alva seemed to have closed in the mist which
gathered around the setting star of the empire. Having accompanied Philip
to England in 1554, on his matrimonial-expedition, he was destined in the
following years, as viceroy and generalissimo of Italy, to be placed in a
series of false positions. A great captain engaged in a little war, the
champion of the cross in arms against the successor of St. Peter, he had
extricated himself, at last, with his usual adroitness, but with very
little glory. To him had been allotted the mortification, to another the
triumph. The lustre of his own name seemed to sink in the ocean while
that of a hated rival, with new spangled ore, suddenly "flamed in the
forehead of the morning sky." While he had been paltering with a dotard,
whom he was forbidden to crush, Egmont had struck down the chosen troops
of France, and conquered her most illustrious commanders. Here was the
unpardonable crime which could only be expiated by the blood of the
victor. Unfortunately for his rival, the time was now approaching when
the long-deferred revenge was to be satisfied.

On the whole, the Duke of Alva was inferior to no general of his age. As
a disciplinarian he was foremost in Spain, perhaps in Europe. A
spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood, and this was, perhaps,
in the eye of humanity, his principal virtue. Time and myself are two,
was a frequent observation of Philip, and his favorite general considered
the maxim as applicable to war as to politics. Such were his qualities as
a military commander. As a statesman, he had neither experience nor
talent. As a man his character was simple. He did not combine a great
variety of vices, but those which he had were colossal, and he possessed
no virtues. He was neither lustful nor intemperate, but his professed
eulogists admitted his enormous avarice, while the world has agreed that
such an amount of stealth and ferocity, of patient vindictiveness and
universal bloodthirstiness, were never found in a savage beast of the
forest, and but rarely in a human bosom. His history was now to show that
his previous thrift of human life was not derived from any love of his
kind. Personally he was stern and overbearing. As difficult of access as
Philip himself, he was even more haughty to those who were admitted to
his presence. He addressed every one with the depreciating second person
plural. Possessing the right of being covered in the presence of the
Spanish monarch, he had been with difficulty brought to renounce it
before the German Emperor. He was of an illustrious family; but his
territorial possessions were not extensive. His duchy was a small one,
furnishing him with not more than fourteen thousand crowns of annual
income, and with four hundred soldiers. He had, however, been a thrifty
financier all his life, never having been without a handsome sum of ready
money at interest. Ten years before his arrival in the Netherlands, he
was supposed to have already increased his income to forty thousand a
year by the proceeds of his investments at Antwerp. As already intimated,
his military character was sometimes profoundly misunderstood. He was
often considered rather a pedantic than a practical commander, more
capable to discourse of battles than to gain them. Notwithstanding that
his long life had been an almost unbroken campaign, the ridiculous
accusation of timidity was frequently made against him. A gentleman at
the court of the Emperor Charles once addressed a letter to the Duke with
the title of "General of his Majesty's armies in the Duchy of Milan in
time of peace, and major-domo of the household in the time of war." It
was said that the lesson did the Duke good, but that he rewarded very
badly the nobleman who gave it, having subsequently caused his head to be
taken off. In general, however, Alva manifested a philosophical contempt
for the opinions expressed concerning his military fame, and was
especially disdainful of criticism expressed by his own soldiers.
"Recollect," said he, at a little later period, to Don John of Austria,
"that the first foes with whom one has to contend are one's own troops;
with their clamors for an engagement at this moment, and--their murmurs,
about results at another; with their 'I thought that the battle should be
fought;' or, 'it was my opinion that the occasion ought not to be lost.'
Your highness will have opportunity enough to display valor, and will
never be weak enough to be conquered by the babble of soldiers."

In person he was tall, thin, erect, with a small head, a long visage,
lean yellow cheek, dark twinkling eyes, a dust complexion, black
bristling hair, and a long sable-silvered beard, descending in two waving
streams upon his breast.

Such being the design, the machinery was well selected. The best man in
Europe to lead the invading force was placed at the head of ten thousand
picked veterans. The privates in this exquisite little army, said the
enthusiastic connoisseur Brantome, who travelled post into Lorraine
expressly to see them on their march, all wore engraved or gilded armor,
and were in every respect equipped like captains. They were the first who
carried muskets, a weapon which very much astonished the Flemings when it
first rattled in their ears. The musketeers, he observed, might have been
mistaken, for princes, with such agreeable and graceful arrogance did
they present themselves. Each was attended by his servant or esquire, who
carried his piece for him, except in battle, and all were treated with
extreme deference by the rest of the army, as if they had been officers.
The four regiments of Lombardy, Sardinia, Sicily, and Naples, composed a
total of not quite nine thousand of the best foot soldiers in Europe.
They were commanded respectively by Don Sancho de Lodiono, Don Gonzalo de
Bracamonte, Julien Romero, and Alfonso de Ulloa, all distinguished and
experienced generals. The cavalry, amounting to about twelve hundred; was
under the command of the natural son of the Duke, Don Ferdinando de
Toledo, Prior of the Knights of St. John. Chiapin Vitelli, Marquis of
Cetona, who had served the King in many a campaign, was appointed
Marechal de camp, and Gabriel Cerbelloni was placed in command of the
artillery. On the way the Duke received, as a present from the Duke of
Savoy, the services of the distinguished engineer, Pacheco, or Paciotti,
whose name was to be associated with the most celebrated citadel of the
Netherlands; and whose dreadful fate was to be contemporaneous with the
earliest successes of the liberal party.

With an army thus perfect, on a small scale, in all its departments, and
furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes, as
regularly enrolled, disciplined, and distributed as the cavalry or the
artillery, the Duke embarked upon his momentous enterprise, on the 10th
of May, at Carthagena. Thirty-seven galleys, under command of Prince
Andrea Doria, brought the principal part of the force to Genoa, the Duke
being delayed a few days at Nice by an attack of fever. On the 2d of
June, the army was mustered at Alexandria de Palla, and ordered to
rendezvous again at San Ambrosio at the foot of the Alps. It was then
directed to make its way over Mount Cenis and through Savoy; Burgundy,
and Lorraine, by a regularly arranged triple movement. The second
division was each night to encamp on the spot which had been occupied
upon the previous night by the vanguard, and the rear was to place itself
on the following night in the camp of the corps de bataille. Thus coiling
itself along almost in a single line by slow and serpentine windings,
with a deliberate, deadly, venomous purpose, this army, which was to be
the instrument of Philip's long deferred vengeance, stole through narrow
mountain pass and tangled forest. So close and intricate were many of the
defiles through which the journey led them that, had one tithe of the
treason which they came to punish, ever existed, save in the diseased
imagination of their monarch, not one man would have been left to tell
the tale. Egmont, had he really been the traitor and the conspirator he
was assumed to be, might have easily organized the means of cutting off
the troops before they could have effected their entrance into the
country which they had doomed to destruction. His military experience,
his qualifications for a daring stroke, his great popularity, and the
intense hatred entertained for Alva, would have furnished him with a
sufficient machinery for the purpose.

Twelve days' march carried the army through Burgundy, twelve more through
Lorraine. During the whole of the journey they were closely accompanied
by a force of cavalry and infantry, ordered upon this service by the King
of France, who, for fear of exciting a fresh Huguenot demonstration, had
refused the Spaniards a passage through his dominions. This reconnoitring
army kept pace with them like their shadow, and watched all their
movements. A force of six thousand Swiss, equally alarmed and uneasy at
the progress of the troops, hovered likewise about their flanks, without,
however, offering any impediment to their advance. Before the middle of
August they had reached Thionville, on the Luxemburg frontier, having on
the last day marched a distance of two leagues through a forest, which
seemed expressly arranged to allow a small defensive force to embarrass
and destroy an invading army. No opposition, however, was attempted, and
the Spanish soldiers encamped at last within the territory of the
Netherlands, having accomplished their adventurous journey in entire
safety, and under perfect discipline.

The Duchess had in her secret letters to Philip continued to express her
disapprobation of the enterprise thus committed to Alva, She had bitterly
complained that now when the country had been pacified by her efforts,
another should be sent to reap all the glory, or perhaps to undo all that
she had so painfully and so successfully done. She stated to her brother,
in most unequivocal language, that the name of Alva was odious enough to
make the whole Spanish nation detested in the Netherlands. She could find
no language sufficiently strong to express her surprise that the King
should have decided upon a measure likely to be attended with such fatal
consequences without consulting her on the subject, and in opposition to
what had been her uniform advice. She also wrote personally to Alva,
imploring, commanding, and threatening, but with equally ill success. The
Duke knew too well who was sovereign of the Netherlands now; his master's
sister or himself. As to the effects of his armed invasion upon the
temper of the provinces, he was supremely indifferent. He came as a
conqueror not as a mediator. "I have tamed people of iron in my day,"
said he, contemptuously, "shall I not easily crush these men of butter?"

At Thionville he was, however, officially waited upon by Berlaymont and
Noircarmes, on the part of the Regent. He at this point, moreover, began
to receive deputations from various cities, bidding him a hollow and
trembling welcome, and deprecating his displeasure for any thing in the
past which might seem offensive. To all such embassies he replied in
vague and conventional language; saying, however, to his confidential
attendants: I am here, so much is certain, whether I am welcome or not is
to me a matter of little consequence. At Tirlemont, on the 22d August, he
was met by Count Egmont, who had ridden forth from Brussels to show him a
becoming respect, as the representative of his sovereign, The Count was
accompanied by several other noblemen, and brought to the Duke a present
of several beautiful horses. Alva received him, however, but coldly, for
he was unable at first to adjust the mask to his countenance as adroitly
as was necessary. Behold the greatest of all the heretics, he observed to
his attendants, as soon as the nobleman's presence was announced, and in
a voice loud enough for him to hear.

Even after they had exchanged salutations, he addressed several remarks
to him in a half jesting, half biting tone, saying among other things,
that his countship might have spared him the trouble of making this long
journey in his old age. There were other observations in a similar strain
which might have well aroused the suspicion of any man not determined,
like Egmont, to continue blind and deaf. After a brief interval, however,
Alva seems to have commanded himself. He passed his arm lovingly over
that stately neck, which he had already devoted to the block, and the
Count having resolved beforehand to place himself, if possible, upon
amicable terms with the new Viceroy--the two rode along side by side in
friendly conversation, followed by the regiment of infantry and three
companies of light horse, which belonged to the Duke's immediate command.
Alva, still attended by Egmont, rode soon afterwards through the Louvain
gate into Brussels, where they separated for a season. Lodgings had been
taken for the Duke at the house of a certain Madame de Jasse, in the
neighborhood of Egmont's palace. Leaving here the principal portion of
his attendants, the Captain-General, without alighting, forthwith
proceeded to the palace to pay his respects to the Duchess of Parma.

For three days the Regent had been deliberating with her council as to
the propriety of declining any visit from the man whose presence she
justly considered a disgrace and an insult to herself. This being the
reward of her eight years' devotion to her brother's commands; to be
superseded by a subject, and one too who came to carry out a policy which
she had urgently deprecated, it could hardly be expected of the Emperor's
daughter that she should graciously submit to the indignity, and receive
her successor with a smiling countenance. In consequence, however, of the
submissive language with which the Duke had addressed her in his recent
communications, offering with true Castilian but empty courtesy, to place
his guards, his army, and himself at her feet, she had consented to
receive his visit with or without his attendants.

On his appearance in the court-yard, a scene of violent altercation and
almost of bloodshed took place between his body-guard and the archers of
the Regent's household, who were at last, with difficulty, persuaded to
allow the mercenaries of the hated Captain-General to pass. Presenting
himself at three o'clock in the afternoon, after these not very
satisfactory preliminaries, in the bedchamber of the Duchess, where it
was her habit to grant confidential audiences, he met, as might easily be
supposed, with a chilling reception: The Duchess, standing motionless in
the centre of the apartment, attended by Berlaymont, the Duke of
Aerachot, and Count Egmont, acknowledged his salutations with calm
severity. Neither she nor any one of her attendants advanced a step to
meet him. The Duke took off his hat, but she, calmly recognizing his
right as a Spanish grandee, insisted upon his remaining covered. A stiff
and formal conversation of half an hour's duration then ensued, all
parties remaining upon their feet. The Duke, although respectful; found
it difficult to conceal his indignation and his haughty sense of
approaching triumph. Margaret was cold, stately, and forbidding,
disguising her rage and her mortification under a veil of imperial pride.
Alva, in a letter to Philip, describing the interview, assured his
Majesty that he had treated the Duchess with as much deference as he
could have shown to the Queen, but it is probable, from other
contemporaneous accounts, that an ill-disguised and even angry arrogance
was at times very visible in his demeanor. The state council had advised
the Duchess against receiving him until he had duly exhibited his powers.
This ceremony had been waived, but upon being questioned by the Duchess
at this interview as to their nature and extent, he is reported to have
coolly answered that he really did not exactly remember, but that he
would look them over, and send her information at his earliest
convenience.

The next day, however, his commission was duly exhibited.

In this document, which bore date 31st January, 1567, Philip appointed
him to be Captain-General "in correspondence with his Majesty's dear
sister of Parma, who was occupied with other matters belonging to the
government," begged the Duchess to co-operate with him and to command
obedience for him, and ordered all the cities of the Netherlands to
receive such garrisons as he should direct.

At the official interview between Alva and Madame de Parma, at which
these powers were produced, the necessary preliminary arrangements were
made regarding the Spanish troops, which were now to be immediately
quartered in the principal cities. The Duke, however, informed the Regent
that as these matters were not within her province, he should take the
liberty of arranging them with the authorities, without troubling her in
the matter, and would inform her of the result of his measures at their
next interview, which was to take place on the 26th August.

Circular letters signed by Philip, which Alva had brought with him, were
now despatched to the different municipal bodies of the country. In these
the cities were severally commanded to accept the garrisons, and to
provide for the armies whose active services the King hoped would not be
required, but which he had sent beforehand to prepare a peaceful entrance
for himself. He enjoined the most absolute obedience to the Duke of Alva
until his own arrival, which was to be almost immediate. These letters
were dated at Madrid on the 28th February, and were now accompanied by a
brief official circular, signed by Margaret of Parma, in which she
announced the arrival of her dear cousin of Alva, and demanded
unconditional submission to his authority.

Having thus complied with these demands of external and conventional
propriety, the indignant Duchess unbosomed herself, in her private
Italian letters to her brother, of the rage which had been hitherto
partially suppressed. She reiterated her profound regret that Philip had
not yet accepted the resignation which she had so recently and so
earnestly offered. She disclaimed all jealousy of the supreme powers now
conferred upon Alva, but thought that his Majesty might have allowed her
to leave the country before the Duke arrived with an authority which was
so extraordinary, as well as so humiliating to herself. Her honor might
thus have been saved. She was pained to perceive that she was like to
furnish a perpetual example to all others, who considering the manner in
which she had been treated by the King, would henceforth have but little
inducement to do their duty. At no time, on no occasion, could any person
ever render him such services as hers had been. For nine years she had
enjoyed not a moment of repose. If the King had shown her but little
gratitude, she was consoled by the thought that she had satisfied her
God, herself, and the world. She had compromised her health, perhaps her
life, and now that she had pacified the country, now that the King was
more absolute, more powerful than ever before, another was sent to enjoy
the fruit of her labors and her sufferings.

The Duchess made no secret of her indignation at being thus superseded
and as she considered the matter, outraged. She openly avowed her
displeasure. She was at times almost beside herself with rage. There was
universal sympathy with her emotions, for all hated the Duke, and
shuddered at the arrival of the Spaniards. The day of doom for all the
crimes which had ever been committed in the course of ages, seemed now to
have dawned upon the Netherlands. The sword which had so long been
hanging over them, seemed now about to descend. Throughout the provinces,
there was but one feeling of cold and hopeless dismay. Those who still
saw a possibility of effecting their escape from the fated land, swarmed
across the frontier. All foreign merchants deserted the great marts. The
cities became as still as if the plague-banner had been unfurled on every
house-top.

Meantime the Captain-General proceeded methodically with his work. He
distributed his troops through Brussels, Ghent, Antwerp, and other
principal cities. As a measure of necessity and mark of the last
humiliation, he required the municipalities to transfer their keys to his
keeping. The magistrates of Ghent humbly remonstrated against the
indignity, and Egmont was imprudent enough to make himself the
mouth-piece of their remonstrance, which, it is needless to add, was
unsuccessful. Meantime his own day of reckoning had arrived.

As already observed, the advent of Alva at the head of a foreign army was
the natural consequence of all which had gone before. The delusion of the
royal visit was still maintained, and the affectation of a possible
clemency still displayed, while the monarch sat quietly in his cabinet
without a remote intention of leaving Spain, and while the messengers of
his accumulated and long-concealed wrath were already descending upon
their prey. It was the deliberate intention of Philip, when the Duke was
despatched to the Netherlands, that all the leaders of the
anti-inquisition party, and all who had, at any time or in any way,
implicated themselves in opposition to the government, or in censure of
its proceedings, should be put to death. It was determined that the
provinces should be subjugated to the absolute domination of the council
of Spain, a small body of foreigners sitting at the other end of Europe,
a junta in which Netherlanders were to have no voice and exercise no
influence. The despotic government of the Spanish and Italian possessions
was to be extended to these Flemish territories, which were thus to be
converted into the helpless dependencies of a foreign and an absolute
crown. There was to be a re-organization of the inquisition, upon the
same footing claimed for it before the outbreak of the troubles, together
with a re-enactment and vigorous enforcement of the famous edicts against
heresy.

Such was the scheme recommended by Granvelle and Espinosa, and to be
executed by Alva. As part and parcel of this plan, it was also arranged
at secret meetings at the house of Espinosa, before the departure of the
Duke, that all the seigniors against whom the Duchess Margaret had made
so many complaints, especially the Prince of Orange, with the Counts
Egmont, Horn, and Hoogstraaten, should be immediately arrested and
brought to chastisement. The Marquis Berghen and the Baron Montigny,
being already in Spain, could be dealt with at pleasure. It was also
decided that the gentlemen implicated in the confederacy or compromise,
should at once be proceeded against for high treason, without any regard
to the promise of pardon granted by the Duchess.

The general features of the great project having been thus mapped out, a
few indispensable preliminaries were at once executed. In order that
Egmont, Horn, and other distinguished victims might not take alarm, and
thus escape the doom deliberately arranged for them, royal assurances
were despatched to the Netherlands, cheering their despondency and
dispelling their doubts. With his own hand Philip wrote the letter, full
of affection and confidence, to Egmont, to which allusion has already
been made. He wrote it after Alva had left Madrid upon his mission of
vengeance. The same stealthy measures were pursued with regard to others.
The Prince of Orange was not capable of falling into the royal trap,
however cautiously baited. Unfortunately he could not communicate his
wisdom to his friends.

It is difficult to comprehend so very sanguine a temperament as that to
which Egmont owed his destruction. It was not the Prince of Orange alone
who had prophesied his doom. Warnings had come to the Count from every
quarter, and they were now frequently repeated. Certainly he was not
without anxiety, but he had made his decision; determined to believe in
the royal word, and in the royal gratitude for his services rendered, not
only against Montmorency and De Thermes, but against the heretics of
Flanders. He was, however, much changed. He had grown prematurely old. At
forty-six years his hair was white, and he never slept without pistols
under his pillow. Nevertheless he affected, and sometimes felt, a
light-heartedness which surprised all around him. The Portuguese
gentleman Robles, Seigneur de Billy, who had returned early in the summer
from Spain; whither he had been sent upon a confidential mission by
Madame de Parma, is said to have made repeated communications to Egmont
as to the dangerous position in which he stood. Immediately after his
arrival in Brussels he had visited the Count, then confined to his house
by an injury caused by the fall of his horse. "Take care to get well very
fast," said De Billy, "for there are very bad stories told about you in
Spain." Egmont laughed heartily at the observation, as if, nothing could
well be more absurd than such a warning. His friend--for De Billy is said
to have felt a real attachment to the Count--persisted in his prophecies,
telling him that "birds in the field sang much more sweetly than those in
cages," and that he would do well to abandon the country before the
arrival of Alva.

These warnings were repeated almost daily by the same gentleman, and by
others, who were more and more astonished at Egmont's infatuation.
Nevertheless, he had disregarded their admonitions, and had gone forth to
meet the Duke at Tirlemont. Even then he might have seen, in the coldness
of his first reception, and in the disrespectful manner of the Spanish
soldiers, who not only did not at first salute him, but who murmured
audibly that he was a Lutheran and traitor, that he was not so great a
favorite with the government at Madrid as he desired to be.

After the first few moments, however, Alva's manner had changed, while
Chiappin Vitelli, Gabriel de Serbelloni, and other principal officers,
received the Count with great courtesy, even upon his first appearance.
The grand prior, Ferdinando de Toledo, natural son of the Duke, and
already a distinguished soldier, seems to have felt a warm and unaffected
friendship for Egmont, whose brilliant exploits in the field had excited
his youthful admiration, and of whose destruction he was, nevertheless,
compelled to be the unwilling instrument. For a few days, accordingly,
after the arrival of the new Governor-General all seemed to be going
smoothly. The grand prior and Egmont became exceedingly intimate, passing
their time together in banquets, masquerades, and play, as joyously as if
the merry days which had succeeded the treaty of Cateau Cambreais were
returned. The Duke, too, manifested the most friendly dispositions,
taking care to send him large presents of Spanish and Italian fruits,
received frequently by the government couriers.

Lapped in this fatal security, Egmont not only forgot his fears, but
unfortunately succeeded in inspiring Count Horn with a portion of his
confidence. That gentleman had still remained in his solitary mansion at
Weert, notwithstanding the artful means which had been used to lure him
from that "desert." It is singular that the very same person who,
according to a well-informed Catholic contemporary, had been most eager
to warn Egmont of his danger, had also been the foremost instrument for
effecting the capture of the Admiral. The Seigneur de Billy, on the day
after his arrival from Madrid, had written to Horn, telling him that the
King was highly pleased with his services and character. De Billy also
stated that he had been commissioned by Philip to express distinctly the
royal gratitude for the Count's conduct, adding that his Majesty was
about to visit the Netherlands in August, and would probably be preceded
or accompanied by Baron Montigny.

Alva and his son Don Ferdinando had soon afterwards addressed letters
from Gerverbiller (dated 26th and 27th July) to Count Horn, filled with
expressions of friendship and confidence. The Admiral, who had sent one
of his gentlemen to greet the Duke, now responded from Weert that he was
very sensible of the kindness manifested towards him, but that for
reasons which his secretary Alonzo de la Loo would more fully
communicate, he must for the present beg to be excused from a personal
visit to Brussels. The secretary was received by Alva with extreme
courtesy. The Duke expressed infinite pain that the King had not yet
rewarded Count Horn's services according to their merit, said that a year
before he had told his brother Montigny how very much he was the
Admiral's friend, and begged La Loo to tell his master that he should not
doubt the royal generosity and gratitude. The governor added, that if he
could see the Count in person he could tell him things which would please
him, and which would prove that he had not been forgotten by his friends.
La Loo had afterward a long conversation with the Duke's secretary
Albornoz, who assured him that his master had the greatest affection for
Count Horn, and that since his affairs were so much embarrassed, he might
easily be provided with the post of governor at Milan, or viceroy of
Naples, about to become vacant. The secretary added, that the Duke was
much hurt at receiving no visits from many distinguished nobles whose
faithful friend and servant he was, and that Count Horn ought to visit
Brussels, if not to treat of great affairs, at least to visit the
Captain-General as a friend. "After all this," said honest Alonzo, "I am
going immediately to Weert, to urge his lordship to yield to the Duke's
desires."

This scientific manoeuvring, joined to the urgent representations of
Egmont, at last produced its effect. The Admiral left his retirement at
Weert to fall into the pit which his enemies had been so skilfully
preparing at Brussels. On the night of the 8th September, Egmont received
another most significative and mysterious warning. A Spaniard, apparently
an officer of rank, came secretly into his house, and urged him solemnly
to effect his escape before the morrow. The Countess, who related the
story afterwards, always believed, without being certain, that the
mysterious visitor was Julian Romero, marechal de camp. Egmont, however,
continued as blindly confident as before.

On the following day, September 9th, the grand prior, Don Ferdinando,
gave a magnificent dinner, to which Egmont and Horn, together with
Noircarmes, the Viscount of Ghent, and many other noblemen were invited.
The banquet was enlivened by the music of Alva's own military band, which
the Duke sent to entertain the company. At three o'clock he sent a
message begging the gentlemen, after their dinner should be concluded, to
favor him with their company at his house (the maison de Jassey), as he
wished to consult them concerning the plan of the citadel, which he
proposed erecting at Antwerp.

At this moment, the grand prior who was seated next to Egmont, whispered
in his ear; "Leave this place, Signor Count, instantly; take the fleetest
horse in your stable and make your escape without a moment's delay."
Egmont, much troubled, and remembering the manifold prophecies and
admonitions which he had passed by unheeded, rose from the table and went
into the next room. He was followed by Noircarmes and two other
gentlemen, who had observed his agitation, and were curious as to its
cause. The Count repeated to them the mysterious words just whispered to
him by the grand prior, adding that he was determined to take the advice
without a moment's delay. "Ha! Count," exclaimed Noircarmes, "do not put
lightly such implicit confidence in this stranger who is counselling you
to your destruction. What will the Duke of Alva and all the Spaniards say
of such a precipitate flight? Will they not say that your Excellency has
fled from the consciousness of guilt? Will not your escape be construed
into a confession of high treason."

If these words were really spoken by Noircarmes; and that they were so,
we have the testimony of a Walloon gentleman in constant communication
with Egmont's friends and with the whole Catholic party, they furnish
another proof of the malignant and cruel character of the man. The advice
fixed forever the fate of the vacillating Egmont. He had risen from table
determined to take the advice of a noble-minded Spaniard, who had
adventured his life to save his friend. He now returned in obedience to
the counsel of a fellow-countryman, a Flemish noble, to treat the
well-meant warning with indifference, and to seat himself again at the
last banquet which he was ever to grace with his presence.

At four o'clock, the dinner being finished, Horn and Egmont, accompanied
by the other gentlemen, proceeded to the "Jassy" house, then occupied by
Alva, to take part in the deliberations proposed. They were received by
the Duke with great courtesy. The engineer, Pietro Urbino, soon appeared
and laid upon the table a large parchment containing the plan and
elevation of the citadel to be erected at Antwerp. A warm discussion upon
the subject soon arose, Egmont, Horn, Noircarmes and others, together
with the engineers Urbino and Pacheco, all taking part in the debate.
After a short time, the Duke of Alva left the apartment, on pretext of a
sudden indisposition, leaving the company still warmly engaged in their
argument. The council lasted till near seven in the evening. As it broke
up, Don Sancho d'Avila, captain of the Duke's guard, requested Egmont to
remain for a moment after the rest, as he had a communication to make to
him. After an insignificant remark or two, the Spanish officer, as soon
as the two were alone, requested Egmont to surrender his sword. The
Count, agitated, and notwithstanding every thing which had gone before,
still taken by surprise, scarcely knew what reply to make. Don Sancho
repeated that he had been commissioned to arrest him, and again demanded
his sword. At the same moment the doors of the adjacent apartment were
opened, and Egmont saw himself surrounded by a company of Spanish
musqueteers and halberdmen. Finding himself thus entrapped, he gave up
his sword, saying bitterly, as he did so, that it had at least rendered
some service to the King in times which were past. He was then conducted
to a chamber, in the upper story of the house, where his temporary prison
had been arranged. The windows were barricaded, the daylight excluded,
the whole apartment hung with black. Here he remained fourteen days (from
the 9th to 23d September). During this period, he was allowed no
communication with his friends. His room was lighted day and night with
candles, and he was served in strict silence by Spanish attendants, and
guarded by Spanish soldiers. The captain of the watch drew his curtain
every midnight, and aroused him from sleep that he might be identified by
the relieving officer.

Count Horn was arrested upon the same occasion by Captain Salinas, as he
was proceeding through the court-yard of the house, after the breaking up
of the council. He was confined in another chamber of the mansion, and
met with a precisely similar treatment to that experienced by Egmont.
Upon the 23d September, both were removed under a strong guard to the
castle of Ghent.

On this same day, two other important arrests, included and arranged in
the same program, had been successfully accomplished. Bakkerzeel, private
and confidential secretary of Egmont, and Antony Van Straalen, the rich
and influential burgomaster of Antwerp, were taken almost simultaneously.
At the request of Alva, the burgomaster had been invited by the Duchess
of Parma to repair on business to Brussels. He seemed to have feared an
ambuscade, for as he got into his coach to set forth upon the journey, he
was so muffed in a multiplicity of clothing, that he was scarcely to be
recognized. He was no sooner, however, in the open country and upon a
spot remote from human habitations, than he was suddenly beset by a band
of forty soldiers under command of Don Alberic Lodron and Don Sancho de
Lodrono. These officers had been watching his movements for many days.
The capture of Bakkerzeel was accomplished with equal adroitness at about
the same hour.

Alva, while he sat at the council board with Egmont and Horn, was
secretly informed that those important personages, Bakkerzeel and
Straalen, with the private secretary of the Admiral, Alonzo de la Loo, in
addition, had been thus successfully arrested. He could with difficulty
conceal his satisfaction, and left the apartment immediately that the
trap might be sprung upon the two principal victims of his treachery. He
had himself arranged all the details of these two important arrests,
while his natural son, the Prior Don Ferdinando, had been compelled to
superintend the proceedings. The plot had been an excellent plot, and was
accomplished as successfully as it bad been sagaciously conceived. None
but Spaniards had been employed in any part of the affair. Officers of
high rank in his Majesty's army had performed the part of spies and
policemen with much adroitness, nor was it to be expected that the duty
would seem a disgrace, when the Prior of the Knights of Saint John was
superintendent of the operations, when the Captain-General of the
Netherlands had arranged the whole plan, and when all, from subaltern to
viceroy, had received minute instructions as to the contemplated
treachery from the great chief of the Spanish police, who sat on the
throne of Castile and Aragon.

No sooner were these gentlemen in custody than the secretary Albornoz was
dispatched to the house of Count Horn, and to that of Bakkerzeel, where
all papers were immediately seized, inventoried, and placed in the hands
of the Duke. Thus, if amid the most secret communications of Egmont and
Horn or their correspondents, a single treasonable thought should be
lurking, it was to go hard but it might be twisted into a cord strong
enough to strangle them all.

The Duke wrote a triumphant letter to his Majesty that very night. He
apologized that these important captures had been deferred so long but,
stated that he had thought it desirable to secure all these leading
personages at a single stroke. He then narrated the masterly manner in
which the operations had been conducted. Certainly, when it is remembered
that the Duke had only reached Brussels upon the 23d August, and that the
two Counts were securely lodged in prison on the 9th of September, it
seemed a superfluous modesty upon his part thus to excuse himself for an
apparent delay. At any rate, in the eyes of the world and of posterity,
his zeal to carry out the bloody commands of his master was sufficiently
swift.

The consternation was universal throughout the provinces when the arrests
became known. Egmont's great popularity and distinguished services placed
him so high above the mass of citizens, and his attachment to the
Catholic religion was moreover so well known, as to make it obvious that
no man could now be safe, when men like him were in the power of Alva and
his myrmidons. The animosity to the Spaniards increased hourly. The
Duchess affected indignation at the arrest of the two nobles, although it
nowhere appears that she attempted a word in their defence, or lifted, at
any subsequent moment, a finger to save them. She was not anxious to wash
her hands of the blood of two innocent men; she was only offended that
they had been arrested without her permission. The Duke had, it is true,
sent Berlaymont and Mansfeld to give her information of the fact, as soon
as the capture had been made, with the plausible excuse that he preferred
to save her from all the responsibility and all the unpopularity of the
measure, Nothing, however, could appease her wrath at this and every
other indication of the contempt in which he appeared to hold the sister
of his sovereign. She complained of his conduct daily to every one who
was admitted to her presence. Herself oppressed by a sense of personal
indignity, she seemed for a moment to identify herself with the cause of
the oppressed provinces. She seemed to imagine herself the champion of
their liberties, and the Netherlanders, for a moments seemed to
participate in the delusion. Because she was indignant at the insolence
of the Duke of Alva to her self, the honest citizens began to give her
credit for a sympathy with their own wrongs. She expressed herself
determined to move about from one city to another, until the answer to
her demand for dismissal should arrive. She allowed her immediate
attendants to abuse the Spaniards in good set terms upon every occasion.
Even her private chaplain permitted himself, in preaching before her in
the palace chapel, to denounce the whole nation as a race of traitors and
ravishers, and for this offence was only reprimanded, much against her
will, by the Duchess, and ordered to retire for a season to his convent.
She did not attempt to disguise her dissatisfaction at every step which
had been taken by the Duke. In all this there was much petulance, but
very little dignity, while there was neither a spark of real sympathy for
the oppressed millions, nor a throb of genuine womanly emotion for the
impending fate of the two nobles. Her principal grief was that she had
pacified the provinces, and that another had now arrived to reap the
glory; but it was difficult, while the unburied bones of many heretics
were still hanging, by her decree, on the rafters of their own dismantled
churches, for her successfully to enact the part of a benignant and
merciful Regent. But it is very true that the horrors of the Duke's
administration have been propitious to the fame of Margaret, and perhaps
more so to that of Cardinal Granvelle. The faint and struggling rays of
humanity which occasionally illumined the course of their government,
were destined to be extinguished in a chaos so profound and dark, that
these last beams of light seemed clearer and more bountiful by the
contrast.

The Count of Hoogstraaten, who was on his way to Brussels, had, by good
fortune, injured his hand through the accidental discharge of a pistol.
Detained by this casualty at Cologne, he was informed, before his arrival
at the capital, of the arrest of his two distinguished friends, and
accepted the hint to betake himself at once to a place of Safety.

The loyalty of the elder Mansfeld was beyond dispute even by Alva. His
son Charles had, however, been imprudent, and, as we have seen, had even
affixed his name to the earliest copies of the Compromise. He had
retired, it is true, from all connexion with the confederates, but his
father knew well that the young Count's signature upon that famous
document would prove his death-warrant, were he found in the country. He
therefore had sent him into Germany before the arrival of the Duke.

The King's satisfaction was unbounded when he learned this important
achievement of Alva, and he wrote immediately to express his approbation
in the most extravagant terms. Cardinal Granvelle, on the contrary,
affected astonishment at a course which he had secretly counselled. He
assured his Majesty that he had never believed Egmont to entertain
sentiments opposed to the Catholic religion, nor to the interests of the
Crown, up to the period of his own departure from the Netherlands. He was
persuaded, he said, that the Count had been abused by others, although,
to be sure, the Cardinal had learned with regret what Egmont had written
on the occasion of the baptism of Count Hoogstraaten's child. As to the
other persons arrested, he said that no one regretted their fate. The
Cardinal added, that he was supposed to be himself the instigator of
these captures, but that he was not disturbed by that, or by other
imputations of a similar nature.

In conversation with those about him, he frequently expressed regret that
the Prince of Orange had been too crafty to be caught in the same net in
which his more simple companions were so inextricably entangled. Indeed,
on the first arrival of the news, that men of high rank had been arrested
in Brussels, the Cardinal eagerly inquired if the Taciturn had been
taken, for by that term he always characterized the Prince. Receiving a
negative reply, he expressed extreme disappointment, adding, that if
Orange had escaped, they had taken nobody; and that his capture would
have been more valuable than that of every man in the Netherlands.

Peter Titelmann, too, the famous inquisitor, who, retired from active
life, was then living upon Philip's bounty, and encouraged by friendly
letters from that monarch, expressed the same opinion. Having been
informed that Egmont and Horn had been captured, he eagerly inquired if
"wise William" had also been taken. He was, of course, answered in the
negative. "Then will our joy be but brief," he observed. "Woe unto us for
the wrath to come from Germany."

On the 12th of July, of this year, Philip wrote to Granvelle to inquire
the particulars of a letter which the Prince of Orange, according to a
previous communication of the Cardinal, had written to Egmont on the
occasion of the baptism of Count Hoogstraaten's child. On the 17th of
August, the Cardinal replied, by setting the King right as to the error
which he had committed. The letter, as he had already stated, was not
written by Orange, but by Egmont, and he expressed his astonishment that
Madame de Parma had not yet sent it to his Majesty. The Duchess must have
seen it, because her confessor had shown it to the person who was
Granvelle's informant. In this letter, the Cardinal continued, the
statement had been made by Egmont to the Prince of Orange that their
plots were discovered, that the King was making armaments, that they were
unable to resist him, and that therefore it had become necessary to
dissemble and to accommodate themselves as well as possible to the
present situation, while waiting for other circumstances under which to
accomplish their designs. Granvelle advised, moreover, that Straalen, who
had been privy to the letter, and perhaps the amanuensis, should be
forthwith arrested.

The Cardinal was determined not to let the matter sleep, notwithstanding
his protestation of a kindly feeling towards the imprisoned Count.
Against the statement that he knew of a letter which amounted to a full
confession of treason, out of Egmont's own mouth--a fact which, if
proved, and perhaps, if even insinuated, would be sufficient with Philip
to deprive Egmont of twenty thousand lives--against these constant
recommendations to his suspicious and sanguinary master, to ferret out
this document, if it were possible, it must be confessed that the
churchman's vague and hypocritical expressions on the side of mercy were
very little worth.

Certainly these seeds of suspicion did not fall upon a barren soil.
Philip immediately communicated the information thus received to the Duke
of Alva, charging him on repeated occasions to find out what was written,
either by Egmont or by Straalen, at Egmont's instigation, stating that
such a letter was written at the time of the Hoogstraaten baptism, that
it would probably illustrate the opinions of Egmont at that period, and
that the letter itself, which the confessor of Madame de Parma had once
had in his hands, ought, if possible, to be procured. Thus the very
language used by Granvelle to Philip was immediately repeated by the
monarch to his representative in the Netherlands, at the moment when all
Egmont's papers were in his possession, and when Egmont's private
secretary was undergoing the torture, in order that; secrets might be
wrenched from him which had never entered his brain. The fact that no
such letter was found, that the Duchess had never alluded to any such
document, and that neither a careful scrutiny of papers, nor the
application of the rack, could elicit any satisfactory information on the
subject, leads to the conclusion that no such treasonable paper had ever
existed, save in the imagination of the Cardinal. At any rate, it is no
more than just to hesitate before affixing a damning character to a
document, in the absence of any direct proof that there ever was such a
document at all. The confessor of Madame de Parma told another person,
who told the Cardinal, that either Count Egmont, or Burgomaster Straalen,
by command of Count Egmont, wrote to the Prince of Orange thus and so.
What evidence was this upon which to found a charge of high treason
against a man whom Granvelle affected to characterize as otherwise
neither opposed to the Catholic religion, nor to the true service of the
King? What vulpine kind of mercy was it on the part of the Cardinal,
while making such deadly insinuations, to recommend the imprisoned victim
to clemency?

The unfortunate envoys, Marquis Bergen and Baron Montigny, had remained
in Spain under close observation. Of those doomed victims who, in spite
of friendly remonstrances and of ominous warnings, had thus ventured into
the lion's den, no retreating footmarks were ever to be seen. Their fate,
now that Alva had at last been despatched to the Netherlands, seemed to
be sealed, and the Marquis Bergen, accepting the augury in its most evil
sense, immediately afterwards had sickened unto death. Whether it were
the sickness of hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair, or whether
it were a still more potent and unequivocal poison which came to the
relief of the unfortunate nobleman, will perhaps never be ascertained
with certainty. The secrets of those terrible prison-houses of Spain,
where even the eldest begotten son, and the wedded wife of the monarch,
were soon afterwards believed to have been the victims of his dark
revenge, can never perhaps be accurately known, until the grave gives up
its dead, and the buried crimes of centuries are revealed.

It was very soon after the departure of Alva's fleet from Carthagena,
that the Marquis Bergen felt his end approaching. He sent for the Prince
of Eboli, with whom he had always maintained intimate relations, and whom
he believed to be his disinterested friend. Relying upon his faithful
breast, and trusting to receive from his eyes alone the pious drops of
sympathy which he required, the dying noble poured out his long and last
complaint. He charged him to tell the man whom he would no longer call
his king, that he had ever been true and loyal, that the bitterness of
having been constantly suspected, when he was conscious of entire
fidelity, was a sharper sorrow than could be lightly believed, and that
he hoped the time would come when his own truth and the artifices of his
enemies would be brought to light. He closed his parting message by
predicting that after he had been long laid in the grave, the
impeachments against his character would be, at last, although too late,
retracted.

So spake the unhappy envoy, and his friend replied with words of
consolation. It is probable that he even ventured, in the King's name, to
grant him the liberty of returning to his home; the only remedy, as his
physicians had repeatedly stated, which could possibly be applied to his
disease. But the devilish hypocrisy of Philip, and the abject perfidy of
Eboli, at this juncture, almost surpass belief. The Prince came to press
the hand and to close the eyes of the dying man whom he called his
friend, having first carefully studied a billet of most minute and secret
instructions from his master as to the deportment he was to observe upon
this solemn occasion and afterwards. This paper, written in Philip's own
hand, had been delivered to Eboli on the very day of his visit to Bergen,
and bore the superscription that it was not to be read nor opened till
the messenger who brought it had left his presence. It directed the
Prince, if it should be evident Marquis was past recovery, to promise
him, in the King's name, the permission of returning to the Netherlands.
Should, however, a possibility of his surviving appear, Eboli was only to
hold out a hope that such permission might eventually be obtained. In
case of the death of Bergen, the Prince was immediately to confer with
the Grand Inquisitor and with the Count of Feria, upon the measures to be
taken for his obsequies. It might seem advisable, in that event to
exhibit the regret which the King and his ministers felt for his death,
and the great esteem in which they held the nobles of the Netherlands. At
the same time, Eboli was further instructed to confer with the same
personages as to the most efficient means for preventing the escape of
Baron Montigny; to keep a vigilant eye upon his movements, and to give
general directions to governors and to postmasters to intercept his
flight, should it be attempted. Finally, in case of Bergen's death, the
Prince was directed to despatch a special messenger, apparently on his
own responsibility, and as if in the absence and without the knowledge of
the King, to inform the Duchess of Parma of the event, and to urge her
immediately to take possession of the city of Bergen-op-Zoom, and of all
other property belonging to the Marquis, until it should be ascertained
whether it were not possible to convict him, after death, of treason, and
to confiscate his estates accordingly.

Such were the instructions of Philip to Eboli, and precisely in
accordance with the program, was the horrible comedy enacted at the
death-bed of the envoy. Three days after his parting interview with his
disinterested friend, the Marquis was a corpse.--Before his limbs were
cold, a messenger was on his way to Brussels, instructing the Regent to
sequestrate his property, and to arrest, upon suspicion of heresy, the
youthful kinsman and niece, who, by the will of the Marquis, were to be
united in marriage and to share his estate. The whole drama, beginning
with the death scene, was enacted according to order: Before the arrival
of Alva in the Netherlands, the property of the Marquis was in the hands
of the Government, awaiting the confiscation,--which was but for a brief
season delayed, while on the other hand, Baron Montigny, Bergen's
companion in doom, who was not, however, so easily to be carried off by
homesickness, was closely confined in the alcazar of Segovia, never to
leave a Spanish prison alive. There is something pathetic in the delusion
in which Montigny and his brother, the Count Horn, both indulged, each
believing that the other was out of harm's way, the one by his absence
from the Netherlands, the other by his absence from Spain, while both,
involved in the same meshes, were rapidly and surely approaching their
fate.

In the same despatch of the 9th September, in which the Duke communicated
to Philip the capture of Egmont and Horn, he announced to him his
determination to establish a new court for the trial of crimes committed
during the recent period of troubles. This wonderful tribunal was
accordingly created with the least possible delay. It was called the
Council of Troubles, but it soon acquired the terrible name, by which it
will be forever known in history, of the 'Blood-Council'. It superseded
all other institutions. Every court, from those of the municipal
magistracies up to the supreme councils of the provinces, were forbidden
to take cognizance in future of any cause growing out of the late
troubles. The council of state, although it was not formally disbanded,
fell into complete desuetude, its members being occasionally summoned
into Alva's private chambers in an irregular manner, while its principal
functions were usurped by the Blood-Council. Not only citizens of every
province, but the municipal bodies and even the sovereign provincial
estates themselves, were compelled to plead, like humble individuals,
before this new and extraordinary tribunal. It is unnecessary to allude
to the absolute violation which was thus committed of all charters, laws
and privileges, because the very creation of the council was a bold and
brutal proclamation that those laws and privileges were at an end. The
constitution or maternal principle of this suddenly erected court was of
a twofold nature. It defined and it punished the crime of treason. The
definitions, couched in eighteen articles, declared it to be treason to
have delivered or signed any petition against the new bishops, the
Inquisition, or the Edicts; to have tolerated public preaching under any
circumstances; to have omitted resistance to the image-breaking, to the
field-preaching, or to the presentation of the Request by the nobles, and
"either through sympathy or surprise" to have asserted that the King did
not possess the right to deprive all the provinces of their liberties, or
to have maintained that this present tribunal was bound to respect in any
manner any laws or any charters. In these brief and simple, but
comprehensive terms, was the crime of high treason defined. The
punishment was still more briefly, simply, and comprehensively stated,
for it was instant death in all cases. So well too did this new and
terrible engine perform its work, that in less than three months from the
time of its erection, eighteen hundred human beings had suffered death by
its summary proceedings; some of the highest, the noblest, and the most
virtuous in the land among the number; nor had it then manifested the
slightest indication of faltering in its dread career.

Yet, strange to say, this tremendous court, thus established upon the
ruins of all the ancient institutions of the country, had not been
provided with even a nominal authority from any source whatever. The King
had granted it no letters patent or charter, nor had even the Duke of
Alva thought it worth while to grant any commissions either in his own
name or as Captain-General, to any of the members composing the board.
The Blood-Council was merely an informal club, of which the Duke was
perpetual president, while the other members were all appointed by
himself.

Of these subordinate councillors, two had the right of voting, subject,
however, in all cases to his final decision, while the rest of the number
did not vote at all. It had not, therefore, in any sense, the character
of a judicial, legislative, or executive tribunal, but was purely a board
of advice by which the bloody labors of the duke were occasionally
lightened as to detail, while not a feather's weight of power or of
responsibility was removed from his shoulders. He reserved for himself
the final decision upon all causes which should come before the council,
and stated his motives for so doing with grim simplicity. "Two reasons,"
he wrote to the King, "have determined me thus to limit the power of the
tribunal; the first that, not knowing its members, I might be easily
deceived by them; the second, that the men of law only condemn for crimes
which are proved; whereas your Majesty knows that affairs of state are
governed by very different rules from the laws which they have here."

It being, therefore, the object of the Duke to compose a body of men who
would be of assistance to him in condemning for crimes which could not be
proved, and in slipping over statutes which were not to be recognized, it
must be confessed that he was not unfortunate in the appointments which
he made to the office of councillors. In this task of appointment he had
the assistance of the experienced Viglius. That learned jurisconsult,
with characteristic lubricity, had evaded the dangerous honor for
himself, but he nominated a number of persons from whom the Duke selected
his list. The sacerdotal robes which he had so recently and so "craftily"
assumed, furnished his own excuse, and in his letters to his faithful
Hopper he repeatedly congratulated himself upon his success in keeping
himself at a distance from so bloody and perilous a post.

It is impossible to look at the conduct of the distinguished Frisian at
this important juncture without contempt. Bent only upon saving himself,
his property, and his reputation, he did not hesitate to bend before the
"most illustrious Duke," as he always denominated him, with fulsome and
fawning homage. While he declined to dip his own fingers in the innocent
blood which was about to flow in torrents, he did not object to officiate
at the initiatory preliminaries of the great Netherland holocaust. His
decent and dainty demeanor seems even more offensive than the jocularity
of the real murderers. Conscious that no man knew the laws and customs of
the Netherlands better than himself, he had the humble effrontery to
observe that it was necessary for him at that moment silently to submit
his own unskilfulness to the superior judgment and knowledge of others.
Having at last been relieved from the stone of Sisyphus, which, as he
plaintively expressed himself, he had been rolling for twenty years;
having, by the arrival of Tisnacq, obtained his discharge as President of
the state council, he was yet not unwilling to retain the emoluments and
the rank of President of the privy council, although both offices had
become sinecures since the erection of the Council of Blood. Although his
life had been spent in administrative and judicial employments, he did
not blush upon a matter of constitutional law to defer to the authority
of such jurisconsults as the Duke of Alva and his two Spanish
bloodhounds, Vargas and Del Rio. He did not like, he observed, in his
confidential correspondence, to gainsay the Duke, when maintaining, that
in cases of treason, the privileges of Brabant were powerless, although
he mildly doubted whether the Brabantines would agree with the doctrine.
He often thought, he said, of remedies for restoring the prosperity of
the provinces, but in action he only assisted the Duke, to the best of
his abilities, in arranging the Blood-Council. He wished well to his
country, but he was more anxious for the favor of Alva. "I rejoice," said
he, in one of his letters, "that the most illustrious Duke has written to
the King in praise of my obsequiousness; when I am censured here for so
reverently cherishing him, it is a consolation that my services to the
King and to the governor are not unappreciated there." Indeed the Duke of
Alva, who had originally suspected the President's character, seemed at
last overcome by his indefatigable and cringing homage. He wrote to the
King, in whose good graces the learned Doctor was most anxious at that
portentous period to maintain himself, that the President was very
serviceable and diligent, and that he deserved to receive a crumb of
comfort from the royal hand. Philip, in consequence, wrote in one of his
letters a few lines of vague compliment, which could be shown to Viglius,
according to Alva's suggestion. It is, however, not a little
characteristic of the Spanish court and of the Spanish monarch, that, on
the very day before, he had sent to the Captain-General a few documents
of very different import. In order, as he said, that the Duke might be
ignorant of nothing which related to the Netherlands, he forwarded to him
copies of the letters written by Margaret of Parma from Brussels, three
years before. These letters, as it will be recollected, contained an
account of the secret investigations which the Duchess had made as to the
private character and opinions of Viglius--at the very moment when he
apparently stood highest in her confidence--and charged him with heresy,
swindling, and theft. Thus the painstaking and time-serving President,
with all his learning and experience, was successively the dupe of
Margaret and of Alva, whom he so obsequiously courted, and always of
Philip, whom he so feared and worshipped.

With his assistance, the list of blood-councillors was quickly completed.
No one who was offered the office refused it. Noircarmes and Berlaymont
accepted with very great eagerness. Several presidents and councillors of
the different provincial tribunals were appointed, but all the
Netherlanders were men of straw. Two Spaniards, Del Rio and Vargas, were
the only members who could vote; while their decisions, as already
stated, were subject to reversal by Alva. Del Rio was a man without
character or talent, a mere tool in the hands of his superiors, but Juan
de Vargas was a terrible reality.

No better man could have been found in Europe for the post to which he
was thus elevated. To shed human blood was, in his opinion, the only
important business and the only exhilarating pastime of life. His youth
had been stained with other crimes. He had been obliged to retire from
Spain, because of his violation of an orphan child to whom he was
guardian, but, in his manhood, he found no pleasure but in murder. He
executed Alva's bloody work with an industry which was almost superhuman,
and with a merriment which would have shamed a demon. His execrable jests
ring through the blood and smoke and death-cries of those days of
perpetual sacrifice. He was proud to be the double of the iron-hearted
Duke, and acted so uniformly in accordance with his views, that the right
of revision remained but nominal. There could be no possibility of
collision where the subaltern was only anxious to surpass an incomparable
superior. The figure of Vargas rises upon us through the mist of three
centuries with terrible distinctness. Even his barbarous grammar has not
been forgotten, and his crimes against syntax and against humanity have
acquired the same immortality. "Heretici fraxerunt templa, boni nihili
faxerunt contra, ergo debent omnes patibulare," was the comprehensive but
barbarous formula of a man who murdered the Latin language as ruthlessly
as he slaughtered his contemporaries.

Among the ciphers who composed the rest of the board, the Flemish
Councillor Hessels was the one whom the Duke most respected. He was not
without talent or learning, but the Duke only valued him for his cruelty.
Being allowed to take but little share in the deliberations, Hessels was
accustomed to doze away his afternoon hours at the council table, and
when awakened from his nap in order that he might express an opinion on
the case then before the court, was wont to rub his eyes and to call out
"Ad patibulum, ad patibulum," ("to the gallows with him, to the gallows
with him,") with great fervor, but in entire ignorance of the culprit's
name or the merits of the case. His wife, naturally disturbed that her
husband's waking and sleeping hours were alike absorbed with this
hangman's work, more than once ominously expressed her hope to him, that
he, whose head and heart were thus engrossed with the gibbet, might not
one day come to hang upon it himself; a gloomy prophecy which the Future
most terribly fulfilled.

The Council of Blood, thus constituted, held its first session on the
20th September, at the lodgings of Alva. Springing completely grown and
armed to the teeth from the head of its inventor, the new tribunal--at
the very outset in possession of all its vigor--forthwith began to
manifest a terrible activity in accomplishing the objects of its
existence. The councillors having been sworn to "eternal secrecy as to
any thing which should be transacted at the board, and having likewise
made oath to denounce any one of their number who should violate the
pledge," the court was considered as organized. Alva worked therein seven
hours daily. It may be believed that the subordinates were not spared,
and that their office proved no sinecure. Their labors, however, were not
encumbered by antiquated forms. As this supreme and only tribunal for all
the Netherlands had no commission or authority save the will of the
Captain-General, so it was also thought a matter of supererogation to
establish a set of rules and orders such as might be useful in less
independent courts. The forms of proceeding were brief and artless. There
was a rude organization by which a crowd of commissioners, acting as
inferior officers of the council, were spread over the provinces, whose
business was to collect information concerning all persons who might be
incriminated for participation in the recent troubles. The greatest
crime, however, was to be rich, and one which could be expiated by no
virtues, however signal. Alva was bent upon proving himself as
accomplished a financier as he was indisputably a consummate commander,
and he had promised his master an annual income of 500,000 ducats from
the confiscations which were to accompany the executions.

It was necessary that the blood torrent should flow at once through the
Netherlands, in order that the promised golden river, a yard deep,
according to his vaunt, should begin to irrigate the thirsty soil of
Spain. It is obvious, from the fundamental laws which were made to define
treason at the same moment in which they established the council, that
any man might be at any instant summoned to the court. Every man, whether
innocent or guilty, whether Papist or Protestant, felt his head shaking
on his shoulders. If he were wealthy, there seemed no remedy but flight,
which was now almost impossible, from the heavy penalties affixed by the
new edict upon all carriers, shipmasters, and wagoners, who should aid in
the escape of heretics.

A certain number of these commissioners were particularly instructed to
collect information as to the treason of Orange, Louis Nassau, Brederode,
Egmont, Horn, Culemberg, Vanden Berg, Bergen, and Montigny. Upon such
information the proceedings against those distinguished seigniors were to
be summarily instituted. Particular councillors of the Court of Blood
were charged with the arrangement of these important suits, but the
commissioners were to report in the first instance to the Duke himself,
who afterwards returned the paper into the hands of his subordinates.

With regard to the inferior and miscellaneous cases which were daily
brought in incredible profusion before the tribunal, the same
preliminaries were observed, by way of aping the proceedings in courts of
justice. Alva sent the cart-loads of information which were daily brought
to him, but which neither he nor any other man had time to read, to be
disposed of by the board of councillors. It was the duty of the different
subalterns, who, as already stated, had no right of voting, to prepare
reports upon the cases. Nothing could be more summary. Information was
lodged against a man, or against a hundred men, in one document. The Duke
sent the papers to the council, and the inferior councillors reported at
once to Vargas. If the report concluded with a recommendation of death to
the man, or the hundred men in question, Vargas instantly approved it,
and execution was done upon the man, or the hundred men, within
forty-eight hours. If the report had any other conclusion, it was
immediately sent back for revision, and the reporters were overwhelmed
with reproaches by the President.

Such being the method of operation, it may be supposed that the
councillors were not allowed to slacken in their terrible industry. The
register of every city, village, and hamlet throughout the Netherlands
showed the daily lists of men, women, and children thus sacrificed at the
shrine of the demon who had obtained the mastery over this unhappy land.
It was not often that an individual was of sufficient importance to be
tried--if trial it could be called--by himself. It was found more
expeditious to send them in batches to the furnace. Thus, for example, on
the 4th of January, eighty-four inhabitants of Valenciennes were
condemned; on another day, ninety-five miscellaneous individuals, from
different places in Flanders; on another, forty-six inhabitants of
Malines; on another, thirty-five persons from different localities, and
so on.

The evening of Shrovetide, a favorite holiday in the Netherlands,
afforded an occasion for arresting and carrying off a vast number of
doomed individuals at a single swoop. It was correctly supposed that the
burghers, filled with wine and wassail, to which perhaps the persecution
under which they lived lent an additional and horrible stimulus, might be
easily taken from their beds in great numbers, and be delivered over at
once to the council. The plot was ingenious, the net was spread
accordingly. Many of the doomed were, however, luckily warned of the
terrible termination which was impending over their festival, and
bestowed themselves in safety for a season. A prize of about five hundred
prisoners was all which rewarded the sagacity of the enterprise. It is
needless to add that they were all immediately executed. It is a
wearisome and odious task to ransack the mouldy records of three
centuries ago, in order to reproduce the obscure names of the thousands
who were thus sacrificed.. The dead have buried their dead, and are
forgotten. It is likewise hardly necessary to state that the proceedings
before the council were all 'ex parte', and that an information was
almost inevitably followed by a death-warrant. It sometimes happened even
that the zeal of the councillors outstripped the industry of the
commissioners. The sentences were occasionally in advance of the docket.
Thus upon one occasion a man's case was called for trial, but before the
investigation was commenced it was discovered that he had been already
executed. A cursory examination of the papers proved, moreover, as usual,
that the culprit had committed no crime. "No matter for that," said
Vargas, jocosely, "if he has died innocent, it will be all the better for
him when he takes his trial in the other world."

But, however the councillors might indulge in these gentle jests among
themselves, it was obvious that innocence was in reality impossible,
according to the rules which had been laid down regarding treason. The
practice was in accordance with the precept, and persons were daily
executed with senseless pretexts, which was worse than executions with no
pretexts at all. Thus Peter de Witt of Amsterdam was beheaded, because at
one of the tumults in that city he had persuaded a rioter not to fire
upon a magistrate. This was taken as sufficient proof that he was a man
in authority among the rebels, and he was accordingly put to death.
Madame Juriaen, who, in 1566, had struck with her slipper a little wooden
image of the Virgin, together with her maid-servant, who had witnessed
without denouncing the crime, were both drowned by the hangman in a
hogshead placed on the scaffold.

Death, even, did not in all cases place a criminal beyond the reach of
the executioner. Egbert Meynartzoon, a man of high official rank, had
been condemned, together with two colleagues, on an accusation of
collecting money in a Lutheran church. He died in prison of dropsy. The
sheriff was indignant with the physician, because, in spite of cordials
and strengthening prescriptions, the culprit had slipped through his
fingers before he had felt those of the hangman. He consoled himself by
placing the body on a chair, and having the dead man beheaded in company
with his colleagues.

Thus the whole country became a charnel-house; the deathbell tolled
hourly in every village; not a family but was called to mourn for its
dearest relatives, while the survivors stalked listlessly about, the
ghosts of their former selves, among the wrecks of their former homes.
The spirit of the nation, within a few months after the arrival of Alva,
seemed hopelessly broken. The blood of its best and bravest had already
stained the scaffold; the men to whom it bad been accustomed to look for
guidance and protection, were dead, in prison, or in exile. Submission
had ceased to be of any avail, flight was impossible, and the spirit of
vengeance had alighted at every fireside. The mourners went daily about
the streets, for there was hardly a house which had not been made
desolate. The scaffolds, the gallows, the funeral piles, which had been
sufficient in ordinary times, furnished now an entirely inadequate
machinery for the incessant executions. Columns and stakes in every
street, the door-posts of private houses, the fences in the fields were
laden with human carcasses, strangled, burned, beheaded. The orchards in
the country bore on many a tree the hideous fruit of human bodies.

Thus the Netherlands were crushed, and but for the stringency of the
tyranny which had now closed their gates, would have been depopulated.
The grass began to grow in the streets of those cities which had recently
nourished so many artisans. In all those great manufacturing and
industrial marts, where the tide of human life had throbbed so
vigorously, there now reigned the silence and the darkness of midnight.
It was at this time that the learned Viglius wrote to his friend Hopper,
that all venerated the prudence and gentleness of the Duke of Alva. Such
were among the first-fruits of that prudence and that gentleness.

The Duchess of Parma had been kept in a continued state of irritation.
She had not ceased for many months to demand her release from the odious
position of a cipher in a land where she had so lately been sovereign,
and she had at last obtained it. Philip transmitted his acceptance of her
resignation by the same courier who brought Alva's commission to be
governor-general in her place. The letters to the Duchess were full of
conventional compliments for her past services, accompanied, however,
with a less barren and more acceptable acknowledgment, in the shape of a
life income of 14,000 ducats instead of the 8000 hitherto enjoyed by her
Highness.

In addition to this liberal allowance, of which she was never to be
deprived, except upon receiving full payment of 140,000 ducats, she was
presented with 25,000 florins by the estates of Brabant, and with 30,000
by those of Flanders.

With these substantial tokens of the success of her nine years' fatigue
and intolerable anxiety, she at last took her departure from the
Netherlands, having communicated the dissolution of her connexion with
the provinces by a farewell letter to the Estates dated 9th December,
1567. Within a few weeks afterwards, escorted by the Duke of Alva across
the frontier of Brabant; attended by a considerable deputation of Flemish
nobility into Germany, and accompanied to her journey's end at Parma by
the Count and Countess of Mansfeld, she finally closed her eventful
career in the Netherlands.

The horrors of the succeeding administration proved beneficial to her
reputation. Upon the dark ground of succeeding years the lines which
recorded her history seemed written with letters of light. Yet her
conduct in the Netherlands offers but few points for approbation, and
many for indignant censure. That she was not entirely destitute of
feminine softness and sentiments of bounty, her parting despatch to her
brother proved. In that letter she recommended to him a course of
clemency and forgiveness, and reminded him that the nearer kings approach
to God in station, the more they should endeavor to imitate him in his
attributes of benignity. But the language of this farewell was more
tender than had been the spirit of her government. One looks in vain,
too, through the general atmosphere of kindness which pervades the
epistle; for a special recommendation of those distinguished and doomed
seigniors, whose attachment to her person and whose chivalrous and
conscientious endeavors to fulfil her own orders, had placed them upon
the edge of that precipice from which they were shortly to be hurled. The
men who had restrained her from covering herself with disgrace by a
precipitate retreat from the post of danger, and who had imperilled their
lives by obedience to her express instructions, had been long languishing
in solitary confinement, never to be terminated except by a traitor's
death--yet we search in vain for a kind word in their behalf.

Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out. The hollow truce
by which the Guise party and the Huguenots had partly pretended to
deceive each other was hastened to its end; among other causes, by the
march of Alva, to the Netherlands. The Huguenots had taken alarm, for
they recognized the fellowship which united their foes in all countries
against the Reformation, and Conde and Coligny knew too well that the
same influence which had brought Alva to Brussels would soon create an
exterminating army against their followers. Hostilities were resumed with
more bitterness than ever. The battle of St. Denis--fierce, fatal, but
indecisive--was fought. The octogenarian hero, Montmorency, fighting like
a foot soldier, refusing to yield his sword, and replying to the
respectful solicitations of his nearest enemy by dashing his teeth down
his throat with the butt-end of his pistol, the hero of so many battles,
whose defeat at St. Quintin had been the fatal point in his career, had
died at last in his armor, bravely but not gloriously, in conflict with
his own countrymen, led by his own heroic nephew. The military control of
the Catholic party was completely in the hand of the Guises; the
Chancellor de l'Hopital had abandoned the court after a last and futile
effort to reconcile contending factions, which no human power could
unite; the Huguenots had possessed themselves of Rochelle and of other
strong places, and, under the guidance of adroit statesmen and
accomplished generals, were pressing the Most Christian monarch hard in
the very heart of his kingdom.

As early as the middle of October, while still in Antwerp, Alva had
received several secret agents of the French monarch, then closely
beleaguered in his capital. Cardinal Lorraine offered to place several
strong places of France in the hands of the Spaniard, and Alva had
written to Philip that he was disposed to accept the offer, and to render
the service. The places thus held would be a guarantee for his expenses,
he said, while in case King Charles and his brother should die, "their
possession would enable Philip to assert his own claim to the French
crown in right of his wife, the Salic law being merely a pleasantry."

The Queen Dowager, adopting now a very different tone from that which
characterized her conversation at the Bayonne interview, wrote to Alva,
that, if for want of 2000 Spanish musketeers, which she requested him to
furnish, she should be obliged to succumb, she chose to disculpate
herself in advance before God and Christian princes for the peace which
she should be obliged to make. The Duke wrote to her in reply, that it
was much better to have a kingdom ruined in preserving it for God and the
king by war, than to have it kept entire without war, to the profit of
the devil and of his followers. He was also reported on another occasion
to have reminded her of the Spanish proverb--that the head of one salmon
is worth those of a hundred frogs. The hint, if it were really given, was
certainly destined to be acted upon.

The Duke not only furnished Catherine with advice, but with the
musketeers which she had solicited. Two thousand foot and fifteen hundred
horse, under the Count of Aremberg, attended by a choice band of the
Catholic nobility of the Netherlands, had joined the royal camp at Paris
before the end of the year, to take their part in the brief hostilities
by which the second treacherous peace was to be preceded.

Meantime, Alva was not unmindful of the business which had served as a
pretext in the arrest of the two Counts. The fortifications of the
principal cities were pushed on with great rapidity. The memorable
citadel of Antwerp in particular had already been commenced in October
under the superintendence of the celebrated engineers, Pacheco and
Gabriel de Cerbelloni. In a few months it was completed, at a cost of one
million four hundred thousand florins, of which sum the citizens, in
spite of their remonstrances, were compelled to contribute more than one
quarter. The sum of four hundred thousand florins was forced from the
burghers by a tax upon all hereditary property within the municipality.

Two thousand workmen were employed daily in the construction of this
important fortress, which was erected, as its position most plainly
manifested, not to protect, but to control the commercial capital of the
provinces. It stood at the edge of the city, only separated from its
walls by an open esplanade. It was the most perfect pentagon in Europe,
having one of its sides resting on the Scheld, two turned towards the
city, and two towards the open country. Five bastions, with walls of
hammered stone, connected by curtains of turf and masonry, surrounded by
walls measuring a league in circumference, and by an outer moat fed by
the Scheld, enclosed a spacious enceinte, where a little church with many
small lodging-houses, shaded by trees and shrubbery, nestled among the
bristling artillery, as if to mimic the appearance of a peaceful and
pastoral village. To four of the five bastions, the Captain-General, with
characteristic ostentation, gave his own names and titles. One was called
the Duke, the second Ferdinando, a third Toledo, a fourth Alva, while the
fifth was baptized with the name of the ill-fated engineer, Pacheco. The
Watergate was decorated with the escutcheon of Alva, surrounded by his
Golden Fleece collar, with its pendant lamb of God; a symbol of
blasphemous irony, which still remains upon the fortress, to recal the
image of the tyrant and murderer. Each bastion was honeycombed with
casemates and subterranean storehouses, and capable of containing within
its bowels a vast supply of provisions, munitions, and soldiers. Such was
the celebrated citadel built to tame the turbulent spirit of Antwerp, at
the cost of those whom it was to terrify and to insult.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Conde and Coligny
     Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
     He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
     Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
     Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
     Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
     The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
     Time and myself are two




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 15.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1568 [CHAPTER II.]

   Orange, Count Louis, Hoogstraaten, and others, cited before the
   Blood-Council--Charges against them--Letter of Orange in reply--
   Position and sentiments of the Prince--Seizure of Count de Buren--
   Details of that transaction--Petitions to the Council from Louvain
   and other places--Sentence of death against the whole population of
   the Netherlands pronounced by the Spanish Inquisition and proclaimed
   by Philip--Cruel inventions against heretics--The Wild Beggars--
   Preliminary proceedings of the Council against Egmont and Horn--
   Interrogatories addressed to them in prison--Articles of accusation
   against them--Foreclosure of the cases--Pleas to the jurisdiction--
   Efforts by the Countesses Egmont and Horn, by many Knights of the
   Fleece, and by the Emperor, in favor of the prisoners--Answers of
   Alva and of Philip--Obsequious behavior of Viglius--Difficulties
   arising from the Golden Fleece statutes set aside--Particulars of
   the charges against Count Horn and of his defence--Articles of
   accusation against Egmont--Sketch of his reply--Reflections upon the
   two trials--Attitude of Orange--His published 'Justification'--His
   secret combinations--His commission to Count Louis--Large sums of
   money subscribed by the Nassau family, by Netherland refugees, and
   others--Great personal sacrifices made by the Prince--Quadruple
   scheme for invading the Netherlands--Defeat of the patriots under
   Cocqueville--Defeat of Millers--Invasion of Friesland by Count
   Louis--Measures of Alva to oppose him--Command of the royalists
   entreated to Aremberg and Meghem--The Duke's plan for the campaign--
   Skirmish at Dam--Detention of Meghem--Count Louis at Heiliger--Lee--
   Nature of the ground--Advance of Aremberg--Disposition of the
   patriot forces--Impatience of the Spanish troops to engage--Battle
   of Heiliger-Lee--Defeat and death of Aremberg--Death of Adolphus
   Nassau--Effects of the battle--Anger and severe measures of Alva--
   Eighteen nobles executed at Brussels--Sentence of death pronounced
   upon Egmont and Horn--The Bishop of Ypres sent to Egmont--Fruitless
   intercession by the prelate and the Countess--Egmont's last night in
   prison--The "grande place" at Brussels--Details concerning the
   execution of Egmont and Horn--Observation upon the characters of the
   two nobles--Destitute condition of Egmont's family.

Late in October, the Duke of Alva made his triumphant entry into the new
fortress. During his absence, which was to continue during the remainder
of the year, he had ordered the Secretary Courteville and the Councillor
del Rio to superintend the commission, which was then actually engaged in
collecting materials for the prosecutions to be instituted against the
Prince of Orange and the other nobles who had abandoned the country.
Accordingly, soon after his return, on the 19th of January, 1568, the
Prince, his brother Louis of Nassau, his brother-in-law, Count Van den
Berg, the Count Hoogstraaten, the Count Culemburg, and the Baron
Montigny, were summoned in the name of Alva to appear before the
Blood-Council, within thrice fourteen days from the date of the
proclamation, under pain of perpetual banishment with confiscation of
their estates. It is needless to say that these seigniors did not obey
the summons. They knew full well that their obedience would be rewarded
only by death.

The charges against the Prince of Orange, which were drawn up in ten
articles, stated, chiefly and briefly, that he had been, and was, the
head and front of the rebellion; that as soon as his Majesty had left the
Netherlands, he had begun his machinations to make himself master of the
country and to expel his sovereign by force, if he should attempt to
return to the provinces; that he had seduced his Majesty's subjects by
false pretences that the Spanish inquisition was about to be introduced;
that he had been the secret encourager and director of Brederode and the
confederated nobles; and that when sent to Antwerp, in the name of the
Regent, to put down the rebellion, he had encouraged heresy and accorded
freedom of religion to the Reformers.

The articles against Hoogstraaten and the other gentlemen mere of similar
tenor. It certainly was not a slender proof of the calm effrontery of the
government thus to see Alva's proclamation charging it as a crime upon
Orange that he had inveigled the lieges into revolt by a false assertion
that the inquisition was about to be established, when letters from the
Duke to Philip, and from Granvelle to Philip, dated upon nearly the same
day, advised the immediate restoration of the inquisition as soon as an
adequate number of executions had paved the way for the measure. It was
also a sufficient indication of a reckless despotism, that while the
Duchess, who had made the memorable Accord with the Religionists,
received a flattering letter of thanks and a farewell pension of fourteen
thousand ducats yearly, those who, by her orders, had acted upon that
treaty as the basis of their negotiations, were summoned to lay down
their heads upon the block.

The Prince replied to this summons by a brief and somewhat contemptuous
plea to the jurisdiction. As a Knight of the Fleece, as a member of the
Germanic Empire, as a sovereign prince in France, as a citizen of the
Netherlands, he rejected the authority of Alva and of his
self-constituted tribunal. His innocence he was willing to establish
before competent courts and righteous judges. As a Knight of the Fleece,
he said he could be tried only by his peers, the brethren of the Order,
and, for that purpose, he could be summoned only by the King as Head of
the Chapter, with the sanction of at least six of his fellow-knights. In
conclusion, he offered to appear before his Imperial Majesty, the
Electors, and other members of the Empire, or before the Knights of the
Golden Fleece. In the latter case, he claimed the right, under the
statutes of that order, to be placed while the trial was pending, not in
a solitary prison, as had been the fate of Egmont and of Horn, but under
the friendly charge and protection of the brethren themselves. The letter
was addressed to the procurator-general, and a duplicate was forwarded to
the Duke.

From the general tenor of the document, it is obvious both that the
Prince was not yet ready to throw down the gauntlet to his sovereign, nor
to proclaim his adhesion to the new religion: Of departing from the
Netherlands in the spring, he had said openly that he was still in
possession of sixty thousand florins yearly, and that he should commence
no hostilities against Philip, so long as he did not disturb him in his
honor or his estates. Far-seeing politician, if man ever were, he knew
the course whither matters were inevitably tending, but he knew how much
strength was derived from putting an adversary irretrievably in the
wrong. He still maintained an attitude of dignified respect towards the
monarch, while he hurled back with defiance the insolent summons of the
viceroy. Moreover, the period had not yet arrived for him to break
publicly with the ancient faith. Statesman, rather than religionist, at
this epoch, he was not disposed to affect a more complete conversion than
the one which he had experienced. He was, in truth, not for a new
doctrine, but for liberty of conscience. His mind was already expanding
beyond any dogmas of the age. The man whom his enemies stigmatized as
atheist and renegade, was really in favor of toleration, and therefore,
the more deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties.

Events, personal to himself, were rapidly to place him in a position from
which he might enter the combat with honor.

His character had already been attacked, his property threatened with
confiscation. His closest ties of family were now to be severed by the
hand of the tyrant. His eldest child, the Count de Buren, torn from his
protection, was to be carried into indefinite captivity in a foreign
land. It was a remarkable oversight, for a person of his sagacity, that,
upon his own departure from the provinces, he should leave his son, then
a boy of thirteen years, to pursue his studies at the college of Louvain.
Thus exposed to the power of the government, he was soon seized as a
hostage for the good behavior of the father. Granvelle appears to have
been the first to recommend the step in a secret letter to Philip, but
Alva scarcely needed prompting. Accordingly, upon the 13th of February,
1568, the Duke sent the Seignior de Chassy to Louvain, attended by four
officers and by twelve archers. He was furnished with a letter to the
Count de Buren, in which that young nobleman was requested to place
implicit confidence in the bearer of the despatch, and was informed that
the desire which his Majesty had to see him educated for his service, was
the cause of the communication which the Seignior de Chassy was about to
make.

That gentleman was, moreover, minutely instructed as to his method of
proceeding in this memorable case of kidnapping. He was to present the
letter to the young Count in presence of his tutor. He was to invite him
to Spain in the name of his Majesty. He was to assure him that his
Majesty's commands were solely with a view, to his own good, and that he
was not commissioned to arrest, but only to escort him. He was to allow
the Count to be accompanied only by two valets, two pages, a cook, and a
keeper of accounts. He was, however, to induce his tutor to accompany
him, at least to the Spanish frontier. He was to arrange that the second
day after his arrival at Louvain, the Count should set out for Antwerp,
where he was to lodge with Count Lodron, after which they were to proceed
to Flushing, whence they were to embark for Spain. At that city he was to
deliver the young Prince to the person whom he would find there,
commissioned for that purpose by the Duke. As soon as he had made the
first proposition at Louvain to the Count, he was, with the assistance of
his retinue, to keep the most strict watch over him day and night, but
without allowing the supervision to be perceived.

The plan was carried out admirably, and in strict accordance with the
program. It was fortunate, however, for the kidnappers, that the young
Prince proved favorably disposed to the plan. He accepted the invitation
of his captors with alacrity. He even wrote to thank the governor for his
friendly offices in his behalf. He received with boyish gratification the
festivities with which Lodron enlivened his brief sojourn at Antwerp, and
he set forth without reluctance for that gloomy and terrible land of
Spain, whence so rarely a Flemish traveller had returned. A changeling,
as it were, from his cradle, he seemed completely transformed by his
Spanish tuition, for he was educated and not sacrificed by Philip. When
he returned to the Netherlands, after a twenty years' residence in Spain,
it was difficult to detect in his gloomy brow, saturnine character, and
Jesuistical habits, a trace of the generous spirit which characterized
that race of heroes, the house of Orange-Nassau.

Philip had expressed some anxiety as to the consequences of this capture
upon the governments of Germany. Alva, however, re-assured his sovereign
upon that point, by reason of the extreme docility of the captive, and
the quiet manner in which the arrest had been conducted. At that
particular juncture, moreover, it would, have been difficult for the
government of the Netherlands to excite surprise any where, except by an
act of clemency. The president and the deputation of professors from the
university of Louvain waited upon Vargas, by whom, as acting president of
the Blood-Council, the arrest had nominally been made, with a
remonstrance that the measure was in gross violation of their statutes
and privileges. That personage, however, with his usual contempt both for
law and Latin, answered brutally, "Non curamus vestros privilegios," and
with this memorable answer, abruptly closed his interview with the
trembling pedants.

Petitions now poured into the council from all quarters, abject
recantations from terror-stricken municipalities, humble intercessions in
behalf of doomed and imprisoned victims. To a deputation of the
magistracy of Antwerp, who came with a prayer for mercy in behalf of some
of their most distinguished fellow-citizens, then in prison, the Duke
gave a most passionate and ferocious reply. He expressed his wonder that
the citizens of Antwerp, that hotbed of treason, should dare to approach
him in behalf of traitors and heretics. Let them look to it in future, he
continued, or he would hang every man in the whole city, to set an
example to the rest of the country; for his Majesty would rather the
whole land should become an uninhabited wilderness, than that a single
Dissenter should exist within its territory.

Events now marched with rapidity. The monarch seemed disposed literally
to execute the threat of his viceroy. Early in the year, the most sublime
sentence of death was promulgated which has ever been pronounced since
the creation of the world. The Roman tyrant wished that his enemies'
heads were all upon a single neck, that he might strike them off at a
blow; the inquisition assisted Philip to place the heads of all his
Netherland subjects upon a single neck for the same fell purpose. Upon
the 16th February, 1568, a sentence of the Holy Office condemned all the
inhabitants of the Netherlands to death as heretics. From this universal
doom only a few persons, especially named; were excepted. A proclamation
of the King, dated ten days later, confirmed this decree of the
inquisition, and ordered it to be carried into instant execution, without
regard to age, sex, or condition. This is probably the most concise
death-warrant that was ever framed. Three millions of people, men, women,
and children, were sentenced to the scaffold in: three lines; and, as it
was well known that these were not harmless thunders, like some bulls of
the Vatican, but serious and practical measures, which it was intended
should be enforced, the horror which they produced may be easily
imagined. It was hardly the purpose of Government to compel the absolute
completion of the wholesale plan in all its length and breadth, yet in
the horrible times upon which they had fallen, the Netherlanders might be
excused for believing that no measure was too monstrous to be fulfilled.
At any rate, it was certain that when all were condemned, any might at a
moment's warning be carried to the scaffold, and this was precisely the
course adopted by the authorities.

Under this universal decree the industry of the Blood-Council might, now
seem superfluous. Why should not these mock prosecutions be dispensed
with against individuals, now that a common sentence had swallowed the
whole population in one vast grave? Yet it may be supposed that if the
exertions of the commissioners and councillors served no other purpose,
they at least furnished the Government with valuable evidence as to the
relative wealth and other circumstances of the individual victims. The
leading thought of the Government being that persecution, judiciously
managed, might fructify into a golden harvest,--it was still desirable to
persevere in the cause in which already such bloody progress had been
made.

And under this new decree, the executions certainly did not slacken. Men
in the highest and the humblest positions were daily and hourly dragged
to the stake. Alva, in a single letter to Philip, coolly estimated the
number of executions which were to take place immediately after the
expiration of holy week, "at eight hundred heads." Many a citizen,
convicted of a hundred thousand florins and of no other crime, saw
himself suddenly tied to a horse's tail, with his hands fastened behind
him, and so dragged to the gallows. But although wealth was an
unpardonable sin, poverty proved rarely a protection. Reasons sufficient
could always be found for dooming the starveling laborer as well as the
opulent burgher. To avoid the disturbances created in the streets by the
frequent harangues or exhortations addressed to the bystanders by the
victims on their way to the scaffold, a new gag was invented. The tongue
of each prisoner was screwed into an iron ring, and then seared with a
hot iron. The swelling and inflammation which were the immediate result,
prevented the tongue from slipping through the ring, and of course
effectually precluded all possibility of speech.

Although the minds of men were not yet prepared for concentrated revolt
against the tyranny under which they were languishing, it was not
possible to suppress all sentiments of humanity, and to tread out every
spark of natural indignation.

Unfortunately, in the bewilderment and misery of this people, the first
development of a forcible and organized resistance was of a depraved and
malignant character. Extensive bands of marauders and highway robbers
sprang into existence, who called themselves the Wild Beggars, and who,
wearing the mask and the symbols of a revolutionary faction, committed
great excesses in many parts of the country, robbing, plundering, and
murdering. Their principal wrath was exercised against religious houses
and persons. Many monasteries were robbed, many clerical persons maimed
and maltreated. It became a habit to deprive priests of their noses or
ears, and to tie them to the tails of horses. This was the work of
ruffian gangs, whose very existence was engendered out of the social and
moral putrescence to which the country was reduced, and who were willing
to profit by the deep and universal hatred which was felt against
Catholics and monks. An edict thundered forth by Alva, authorizing and
commanding all persons to slay the wild beggars at sight, without trial
or hangman, was of comparatively slight avail. An armed force of veterans
actively scouring the country was more successful, and the freebooters
were, for a time, suppressed.

Meantime the Counts Egmont and Horn had been kept in rigorous confinement
at Ghent. Not a warrant had been read or drawn up for their arrest. Not a
single preliminary investigation, not the shadow of an information had
preceded the long imprisonment of two men so elevated in rank, so
distinguished in the public service. After the expiration of two months,
however, the Duke condescended to commence a mock process against them.
The councillors appointed to this work were Vargas and Del Rio, assisted
by Secretary Praets. These persons visited the Admiral on the 10th, 11th,
12th and 17th of November, and Count Egmont on the 12th, 13th, 14th, and
16th, of the same month; requiring them to respond to a long, confused,
and rambling collection of interrogatories. They were obliged to render
these replies in prison, unassisted by any advocates, on penalty of being
condemned 'in contumaciam'. The questions, awkwardly drawn up as they
seemed, were yet tortuously and cunningly arranged with a view of
entrapping the prisoners into self-contradiction. After this work had
been completed, all the papers by which they intended to justify their
answers were taken away from them. Previously, too, their houses and
those of their secretaries, Bakkerzeel and Alonzo de la Loo, had been
thoroughly ransacked, and every letter and document which could be found
placed in the hands of government. Bakkerzeel, moreover, as already
stated, had been repeatedly placed upon the rack, for the purpose of
extorting confessions which might implicate his master. These
preliminaries and precautionary steps having been taken, the Counts had
again been left to their solitude for two months longer. On the 10th
January, each was furnished with a copy of the declarations or
accusations filed against him by the procurator-general. To these
documents, drawn up respectively in sixty-three, and in ninety articles,
they were required, within five days' time, without the assistance of an
advocate, and without consultation with any human being, to deliver a
written answer, on pain, as before, of being proceeded against and
condemned by default.

This order was obeyed within nearly the prescribed period and here, it
may be said, their own participation in their trial ceased; while the
rest of the proceedings were buried in the deep bosom of the
Blood-Council. After their answers had been delivered, and not till then,
the prisoners were, by an additional mockery, permitted to employ
advocates. These advocates, however, were allowed only occasional
interviews with their clients, and always in the presence of certain
persons, especially deputed for that purpose by the Duke. They were also
allowed commissioners to collect evidence and take depositions, but
before the witnesses were ready, a purposely premature day, 8th of May,
was fixed upon for declaring the case closed, and not a single tittle of
their evidence, personal or documentary, was admitted.--Their advocates
petitioned for an exhibition of the evidence prepared by government, and
were refused. Thus, they were forbidden to use the testimony in their
favor, while that which was to be employed against them was kept secret.
Finally, the proceedings were formally concluded on the 1st of June, and
the papers laid before the Duke. The mass of matter relating to these two
monster processes was declared, three days afterwards to have been
examined--a physical impossibility in itself--and judgment was pronounced
upon the 4th of June. This issue was precipitated by the campaign of
Louis Nassau in Friesland, forming a aeries of important events which it
will be soon our duty to describe. It is previously necessary, however,
to add a few words in elucidation of the two mock trials which have been
thus briefly sketched.

The proceeding had been carried on, from first to last, under protest by
the prisoners, under a threat of contumacy on the part of the government.
Apart from the totally irresponsible and illegal character of the
tribunal before which they were summoned--the Blood-Council being a
private institution of Alva's without pretext or commission--these nobles
acknowledged the jurisdiction of but three courts. As Knights of the
Golden Fleece, both claimed the privilege of that Order to be tried by
its statutes. As a citizen and noble of Brabant, Egmont claimed the
protection of the "Joyeuse Entree," a constitution which had been sworn
to by Philip and his ancestors, and by Philip more amply, than by all his
ancestors. As a member and Count of the Holy Roman Empire, the Admiral
claimed to be tried by his peers, the electors and princes of the realm.

The Countess Egmont, since her husband's arrest, and the confiscation of
his estates before judgment, had been reduced to a life of poverty as
well as agony. With her eleven children, all of tender age, she had taken
refuge in a convent. Frantic with despair, more utterly desolate, and
more deeply wronged than high-born lady had often been before, she left
no stone unturned to save her husband from his fate, or at least to
obtain for him an impartial and competent tribunal. She addressed the
Duke of Alva, the King, the Emperor, her brother the Elector Palatine,
and many leading Knights of the Fleece. The Countess Dowager of Horn,
both whose sons now lay in the jaws of death, occupied herself also with
the most moving appeals to the same high personages. No pains were spared
to make the triple plea to the jurisdiction valid. The leading Knights of
the Fleece, Mansfeld, whose loyalty was unquestioned, and Hoogstraaten,
although himself an outlaw; called upon the King of Spain to protect the
statutes of the illustrious order of which he was the chief. The estates
of Brabant, upon the petition of Sabina, Countess Egmont, that they would
take to heart the privileges of the province, so that her husband might
enjoy that protection of which the meanest citizen in the land could not
be justly deprived, addressed a feeble and trembling protest to Alva, and
enclosed to him the lady's petition. The Emperor, on behalf of Count
Horn, wrote personally to Philip, to claim for him a trial before the
members of the realm.

It was all in vain. The conduct of Philip and his Viceroy coincided in
spirit with the honest brutality of Vargas. "Non curamus vestros
privilegios," summed up the whole of the proceedings. Non curamus vestros
privilegios had been the unanswerable reply to every constitutional
argument which had been made against tyranny since Philip mounted his
father's throne. It was now the only response deemed necessary to the
crowd of petitions in favor of the Counts, whether they proceeded from
sources humble or august. Personally, the King remained silent as the
grave. In writing to the Duke of Alva, he observed that "the Emperor, the
Dukes of Bavaria and Lorraine, the Duchess and the Duchess-dowager, had
written to him many times, and in the most pressing manner, in favor of
the Counts Horn and Egmont." He added, that he had made no reply to them,
nor to other Knights of the Fleece who had implored him to respect the
statutes of the order, and he begged Alva "to hasten the process as fast
as possible." To an earnest autograph letter, in which the Emperor, on
the 2nd of March, 1568, made a last effort to save the illustrious
prisoners, he replied, that "the whole world would at last approve his
conduct, but that, at any rate, he would not act differently, even if he
should risk the loss of the provinces, and if the sky should fall on his
head."

But little heed was paid to the remonstrances in behalf of the imperial
Courts, or the privileges of Brabant. These were but cobweb impediments
which, indeed, had long been brushed away. President Viglius was even
pathetic on the subject of Madame Egmont's petition to the council of
Brabant. It was so bitter, he said, that the Duke was slightly annoyed,
and took it ill that the royal servants in that council should have his
Majesty's interests so little at heart. It seemed indecent in the eyes of
the excellent Frisian, that a wife pleading for her husband, a mother for
her, eleven children, so soon to be fatherless, should indulge in strong
language!

The statutes of the Fleece were obstacles somewhat more serious. As,
however, Alva had come to the Netherlands pledged to accomplish the
destruction of these two nobles, as soon as he should lay his hands upon
them, it was only a question of form, and even that question was, after a
little reflection, unceremoniously put aside.

To the petitions in behalf of the two Counts, therefore, that they should
be placed in the friendly keeping of the Order, and be tried by its
statutes, the Duke replied, peremptorily, that he had undertaken the
cognizance of this affair by commission of his Majesty, as sovereign of
the land, not as head of the Golden Fleece, that he should carry it
through as it had been commenced, and that the Counts should discontinue
presentations of petitions upon this point.

In the embarrassment created by the stringent language of these statutes,
Doctor Viglius found an opportunity to make himself very useful. Alva had
been turning over the laws and regulations of the Order, but could find
no loophole. The President, however, came to his rescue, and announced it
as his legal opinion that the Governor need concern himself no further on
the subject, and that the code of the Fleece offered no legal impediment
to the process. Alva immediately wrote to communicate this opinion to
Philip, adding, with great satisfaction, that he should immediately make
it known to the brethren of the Order, a step which was the more
necessary because Egmont's advocate had been making great trouble with
these privileges, and had been protesting at every step of the
proceedings. In what manner the learned President argued these
troublesome statutes out of the way, has nowhere appeared; but he
completely reinstated himself in favor, and the King wrote to thank him
for his legal exertions.

It was now boldly declared that the statutes of the Fleece did not extend
to such crimes as those with which the prisoner were charged. Alva,
moreover, received an especial patent, ante-dated eight or nine months,
by which Philip empowered him to proceed against all persons implicated
in the troubles, and particularly against Knights of the Golden Fleece.

It is superfluous to observe that these were merely the arbitrary acts of
a despot. It is hardly necessary to criticise such proceedings. The
execution of the nobles had been settled before Alva left Spain. As they
were inhabitants of a constitutional country, it was necessary to stride
over the constitution. As they were Knights of the Fleece, it was
necessary to set aside the statutes of the Order. The Netherland
constitutions seemed so entirely annihilated already, that they could
hardly be considered obstacles; but the Order of the Fleece was an august
little republic of which Philip was the hereditary chief, of which
emperors, kings, and great seigniors were the citizens. Tyranny might be
embarrassed by such subtle and golden filaments as these, even while it
crashed through municipal charters as if they had been reeds and
bulrushes. Nevertheless, the King's course was taken. Although the
thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth chapters of the Order expressly
provided for the trial and punishment of brethren who had been guilty of
rebellion, heresy, or treason; and although the eleventh chapter;
perpetual and immutable, of additions to that constitution by the Emperor
Charles, conferred on the Order exclusive jurisdiction over all crimes
whatever committed by the knights, yet it was coolly proclaimed by Alva,
that the crimes for which the Admiral and Egmont had been arrested, were
beyond the powers of the tribunal.

So much for the plea to the jurisdiction. It is hardly worth while to
look any further into proceedings which were initiated and brought to a
conclusion in the manner already narrated. Nevertheless, as they were
called a process, a single glance at the interior of that mass of
documents can hardly be superfluous.

The declaration against Count Horn; upon which, supported by invisible
witnesses, he was condemned, was in the nature of a narrative. It
consisted in a rehearsal of circumstances, some true and some fictitious,
with five inferences. These five inferences amounted to five crimes--high
treason, rebellion, conspiracy, misprision of treason, and breach of
trust. The proof of these crimes was evolved, in a dim and misty manner,
out of a purposely confused recital. No events, however, were
recapitulated which have not been described in the course of this
history. Setting out with a general statement, that the Admiral, the
Prince of Orange, Count Egmont, and other lords had organized a plot to
expel his Majesty from the Netherlands, and to divide the provinces among
themselves; the declaration afterwards proceeded to particulars. Ten of
its sixty-three articles were occupied with the Cardinal Granvelle, who,
by an absurd affectation, was never directly named, but called "a certain
personage--a principal personage--a grand personage, of his Majesty's
state council." None of the offences committed against him were
forgotten: the 11th of March letter, the fool's-cap, the livery, were
reproduced in the most violent colors, and the cabal against the minister
was quietly assumed to constitute treason against the monarch.

The Admiral, it was further charged, had advised and consented to the
fusion of the finance and privy councils with that of state, a measure
which was clearly treasonable. He had, moreover, held interviews with the
Prince of Orange, with Egmont, and other nobles, at Breda and at
Hoogstraaten, at which meetings the confederacy and the petition had been
engendered. That petition had been the cause of all the evils which had
swept the land. "It had scandalously injured the King, by affirming that
the inquisition was a tyranny to humanity, which was an infamous and
unworthy proposition." The confederacy, with his knowledge and
countenance, had enrolled 30,000 men. He had done nothing, any more than
Orange or Egmont, to prevent the presentation of the petition. In the
consultation at the state-council which ensued, both he and the Prince
were for leaving Brussels at once, while Count Egmont expressed an
intention of going to Aix to drink the waters. Yet Count Egmont's
appearance (proceeded this indictment against another individual)
exhibited not a single sign of sickness. The Admiral had, moreover, drank
the toast of "Vivent leg gueux" on various occasions, at the Culemberg
House banquet, at the private table of the Prince of Orange, at a supper
at the monastery of Saint Bernard's, at a dinner given by Burgomaster
Straalen. He had sanctioned the treaties with the rebels at Duffel, by
which he had clearly rendered himself guilty of high treason. He had held
an interview with Orange, Egmont, and Hoogstraaten, at Denremonde, for
the treasonable purpose of arranging a levy of troops to prevent his
Majesty's entrance into the Netherlands. He had refused to come to
Brussels at the request of the Duchess of Parma, when the rebels were
about to present the petition. He had written to his secretary that he
was thenceforth resolved to serve neither King nor Kaiser. He had
received from one Taffin, with marks of approbation, a paper, stating
that the assembling of the states-general was the only remedy for the
troubles in the land. He had, repeatedly affirmed that the inquisition
and edicts ought to be repealed.

On his arrival at Tournay in August, 1566, the people had cried "Vivent
les gueux;" a proof that he liked the cry. All his transactions at
Tournay, from first to last, had been criminal. He had tolerated Reformed
preaching, he had forbidden Catholics and Protestants to molest each
other, he had omitted to execute heretics, he had allowed the
religionists to erect an edifice for public worship outside the walls. He
had said, at the house of Prince Espinoy, that if the King should come
into the provinces with force, he would oppose him with 15,000 troops. He
had said, if his brother Montigny should be detained in Spain, he would
march to his rescue at the head of 50,000 men whom he had at his command.
He had on various occasions declared that "men should live according to
their consciences"--as if divine and human laws were dead, and men, like
wild beasts, were to follow all their lusts and desires. Lastly, he had
encouraged the rebellion in Valenciennes.

Of all these crimes and misdeeds the procurator declared himself
sufficiently informed, and the aforesaid defendant entirely, commonly,
and publicly defamed.

Wherefore, that officer terminated his declaration by claiming "that the
cause should be concluded summarily, and without figure or form of
process; and that therefore, by his Excellency or his sub-delegated
judges, the aforesaid defendant should be declared to have in diverse
ways committed high treason, should be degraded from his dignities, and
should be condemned to death, with confiscation of all his estates."

The Admiral, thus peremptorily summoned, within five days, without
assistance, without documents, and from the walls of a prison, to answer
to these charges, 'solos ex vinculis causam dicere', undertook his task
with the boldness of innocence. He protested, of course, to the
jurisdiction, and complained of the want of an advocate, not in order to
excuse any weakness in his defence, but only any inelegance in his
statement. He then proceeded flatly to deny some of the facts, to admit
others, and to repel the whole treasonable inference. His answer in all
essential respects was triumphant. Supported by the evidence which, alas
was not collected and published till after his death, it was impregnable.

He denied that he had ever plotted against his King, to whom he had ever
been attached, but admitted that he had desired the removal of Granvelle,
to whom he had always been hostile. He had, however, been an open and
avowed enemy to the Cardinal, and had been engaged in no secret
conspiracy against his character or against his life. He denied that the
livery (for which, however, he was not responsible) had been intended to
ridicule the Cardinal, but asserted that it was intended to afford an
example of economy to an extravagant nobility. He had met Orange and
Egmont at Breda and Hoogstraaten, and had been glad to do so, for he had
been long separated from them. These interviews, however, had been
social, not political, for good cheer and merry-making, not for
conspiracy and treason. He had never had any connection with the
confederacy; he had neither advised nor protected the petition, but, on
the contrary, after hearing of the contemplated movement, had written to
give notice thereof to the Duchess. He was in no manner allied, with
Brederode, but, on the contrary, for various reasons, was not upon
friendly terms with him. He had not entered his house since his return
from Spain. He had not been a party to the dinner at Culemburg House.
Upon that day he had dined with the Prince of Orange, with whom he was
lodging and, after dinner, they had both gone together to visit Mansfeld,
who was confined with an inflamed eye. There they had met Egmont, and the
three had proceeded together to Culemburg House in order to bring away
Hoogstraaten, whom the confederates had compelled to dine with them; and
also to warn the nobles not to commit themselves by extravagant and
suspicious excesses. They had remained in the house but a few minutes,
during which time the company had insisted upon their drinking a single
cup to the toast of "Vivent le roy et les gueux." They had then retired,
taking with them Hoogstraaten, and all thinking that they had rendered a
service to the government by their visit, instead of having made
themselves liable to a charge of treason. As to the cries of "Vivent les
gueux" at the tables of Orange, of the Abbot of Saint Bernard, and at
other places, those words had been uttered by simple, harmless fellows;
and as he considered, the table a place of freedom, he had not felt
himself justified in rebuking the manners of his associates,
particularly, in houses where he was himself but a guest. As for
committing treason at the Duffel meeting, he had not been there at all.

He thanked God that, at that epoch, he had been absent from Brussels, for
had he, as well as Orange and Egmont, been commissioned by the Duchess to
arrange those difficult matters, he should have considered it his duty to
do as they did. He had never thought of levying troops against his
Majesty. The Denremonde meeting had been held, to consult upon four
subjects: the affairs of Tournay; the intercepted letters of the French
ambassador, Alava; the letter of Montigny, in which he warned his brother
of the evil impression which the Netherland matters were making in Spain;
and the affairs of Antwerp, from which city the Prince of Orange found it
necessary at that moment to withdraw.--With regard to his absence from
Brussels, he stated that he had kept away from the Court because he was
ruined. He was deeply in debt, and so complete was his embarrassment,
that he had been unable in Antwerp to raise 1000 crowns upon his
property, even at an interest of one hundred per cent. So far from being
able to levy troops, he was hardly able to pay for his daily bread. With
regard to his transactions at Tournay, he had, throughout them all,
conformed himself to the instructions of Madame de Parma. As to the cry
of "Vivent les gueux," he should not have cared at that moment if the
populace had cried 'Vive Comte Horn', for his thoughts were then occupied
with more substantial matters. He had gone thither under a special
commission from the Duchess, and had acted under instructions daily
received by her own hand. He had, by her orders, effected a temporary
compromise between the two religious parties, on the basis of the Duffel
treaty. He had permitted the public preaching to continue, but had not
introduced it for the first time. He had allowed temples to be built
outside the gates, but it was by express command of Madame, as he could
prove by her letters. She had even reproved him before the council,
because the work had not been accomplished with sufficient despatch. With
regard to his alleged threat, that he would oppose the King's entrance
with 15,000 men, he answered, with astonishing simplicity, that he did
not remember making any such observation, but it was impossible for a man
to retain in his mind all the nonsense which he might occasionally utter.
The honest Admiral thought that his poverty, already pleaded, was so
notorious that the charge was not worthy of a serious answer. He also
treated the observation which he was charged with having made, relative
to his marching to Spain with 50,000 men to rescue Montigny as "frivolous
and ridiculous." He had no power to raise a hundred men. Moreover he had
rejoiced at Montigny's detention, for he had thought that to be out of
the Netherlands was to be out of harm's way. On the whole, he claimed
that in all those transactions of his which might be considered
anti-Catholic, he had been governed entirely by the instructions of the
Regent, and by her Accord with the nobles. That Accord, as she had
repeatedly stated to him, was to be kept sacred until his Majesty, by
advice of the states-general, should otherwise ordain.

Finally, he observed, that law was not his vocation. He was no
pettifogger, but he had endeavored loyally to conform himself to the
broad and general principles of honor, justice, and truth. In a very few
and simple words, he begged his judges to have regard to his deeds, and
to a life of loyal service. If he had erred occasionally in those times
of tumult, his intentions had ever been faithful and honorable.

The charges against Count Egmont were very similar to those against Count
Horn. The answers of both defendants were nearly identical.
Interrogations thus addressed to two different persons, as to
circumstances which had occurred long before, could not have been thus
separately, secretly, but simultaneously answered in language
substantially the same, had not that language been the words of truth.
Egmont was accused generally of plotting with others to expel the King
from the provinces, and to divide the territory among themselves. Through
a long series of ninety articles, he was accused of conspiring against
the character and life of Cardinal Granvelle. He was the inventor, it was
charged, of the fool's-cap livery. He had joined in the letters to the
King, demanding the prelate's removal. He had favored the fusion of the
three councils. He had maintained that the estates-general ought to be
forthwith assembled, that otherwise the debts of his Majesty and of the
country could never be paid, and that the provinces would go to the
French, to the Germans, or to the devil. He had asserted that he would
not be instrumental in burning forty or fifty thousand men, in order that
the inquisition and the edicts might be sustained. He had declared that
the edicts were rigorous. He had advised the Duchess, to moderate them,
and remove the inquisition, saying that these measures, with a pardon
general in addition, were the only means of quieting the country. He had
advised the formation of the confederacy, and promised to it his
protection and favor. He had counselled the presentation of the petition.
He had arranged all these matters, in consultation with the other nobles,
at the interviews at Breda and Hoogstraaten. He had refused the demand of
Madame de Parma, to take arms in her defence. He had expressed his
intention, at a most critical moment, of going to the baths of Aix for
his health, although his personal appearance gave no indication of any
malady whatever. He had countenanced and counselled the proceedings of
the rebel nobles at Saint Trond. He had made an accord with those of "the
religion" at Ghent, Bruges, and other places. He had advised the Duchess
to grant a pardon to those who had taken up arms. He had maintained, in
common with the Prince of Orange, at a session of the state council, that
if Madame should leave Brussels, they would assemble the states-general
of their own authority, and raise a force of forty thousand men. He had
plotted treason, and made arrangements for the levy of troops at the
interview at Denremonde, with Horn, Hoogstraaten, and the Prince of
Orange. He had taken under his protection on the 20th April, 1566, the
confederacy of the rebels; had promised that they should never be
molested, for the future, on account of the inquisition or the edicts,
and that so long as they kept within the terms of the Petition and the
Compromise, he would defend them with his own person. He had granted
liberty of preaching outside the walls in many cities within his
government. He had said repeatedly, that if the King desired to introduce
the inquisition into the Netherlands, he would sell all his property and
remove to another land; thus declaring with how much contempt and
detestation he regarded the said inquisition. He had winked at all the
proceedings of the sectaries. He had permitted the cry of "Vivent les
gueux" at his table. He had assisted at the banquet at Culemburg House.

These were the principal points in the interminable act of accusation.
Like the Admiral, Egmont admitted many of the facts, and flatly denied
the rest. He indignantly repelled the possibility of a treasonable
inference from any of, or all, his deeds. He had certainly desired the
removal of Granvelle, for he believed that the King's service would
profit by his recal. He replied, almost in the same terms as the Admiral
had done, to the charge concerning the livery, and asserted that its
principal object had been to set an example of economy. The fool's-cap
and bells had been changed to a bundle of arrows, in consequence of a
certain rumor which became rife in Brussels, and in obedience to an
ordinance of Madame de Parma. As to the assembling of the states-general,
the fusion of the councils, the moderation of the edicts, he had
certainly been in favor of these measures, which he considered to be
wholesome and lawful, not mischievous or treasonable. He had certainly
maintained that the edicts were rigorous, and had advised the Duchess,
under the perilous circumstances of the country, to grant a temporary
modification until the pleasure of his Majesty could be known. With
regard to the Compromise, he had advised all his friends to keep out of
it, and many in consequence had kept out of it. As to the presentation of
the petition, he had given Madame de Parma notice thereof, so soon as he
had heard that such a step was contemplated. He used the same language as
had been employed by Horn, with regard to the interview at Breda and
Hoogstraaten--that they had been meetings of "good cheer" and good
fellowship. He had always been at every moment at the command of the
Duchess, save when he had gone to Flanders and Artois to suppress the
tumults, according to her express orders. He had no connexion with the
meeting of the nobles at Saint Trond. He had gone to Duffel as special
envoy from the Duchess, to treat with certain plenipotentiaries appointed
at the Saint Trond meeting. He had strictly conformed to the letter of
instructions, drawn up by the Duchess, which would be found among his
papers, but he had never promised the nobles his personal aid or
protection. With regard to the Denremonde meeting, he gave almost exactly
the same account as Horn had given. The Prince, the Admiral, and himself,
had conversed between a quarter past eleven and dinner time, which was
twelve o'clock, on various matters, particularly upon the King's
dissatisfaction with recent events in the Netherlands, and upon a certain
letter from the ambassador Alava in Paris to the Duchess of Parma. He
had, however, expressed his opinion to Madame that the letter was a
forgery. He had permitted public preaching in certain cities, outside the
walls, where it had already been established, because this was in
accordance with the treaty which Madame had made at Duffel, which she had
ordered him honorably to maintain. He had certainly winked at the
religious exercises of the Reformers, because he had been expressly
commanded to do so, and because the government at that time was not
provided with troops to suppress the new religion by force. He related
the visit of Horn, Orange, and himself to Culemburg House, at the
memorable banquet, in almost the same words which the Admiral had used.
He had done all in his power to prevent Madame from leaving Brussels, in
which effort he had been successful, and from which much good had
resulted to the country. He had never recommended that a pardon should be
granted to those who had taken up arms, but on the contrary, had advised
their chastisement, as had appeared in his demeanor towards the rebels at
Osterwel, Tournay, and Valenciennes. He had never permitted the cry of
"Vivent les gueux" at his own table, nor encouraged it in his presence
any where else.

Such were the leading features in these memorable cases of what was
called high treason. Trial there was none. The tribunal was incompetent;
the prisoners were without advocates; the government evidence was
concealed; the testimony for the defence was excluded; and the cause was
finally decided before a thousandth part of its merits could have been
placed under the eyes of the judge who gave the sentence.

But it is almost puerile to speak of the matter in the terms usually
applicable to state trials. The case had been settled in Madrid long
before the arrest of the prisoners in Brussels. The sentence, signed by
Philip in blank, had been brought in Alva's portfolio from Spain. The
proceedings were a mockery, and, so far as any effect upon public opinion
was concerned, might as well have been omitted. If the gentlemen had been
shot in the court-yard of Jasse-house, by decree of a drum-head
court-martial, an hour after their arrest, the rights of the provinces
and the sentiments of humanity would not have been outraged more utterly.
Every constitutional and natural right was violated from first to last.
This certainly was not a novelty. Thousands of obscure individuals, whose
relations and friends were not upon thrones and in high places, but in
booths and cellars, and whose fate therefore did not send a shudder of
sympathy throughout Europe, had already been sacrificed by the Blood
tribunal. Still this great case presented a colossal emblem of the
condition in which the Netherlands were now gasping. It was a monumental
exhibition of the truth which thousands had already learned to their
cost, that law and justice were abrogated throughout the land. The
country was simply under martial law--the entire population under
sentence of death. The whole civil power was in Alva's hand; the whole
responsibility in Alva's breast. Neither the most ignoble nor the most
powerful could lift their heads in the sublime desolation which was
sweeping the country. This was now proved beyond peradventure. A
miserable cobbler or weaver might be hurried from his shop to the
scaffold, invoking the 'jus de non evocando' till he was gagged, but the
Emperor would not stoop from his throne, nor electors palatine and
powerful nobles rush to his rescue; but in behalf of these prisoners the
most august hands and voices of Christendom had been lifted up at the
foot of Philip's throne; and their supplications had proved as idle as
the millions of tears and death-cries which had beep shed or uttered in
the lowly places of the land. It was obvious; then, that all intercession
must thereafter be useless. Philip was fanatically impressed with his
mission. His viceroy was possessed by his loyalty as by a demon. In this
way alone, that conduct which can never be palliated may at least be
comprehended. It was Philip's enthusiasm to embody the wrath of God
against heretics. It was Alva's enthusiasm to embody the wrath of Philip.
Narrow-minded, isolated, seeing only that section of the world which was
visible through the loop-hole of the fortress in which Nature had
imprisoned him for life, placing his glory in unconditional obedience to
his superior, questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing, the
viceroy accomplished his work of hell with all the tranquillity of an
angel. An iron will, which clove through every obstacle; adamantine
fortitude, which sustained without flinching a mountain of responsibility
sufficient to crush a common nature, were qualities which, united to, his
fanatical obedience, made him a man for Philip's work such as could not
have been found again in the world.

The case, then, was tried before a tribunal which was not only
incompetent, under the laws of the land, but not even a court of justice
in any philosophical or legal sense. Constitutional and municipal law
were not more outraged in its creation, than all national and natural
maxims.

The reader who has followed step by step the career of the two
distinguished victims through the perilous days of Margaret's
administration, is sufficiently aware of the amount of treason with which
they are chargeable. It would be an insult to common sense for us to set
forth, in full, the injustice of their sentence. Both were guiltless
towards the crown; while the hands of one, on the contrary, were deeply
dyed in the blood of the people. This truth was so self-evident, that
even a member of the Blood-Council, Pierre Arsens, president of Artois,
addressed an elaborate memoir to the Duke of Alva, criticising the case
according to the rules of law, and maintaining that Egmont, instead of
deserving punishment, was entitled to a signal reward.

So much for the famous treason of Counts Egmont and Horn, so far as
regards the history of the proceedings and the merits of the case. The
last act of the tragedy was precipitated by occurrences which must be now
narrated.

The Prince of Orange had at last thrown down the gauntlet. Proscribed,
outlawed, with his Netherland property confiscated, and his eldest child
kidnapped, he saw sufficient personal justification for at last stepping
into the lists, the avowed champion of a nation's wrongs. Whether the
revolution was to be successful, or to be disastrously crushed; whether
its result would be to place him upon a throne or a scaffold, not even
he, the deep-revolving and taciturn politician, could possibly foresee.
The Reformation, in which he took both a political and a religious
interest, might prove a sufficient lever in his hands for the overthrow
of Spanish power in the Netherlands. The inquisition might roll back upon
his country and himself, crushing them forever. The chances seemed with
the inquisition. The Spaniards, under the first chieftain in Europe, were
encamped and entrenched in the provinces. The Huguenots had just made
their fatal peace in France, to the prophetic dissatisfaction of Coligny.
The leading men of liberal sentiments in the Netherlands were captive or
in exile. All were embarrassed by the confiscations which, in
anticipation of sentence, had severed the nerves of war. The country was
terror-stricken; paralyzed, motionless, abject, forswearing its
convictions, and imploring only life. At this moment William of Orange
reappeared upon the scene.

He replied to the act of condemnation, which had been pronounced against
him in default, by a published paper, of moderate length and great
eloquence. He had repeatedly offered to place himself, he said, upon
trial before a competent court. As a Knight of the Fleece, as a member of
the Holy Roman Empire, as a sovereign prince, he could acknowledge no
tribunal save the chapters of the knights or of the realm. The Emperor's
personal intercession with Philip had been employed in vain, to obtain
the adjudication of his case by either. It would be both death and
degradation on his part to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the infamous
Council of Blood. He scorned, he said, to plead his cause "before he knew
not what base knaves, not fit to be the valets of his companions and
himself."

He appealed therefore to the judgment of the world. He published not an
elaborate argument, but a condensed and scathing statement of the
outrages which had been practised upon him. He denied that he had been a
party to the Compromise. He denied that he had been concerned in the
Request, although he denounced with scorn the tyranny which could treat a
petition to government as an act of open war against the sovereign. He
spoke of Granvelle with unmeasured wrath. He maintained that his own
continuance in office had been desired by the cardinal, in order that his
personal popularity might protect the odious designs of the government.
The edicts, the inquisition, the persecution, the new bishoprics, had
been the causes of the tumults. He concluded with a burst of indignation
against Philip's conduct toward himself. The monarch had forgotten his
services and those of his valiant ancestors. He had robbed him of honor,
he had robbed him of his son--both dearer to him than life. By thus doing
he had degraded himself more than he had injured him, for he had broken
all his royal oaths and obligations.

The paper was published early in the summer of 1568. At about the same
time, the Count of Hoogstraaten published a similar reply to the act of
condemnation with which he had been visited. He defended himself mainly
upon the ground, that all the crimes of which he stood arraigned had been
committed in obedience to the literal instructions of the Duchess of
Parma, after her accord with the confederates.

The Prince now made the greatest possible exertions to raise funds and
troops. He had many meetings with influential individuals in Germany. The
Protestant princes, particularly the Landgrave of Hesse and the Elector
of Saxony, promised him assistance. He brought all his powers of
eloquence and of diplomacy to make friends for the cause which he had now
boldly espoused. The high-born Demosthenes electrified large assemblies
by his indignant invectives against the Spanish Philip. He excelled even
his royal antagonist in the industrious subtlety with which he began to
form a thousand combinations. Swift, secret, incapable of fatigue, this
powerful and patient intellect sped to and fro, disentangling the
perplexed skein where all had seemed so hopelessly confused, and
gradually unfolding broad schemes of a symmetrical and regenerated
polity. He had high correspondents and higher hopes in England. He was
already secretly or openly in league with half the sovereigns of Germany.
The Huguenots of France looked upon him as their friend, and on Louis of
Nassau as their inevitable chieftain, were Coligny destined to fall. He
was in league with all the exiled and outlawed nobles of the Netherlands.
By his orders recruits were daily enlisted, without sound of drum. He
granted a commission to his brother Louis, one of the most skilful and
audacious soldiers of the age, than whom the revolt could not have found
a more determined partisan, nor the Prince a more faithful lieutenant.

This commission, which was dated Dillenburg, 6th April, 1568, was a
somewhat startling document. It authorized the Count to levy troops and
wage war against Philip, strictly for Philip's good. The fiction of
loyalty certainly never went further. The Prince of Orange made known to
all "to whom those presents should come," that through the affection
which he bore the gracious King, he purposed to expel his Majesty's
forces from the Netherlands. "To show our love for the monarch and his
hereditary provinces," so ran the commission, "to prevent the desolation
hanging over the country by the ferocity of the Spaniards, to maintain
the privileges sworn to by his Majesty and his predecessors, to prevent
the extirpation of all religion by the edicts, and to save the sons and
daughters of the land from abject slavery, we have requested our dearly
beloved brother Louis Nassau to enrol as many troops as he shall think
necessary."

Van der Bergh, Hoogstraaten, and others, provided with similar powers,
were also actively engaged in levying troops; but the right hand of the
revolt was Count Louis, as his illustrious brother was its head and
heart. Two hundred thousand crowns was the sum which the Prince
considered absolutely necessary for organizing the army with which he
contemplated making an entrance into the Netherlands. Half this amount
had been produced by the cities of Antwerp, Amsterdam, Leyden, Harlem,
Middelburg, Flushing, and other towns, as well as by refugee merchants in
England. The other half was subscribed by individuals. The Prince himself
contributed 50,000 florins, Hoogstraaten 30,000, Louis of Nassau 10,000,
Culemberg 30,000, Van der Bergh 30,000, the Dowager-countess Horn 10,000,
and other persons in less proportion. Count John of Nassau also pledged
his estates to raise a large sum for the cause. The Prince himself sold
all his jewels, plate, tapestry, and other furniture, which were of
almost regal magnificence. Not an enthusiast, but a deliberate, cautious
man, he now staked his all upon the hazard, seemingly so desperate. The
splendor of his station has been sufficiently depicted. His luxury, his
fortune, his family, his life, his children, his honor, all were now
ventured, not with the recklessness of a gambler, but with the calm
conviction of a statesman.

A private and most audacious attempt to secure the person: of Alva and
the possession of Brussels had failed. He was soon, however, called upon
to employ all his energies against the open warfare which was now
commenced.

According to the plan of the Prince, the provinces were to be attacked
simultaneously, in three places, by his lieutenants, while he himself was
waiting in the neighborhood of Cleves, ready for a fourth assault. An
army of Huguenots and refugees was to enter Artois upon the frontier of
France; a second, under Hoogstraaten, was to operate between the Rhine
and the Meuse; while Louis of Nassau was to raise the standard of revolt
in Friesland.

The two first adventures were destined to be signally unsuccessful. A
force under Seigneur de Cocqueville, latest of all, took the field
towards the end of June. It entered the bailiwick of Hesdin in Artois,
was immediately driven across the frontier by the Count de Roeulx, and
cut to pieces at St. Valery by Marechal de Cossis, governor of Picardy.
This action was upon the 18th July. Of the 2500 men who composed the
expedition, scarce 300 escaped. The few Netherlanders who were taken
prisoners were given to the Spanish government, and, of course, hanged.

The force under the Seigneur de Villars was earlier under arms, and the
sooner defeated. This luckless gentleman, who had replaced the Count of
Hoogstraaten, crossed the frontier of Juliers; in the neighborhood of
Maestricht, by the 20th April. His force, infantry and cavalry, amounted
to nearly three thousand men. The object of the enterprise was to, raise
the country; and, if possible, to obtain a foothold by securing an
important city. Roermonde was the first point of attack, but the
attempts, both by stratagem and by force, to secure the town, were
fruitless. The citizens were not ripe for revolt, and refused the army
admittance. While the invaders were, therefore, endeavoring to fire the
gates, they were driven off by the approach of a Spanish force.

The Duke, so soon as the invasion was known to him, had acted with great
promptness. Don Sancho de Lodrono and Don Sancho de Avila, with five
vanderas of Spanish infantry, three companies of cavalry, and about three
hundred pikemen under Count Eberstein, a force amounting in all to about
1600 picked troops, had been at once despatched against Villars. The
rebel chieftain, abandoning his attempt upon Roermonde, advanced towards
Erkelens. Upon the 25th April, between Erkelens and Dalem, the Spaniards
came up with him, and gave him battle. Villars lost all his cavalry and
two vanderas of his infantry in the encounter. With the remainder of his
force, amounting to 1300 men, he effected his retreat in good order to
Dalem. Here he rapidly entrenched himself. At four in the afternoon,
Sancho de Lodrono, at the head of 600 infantry, reached the spot. He was
unable to restrain the impetuosity of his men, although the cavalry under
Avila, prevented by the difficult nature of the narrow path through which
the rebels had retreated, had not yet arrived. The enemy were two to one,
and were fortified; nevertheless, in half an hour the entrenchments were
carried, and almost every man in the patriot army put to the sword.
Villars himself, with a handful of soldiers, escaped into the town, but
was soon afterwards taken prisoner, with all his followers. He sullied
the cause in which he was engaged by a base confession of the designs
formed by the Prince of Orange--a treachery, however, which did not save
him from the scaffold. In the course of this day's work, the Spanish lost
twenty men, and the rebels nearly 200. This portion of the liberating
forces had been thus disastrously defeated on the eve of the entrance of
Count Louis into Friesland.

As early as the 22d April, Alva had been informed, by the
lieutenant-governor of that province, that the beggars were mustering in
great force in the neighborhood of Embden. It was evident that an
important enterprise was about to be attempted. Two days afterwards,
Louis of Nassau entered the provinces, attended by a small body of
troops. His banners blazed with patriotic inscriptions. 'Nunc aut
nunquam, Recuperare aut mori', were the watchwords of his desperate
adventure: "Freedom for fatherland and conscience" was the device which
was to draw thousands to his standard. On the western wolds of Frisia, he
surprised the castle of Wedde, a residence of the absent Aremberg,
stadholder of the province. Thence he advanced to Appingadam, or Dam, on
the tide waters of the Dollart. Here he was met by, his younger brother,
the gallant Adolphus, whose days were so nearly numbered, who brought
with him a small troop of horse. At Wedde, at Dam, and at Slochteren, the
standard was set up. At these three points there daily gathered armed
bodies of troops, voluntary adventurers, peasants with any rustic weapon
which they could find to their hand. Lieutenant-governor Groesbeck wrote
urgently to the Duke, that the beggars were hourly increasing in force;
that the leaders perfectly understood their game; that they kept their
plans a secret, but were fast seducing the heart of the country.

On the 4th May, Louis issued a summons to the magistracy of Groningen,
ordering them to send a deputation to confer with him at Dam. He was
prepared, he said, to show the commission with which he was provided. He
had not entered the country on a mere personal adventure, but had
received orders to raise a sufficient army. By the help of the eternal
God, he was determined, he said, to extirpate the detestable tyranny of
those savage persecutors who had shed so much Christian blood. He was
resolved to lift up the down-trod privileges, and, to protect the
fugitive, terror-stricken Christians and patriarchs of the country. If
the magistrates were disposed to receive him with friendship, it was
well. Otherwise, he should, with regret, feel himself obliged to proceed
against them, as enemies of his Majesty and of the common weal.

As the result of this summons, Louis received a moderate sum of money, on
condition of renouncing for the moment an attack upon the city. With this
temporary supply he was able to retain a larger number of the
adventurers; who were daily swarming around him.

In the mean time Alva was not idle. On the 30th April, he wrote to
Groesbeck, that he must take care not to be taken napping; that he must
keep his eyes well open until the arrival of succor, which was already on
the way. He then immediately ordered Count Aremberg, who had just
returned from France on conclusion of hostilities, to hasten to the seat
of war. Five vanderas of his own regiment; a small body of cavalry, and
Braccamonte's Sardinian legion, making in all a force of nearly 2500 men,
were ordered to follow him with the utmost expedition. Count Meghem,
stadholder of Gueldres, with five vanderas of infantry, three of light
horse, and some artillery, composing a total of about 1500 men, was
directed to co-operate with Aremberg. Upon this point the orders of the
Governor-general were explicit. It seemed impossible that the rabble rout
under Louis Nassau could stand a moment before nearly 4000 picked and
veteran troops, but the Duke was earnest in warning his generals not to
undervalue the enemy.

On the 7th May, Counts Meghem and Aremberg met and conferred at Arnheim,
on their way to Friesland. It was fully agreed between them, after having
heard full reports of the rising in that province, and of the temper
throughout the eastern Netherlands, that it would be rash to attempt any
separate enterprise. On the 11th, Aremberg reached Vollenhoven, where he
was laid up in his bed with the gout. Bodies of men, while he lay sick,
paraded hourly with fife and drum before his windows, and discharged
pistols and arquebuses across the ditch of the blockhouse where he was
quartered. On the 18th, Braccamonte, with his legion, arrived by water at
Harlingen. Not a moment more was lost. Aremberg, notwithstanding his
gout, which still confined him to a litter, started at once in pursuit of
the enemy. Passing through Groningen, he collected all the troops which
could be spared.. He also received six pieces of artillery. Six cannon,
which the lovers of harmony had baptized with the notes of the gamut,
'ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la', were placed at his disposal by the
authorities, and have acquired historical celebrity. It was, however,
ordained that when those musical pieces piped, the Spaniards were not to
dance. On the 22d, followed by his whole force, consisting of
Braccamonte's legion, his own four vanderas, and a troop of Germans, he
came in sight of the enemy at Dam. Louis of Nassau sent out a body of
arquebusiers, about one thousand strong, from the city. A sharp skirmish
ensued, but the beggars were driven into their entrenchments, with a loss
of twenty or thirty men, and nightfall terminated the contest.

It was beautiful to see, wrote Aremberg to Alva, how brisk and eager were
the Spaniards, notwithstanding the long march which they had that day
accomplished. Time was soon to show how easily immoderate, valor might
swell into a fault. Meantime, Aremberg quartered his troops in and about
Wittewerum Abbey, close to the little unwalled city of Dam.

On the other hand, Meghem, whose co-operation had been commanded by Alva,
and arranged personally with Aremberg a fortnight before, at Arnheim, had
been delayed in his movements. His troops, who had received no wages for
a long time had mutinied. A small sum of money, however, sent from
Brussels, quelled this untimely insubordination. Meghem then set forth to
effect his junction with his colleague, having assured the
Governor-general that the war would be ended in six days. The beggars had
not a stiver, he said, and must disband or be beaten to pieces as soon as
Aremberg and he had joined forces. Nevertheless he admitted that these
same "master-beggars," as he called them, might prove too many for either
general alone.

Alva, in reply, expressed his confidence that four or five thousand
choice troops of Spain would be enough to make a short war of it, but
nevertheless warned his officers of the dangers of overweening
confidence. He had been informed that the rebels had assumed the red
scarf of the Spanish uniform. He hoped the stratagem would not save them
from broken heads, but was unwilling that his Majesty's badge should be
altered.

He reiterated his commands that no enterprise should be undertaken,
except by the whole army in concert; and enjoined the generals
incontinently to hang and strangle all prisoners the moment they should
be taken.

Marching directly northward, Meghem reached Coeverden, some fifty miles
from Dam, on the night of the 22d. He had informed Aremberg that he might
expect him with his infantry and his light horse in the course of the
next day. On the following morning, the 23d, Aremberg wrote his last
letter to the Duke, promising to send a good account of the beggars
within a very few hours.

Louis of Nassau had broken up his camp at Dam about midnight. Falling
back, in a southerly direction, along the Wold-weg, or forest road, a
narrow causeway through a swampy district, he had taken up a position
some three leagues from his previous encampment. Near the monastery of
Heiliger Lee, or the "Holy Lion," he had chosen his ground. A little
money in hand, ample promises, and the hopes of booty, had effectually
terminated the mutiny, which had also broken out in his camp. Assured
that Meghem had not yet effected his junction with Aremberg, prepared to
strike, at last, a telling blow for freedom and fatherland, Louis awaited
the arrival of his eager foe.

His position was one of commanding strength and fortunate augury.
Heiliger Lee was a wooded eminence, artificially reared by Premonstrant
monks. It was the only rising ground in that vast extent of watery
pastures, enclosed by the Ems and Lippe--the "fallacious fields"
described by Tacitus. Here Hermann, first of Teutonic heroes, had dashed
out of existence three veteran legions of tyrant Rome. Here the spectre
of Varus, begrimed and gory, had risen from the morass to warn
Germanicus, who came to avenge him, that Gothic freedom was a dangerous
antagonist. And now, in the perpetual reproductions of history, another
German warrior occupied a spot of vantage in that same perilous region.
The tyranny with which he contended strove to be as universal as that of
Rome, and had stretched its wings of conquest into worlds of which the
Caesars had never dreamed. It was in arms, too, to crush not only the
rights of man, but the rights of God. The battle of freedom was to be
fought not only for fatherland, but for conscience. The cause was even
holier than that which had inspired the arm of Hermann.

Although the swamps of that distant age had been transformed into
fruitful pastures, yet the whole district was moist, deceitful, and
dangerous. The country was divided into squares, not by hedges but by
impassable ditches. Agricultural entrenchments had long made the country
almost impregnable, while its defences against the ocean rendered almost
as good service against a more implacable human foe.

Aremberg, leading his soldiers along the narrow causeway, in hot pursuit
of what they considered a rabble rout of fugitive beggars, soon reached
Winschoten. Here he became aware of the presence of his despicable foe.
Louis and Adolphus of Nassau, while sitting at dinner in the convent of
the "Holy Lion," had been warned by a friendly peasant of the approach of
the Spaniards. The opportune intelligence had given the patriot general
time to make his preparations. His earnest entreaties had made his troops
ashamed of their mutinous conduct on the preceding day, and they were now
both ready and willing to engage. The village was not far distant from
the abbey, and in the neighborhood of the abbey Louis of Nassau was now
posted. Behind him was a wood, on his left a hill of moderate elevation,
before him an extensive and swampy field. In the front of the field was a
causeway leading to the abbey. This was the road which Aremberg was to
traverse. On the plain which lay between the wood and the hill, the main
body of the beggars were drawn up. They were disposed in two squares or
squadrons, rather deep than wide, giving the idea of a less number than
they actually contained. The lesser square, in which were two thousand
eight hundred men, was partially sheltered by the hill. Both were flanked
by musketeers. On the brow of the hill was a large body of light armed
troops, the 'enfans perdus' of the army. The cavalry, amounting to not
more than three hundred men, was placed in front, facing the road along
which Aremberg was to arrive.

That road was bordered by a wood extending nearly to the front of the
hill. As Aremberg reached its verge, he brought out his artillery, and
opened a fire upon the body of light troops. The hill protected a large
part of the enemy's body from this attack. Finding the rebels so strong
in numbers and position, Aremberg was disposed only to skirmish. He knew
better than did his soldiers the treacherous nature of the ground in
front of the enemy. He saw that it was one of those districts where peat
had been taken out in large squares for fuel, and where a fallacious and
verdant scum upon the surface of deep pools simulated the turf that had
been removed. He saw that the battle-ground presented to him by his
sagacious enemy was one great sweep of traps and pitfalls. Before he
could carry the position, many men must necessarily be engulfed.

He paused for an instant. He was deficient in cavalry, having only
Martinengo's troop, hardly amounting to four hundred men. He was sure of
Meghem's arrival within twenty-four hours. If, then, he could keep the
rebels in check, without allowing them any opportunity to disperse, he
should be able, on the morrow, to cut them to pieces, according to the
plan agreed upon a fortnight before. But the Count had to contend with a
double obstacle. His soldiers were very hot, his enemy very cool. The
Spaniards, who had so easily driven a thousand musketeers from behind
their windmill, the evening before, who had seen the whole rebel force
decamp in hot haste on the very night of their arrival before Dam,
supposed themselves in full career of victory. Believing that the name
alone of the old legions had stricken terror to the hearts of the
beggars, and that no resistance was possible to Spanish arms, they
reviled their general for his caution. His reason for delay was theirs
for hurry. Why should Meghem's loitering and mutinous troops, arriving at
the eleventh hour, share in the triumph and the spoil? No man knew the
country better than Aremberg, a native of the Netherlands, the stadholder
of the province. Cowardly or heretical motives alone could sway him, if
he now held them back in the very hour of victory. Inflamed beyond
endurance by these taunts, feeling his pride of country touched to the
quick, and willing to show that a Netherlander would lead wherever
Spaniards dared to follow, Aremberg allowed himself to commit the grave
error for which he was so deeply to atone. Disregarding the dictates of
his own experience and the arrangements of his superior, he yielded to
the braggart humor of his soldiers, which he had not, like Alva, learned
to moderate or to despise.

In the mean, time, the body of light troops which had received the fire
from the musical pieces of Groningen was seen to waver. The artillery was
then brought beyond the cover of the wood, and pointed more fully upon
the two main squares of the enemy. A few shots told. Soon afterward the
'enfans perdus' retreated helter-skelter, entirely deserting their
position.

This apparent advantage, which was only a preconcerted stratagem, was too
much for the fiery Spaniards. They rushed merrily forward to attack the
stationary squares, their general being no longer able, to restrain their
impetuosity. In a moment the whole van-guard had plunged into the morass.
In a few minutes more they were all helplessly and hopelessly struggling
in the pools, while the musketeers of the enemy poured in a deadly fire
upon them, without wetting the soles of their own feet. The pikemen, too,
who composed the main body of the larger square, now charged upon all who
were extricating themselves from their entanglement, and drove them back
again to a muddy death. Simultaneously, the lesser patriot squadron,
which had so long been sheltered, emerged from the cover of the hill,
made a detour around its base, enveloped the rear-guard of the Spaniards
before they could advance to the succor of their perishing comrades, and
broke them to pieces almost instantly. Gonzalo de Braccamonte, the very
Spanish colonel who had been foremost in denunciation of Aremberg, for
his disposition to delay the contest, was now the first to fly. To his
bad conduct was ascribed the loss of the day. The anger of Alva was so
high, when he was informed of the incident, that he would have condemned
the officer to death but for the intercession of his friends and
countrymen. The rout was sudden and absolute. The foolhardiness of the
Spaniards had precipitated them into the pit which their enemies had dug.
The day, was lost. Nothing was left for Aremberg but to perish with
honor. Placing himself at the head of his handful of cavalry, he dashed
into the melee. The shock was sustained by young Adolphus of Nassau, at
the head of an equal number of riders. Each leader singled out the other.
They met as "captains of might" should do, in the very midst of the
affray. Aremberg, receiving and disregarding a pistol shot from his
adversary, laid Adolphus dead at his feet, with a bullet through his body
and a sabre cut on his head. Two troopers in immediate attendance upon
the young Count shared the same fate from the same hand. Shortly
afterward, the horse of Aremberg, wounded by a musket ball, fell to the
ground. A few devoted followers lifted the charger to his legs and the
bleeding rider to his saddle. They endeavored to bear their wounded
general from the scene of action. The horse staggered a few paces and
fell dead. Aremberg disengaged himself from his body, and walked a few
paces to the edge of a meadow near the road. Here, wounded in the action,
crippled by the disease which had so long tormented him, and scarcely
able to sustain longer the burthen of his armor, he calmly awaited his
fate. A troop of the enemy advanced soon afterwards, and Aremberg fell,
covered with wounds, fighting like a hero of Homer, single-handed,
against a battalion, with a courage worthy a better cause and a better
fate. The sword by which he received his final death-blow was that of the
Seigneur do Haultain. That officer having just seen his brother slain
before his eyes, forgot the respect due to unsuccessful chivalry.

The battle was scarcely finished when an advancing trumpet was heard. The
sound caused the victors to pause in their pursuit, and enabled a remnant
of the conquered Spaniards to escape. Meghem's force was thought to be
advancing. That general had indeed arrived, but he was alone. He had
reached Zuidlaren, a village some four leagues from the scene of action,
on the noon of that day. Here he had found a letter from Aremberg,
requesting him to hasten. He had done so. His troops, however, having
come from Coevorden that morning, were unable to accomplish so long a
march in addition. The Count, accompanied by a few attendants, reached
the neighborhood of Heiliger Lee only in time to meet with some of the
camp sutlers and other fugitives, from whom he learned the disastrous
news of the defeat. Finding that all was lost, he very properly returned
to Zuidlaren, from which place he made the best of his way to Groningen.
That important city, the key of Friesland, he was thus enabled to secure.
The troops which he brought, in addition to the four German vanderas of
Schaumburg, already quartered there, were sufficient to protect it
against the ill-equipped army of Louis Nassau.

The patriot leader had accomplished, after all, but a barren victory. He
had, to be sure, destroyed a number of Spaniards, amounting, according to
the different estimates, from five hundred to sixteen hundred men. He had
also broken up a small but veteran army. More than all, he had taught the
Netherlanders, by this triumphant termination to a stricken field, that
the choice troops of Spain were not invincible. But the moral effect of
the victory was the only permanent one. The Count's badly paid troops
could with difficulty be kept together. He had no sufficient artillery to
reduce the city whose possession would have proved so important to the
cause. Moreover, in common with the Prince of Orange and all his
brethren, he had been called to mourn for the young and chivalrous
Adolphus, whose life-blood had stained the laurels of this first patriot
victory. Having remained, and thus wasted the normal three days upon the
battle-field, Louis now sat down before Groningen, fortifying and
entrenching himself in a camp within cannonshot of the city.

On the 23rd we have seen that Aremberg had written, full of confidence,
to the Governor-general, promising soon to send him good news of the
beggars. On the 26th, Count Meghem wrote that, having spoken with a man
who had helped to place Aremberg in his coffin, he could hardly entertain
any farther doubt as to his fate.

The wrath of the Duke was even greater than his surprise. Like Augustus,
he called in vain on the dead commander for his legions, but prepared
himself to inflict a more rapid and more terrible vengeance than the
Roman's. Recognizing the gravity of his situation, he determined to take
the field in person, and to annihilate this insolent chieftain who had
dared not only to cope with, but to conquer his veteran regiments. But
before he could turn his back upon Brussels, many deeds were to be done.
His measures now followed each other in breathless succession,
fulminating and blasting at every stroke. On the 28th May, he issued an
edict, banishing, on pain of death, the Prince of Orange, Louis Nassau,
Hoogstraaten, Van den Berg, and others, with confiscation of all their
property. At the same time he razed the Culemburg Palace to the ground,
and erected a pillar upon its ruins, commemorating the accursed
conspiracy which had been engendered within its walls. On the 1st June,
eighteen prisoners of distinction, including the two barons Batenburg,
Maximilian Kock, Blois de Treslong and others, were executed upon the
Horse Market, in Brussels. In the vigorous language of Hoogstraaten, this
horrible tragedy was enacted directly before the windows of that "cruel
animal, Noircarmes," who, in company of his friend, Berlaymont, and the
rest of the Blood-Council, looked out upon the shocking spectacle. The
heads of the victims were exposed upon stakes, to which also their bodies
were fastened. Eleven of these victims were afterward deposited,
uncoffined, in unconsecrated ground; the other seven were left unburied
to moulder on the gibbet. On the 2d June, Villars, the leader in the
Daalem rising, suffered on the scaffold, with three others. On the 3d,
Counts Egmont and Horn were brought in a carriage from Ghent to Brussels,
guarded by ten companies of infantry and one of cavalry. They were then
lodged in the "Brood-huis" opposite the Town Hall, on the great square of
Brussels. On the 4th, Alva having, as he solemnly declared before God and
the world, examined thoroughly the mass of documents appertaining to
those two great prosecutions which had only been closed three days
before, pronounced sentence against the illustrious prisoners. These
documents of iniquity signed and sealed by the Duke, were sent to the
Blood-Council, where they were read by Secretary Praets. The signature of
Philip was not wanting, for the sentences had been drawn upon blanks
signed by the monarch, of which the Viceroy had brought a whole trunk
full from Spain. The sentence against Egmont declared very briefly that
the Duke of Alva, having read all the papers and evidence in the case,
had found the Count guilty of high treason. It was proved that Egmont had
united with the confederates; that he had been a party to the accursed
conspiracy of the Prince of Orange; that he had taken the rebel nobles
under his protection, and that he had betrayed the Government and the
Holy Catholic Church by his conduct in Flanders. Therefore the Duke
condemned him to be executed by the sword on the following day, and
decreed that his head should be placed on high in a public place, there
to remain until the Duke should otherwise direct. The sentence against
Count Horn was similar in language and purport.

That afternoon the Duke sent for the Bishop of Ypres, The prelate arrived
at dusk. As soon as he presented himself, Alva informed him of the
sentence which had just been pronounced, and ordered him to convey the
intelligence to the prisoners. He further charged him with the duty of
shriving the victims, and preparing their souls for death. The bishop
fell on his knees, aghast at the terrible decree. He implored the
Governor-General to have mercy upon the two unfortunate nobles. If their
lives could not be spared, he prayed him at any rate to grant delay. With
tears and earnest supplications the prelate endeavored to avert or to
postpone the doom which had been pronounced. It was in vain. The
sentence, inflexible as destiny, had been long before ordained. Its
execution had been but hastened by the temporary triumph of rebellion in
Friesland. Alva told the Bishop roughly that he had not been summoned to
give advice. Delay or pardon was alike impossible. He was to act as
confessor to the criminals, not as councillor to the Viceroy. The Bishop,
thus rebuked, withdrew to accomplish his melancholy mission. Meanwhile,
on the same evening, the miserable Countess of Egmont had been appalled
by rumors, too vague for belief, too terrible to be slighted. She was in
the chamber of Countess Aremberg, with whom she had come to condole for
the death of the Count, when the order for the immediate execution of her
own husband was announced to her. She hastened to the presence of the
Governor-General. The Princess Palatine, whose ancestors had been
emperors, remembered only that she was a wife and a mother. She fell at
the feet of the man who controlled the fate of her husband, and implored
his mercy in humble and submissive terms. The Duke, with calm and almost
incredible irony, reassured the Countess by the information that, on the
morrow, her husband was certainly to be released. With this ambiguous
phrase, worthy the paltering oracles of antiquity, the wretched woman was
obliged to withdraw. Too soon afterward the horrible truth of the words
was revealed to her--words of doom, which she had mistaken for
consolation.

An hour before midnight the Bishop of Ypres reached Egmont's prison. The
Count was confined in a chamber on the second story of the Brood-huis,
the mansion of the crossbowmen's guild, in that corner of the building
which rests on a narrow street running back from the great square. He was
aroused from his sleep by the approach of his visitor. Unable to speak,
but indicating by the expression of his features the occurrence of a
great misfortune, the Bishop, soon after his entrance, placed the paper
given to him by Alva in Egmont's hands. The unfortunate noble thus
suddenly received the information that his death-sentence had been
pronounced, and that its execution was fixed for the next morning. He
read the paper through without flinching, and expressed astonishment
rather than dismay at its tidings. Exceedingly sanguine by nature, he had
never believed, even after his nine months' imprisonment, in a fatal
termination to the difficulties in which he was involved. He was now
startled both at the sudden condemnation which had followed his lingering
trial, and at the speed with which his death was to fulfil the sentence.
He asked the Bishop, with many expressions of amazement, whether pardon
was impossible; whether delay at least might not be obtained? The prelate
answered by a faithful narrative of the conversation which had just
occurred between Alva and himself. Egmont, thus convinced of his
inevitable doom, then observed to his companion, with exquisite courtesy,
that, since he was to die, he rendered thanks both to God and to the Duke
that his last moments were to be consoled by so excellent a father
confessor.

Afterwards, with a natural burst of indignation, he exclaimed that it was
indeed a cruel and unjust sentence. He protested that he had never in his
whole life wronged his Majesty; certainly never so deeply as to deserve
such a punishment. All that he had done had been with loyal intentions.
The King's true interest had been his constant aim. Nevertheless, if he
had fallen into error, he prayed to God that his death might wipe away
his misdeeds, and that his name might not be dishonored, nor his children
brought to shame. His beloved wife and innocent children were to endure
misery enough by his death and the confiscation of his estates. It was at
least due to his long services that they should be spared further
suffering. He then asked his father confessor what advice he had to give
touching his present conduct. The Bishop replied by an exhortation, that
he should turn himself to God; that he should withdraw his thoughts
entirely from all earthly interests, and prepare himself for the world
beyond the grave. He accepted the advice, and kneeling before the Bishop,
confessed himself. He then asked to receive the sacrament, which the
Bishop administered, after the customary mass. Egmont asked what prayer
would be most appropriate at the hour of execution. His confessor replied
that there was none more befitting than the one which Jesus had taught
his disciples--Our Father, which art in heaven.

Some conversation ensued, in which the Count again expressed his
gratitude that his parting soul had been soothed by these pious and
friendly offices. By a revulsion of feeling, he then bewailed again the
sad fate of his wife and of his young children. The Bishop entreated him
anew to withdraw his mind from such harrowing reflections, and to give
himself entirely to God. Overwhelmed with grief, Egmont exclaimed with
natural and simple pathos--"Alas! how miserable and frail is our nature,
that, when we should think of God only, we are unable to shut out the
images of wife and children."

Recovering from his emotion, and having yet much time, he sat down and
wrote with perfect self-possession two letters, one to Philip and one to
Alva. The celebrated letter to the King was as follows:

   "SIRE,--I have learned, this evening, the sentence which your
   Majesty has been pleased to pronounce upon me. Although I have
   never had a thought, and believe myself never to have done a deed,
   which could tend to the prejudice of your Majesty's person or
   service, or to the detriment of our true ancient and Catholic
   religion, nevertheless I take patience to bear that which it has
   pleased the good God to send. If, during these troubles in the
   Netherlands, I have done or permitted aught which had a different
   appearance, it has been with the true and good intent to serve God
   and your Majesty, and the necessity of the times. Therefore, I pray
   your Majesty to forgive me, and to have compassion on my poor wife,
   my children, and my servants; having regard to my past services.
   In which hope I now commend myself to the mercy of God.

        "From Brussels,
          "Ready to die, this 5th June, 1568,
   "Your Majesty's very humble and loyal vassal and servant,
                       "LAMORAL D'EGMONT."

Having thus kissed the murderous hand which smote him, he handed the
letter, stamped rather with superfluous loyalty than with Christian
forgiveness, to the Bishop, with a request that he would forward it to
its destination, accompanied by a letter from his own hand. This duty the
Bishop solemnly promised to fulfil.

Facing all the details of his execution with the fortitude which belonged
to his character, he now took counsel with his confessor as to the
language proper for him to hold from the scaffold to the assembled
people. The Bishop, however, strongly dissuaded him from addressing the
multitude at all.

The persons farthest removed, urged the priest, would not hear the words,
while the Spanish troops in the immediate vicinity would not understand
them. It seemed, therefore, the part of wisdom and of dignity for him to
be silent, communing only with his God. The Count assented to this
reasoning, and abandoned his intention of saying a few farewell words to
the people, by many of whom he believed himself tenderly beloved. He now
made many preparations for the morrow, in order that his thoughts, in the
last moments, might not be distracted by mechanical details, cutting the
collar from his doublet and from his shirt with his own hands, in order
that those of the hangman might have no excuse for contaminating his
person. The rest of the night was passed in prayer and meditation.

Fewer circumstances concerning the last night of Count Horn's life have
been preserved. It is, however, well ascertained that the Admiral
received the sudden news of his condemnation with absolute composure. He
was assisted at his devotional exercises in prison by the curate of La
Chapelle.

During the night, the necessary preparations for the morning tragedy had
been made in the great square of Brussels. It was the intention of
government to strike terror to the heart of the people by the exhibition
of an impressive and appalling spectacle. The absolute and irresponsible
destiny which ruled them was to be made manifest by the immolation of
these two men, so elevated by rank, powerful connexion, and distinguished
service.

The effect would be heightened by the character of the locality where
the gloomy show was to be presented. The great square of Brussels had
always a striking and theatrical aspect. Its architectural effects,
suggesting in some degree the meretricious union between Oriental and a
corrupt Grecian art, accomplished in the medieval midnight, have amazed
the eyes of many generations. The splendid Hotel de Ville, with its
daring spire and elaborate front, ornamented one side of the place;
directly opposite was the graceful but incoherent facade of the
Brood-huis, now the last earthly resting-place of the two distinguished
victims, while grouped around these principal buildings rose the
fantastic palaces of the Archers, Mariners, and of other guilds, with
their festooned walls and toppling gables bedizened profusely with
emblems, statues, and quaint decorations. The place had been alike the
scene of many a brilliant tournament and of many a bloody execution.
Gallant knights had contended within its precincts, while bright eyes
rained influence from all those picturesque balconies and decorated
windows. Martyrs to religious and to political liberty had, upon the same
spot, endured agonies which might have roused every stone of its pavement
to mutiny or softened them to pity. Here Egmont himself, in happier days,
had often borne away the prize of skill or of valor, the cynosure of
every eye; and hence, almost in the noon of a life illustrated by many
brilliant actions, he was to be sent, by the hand of tyranny, to his
great account.

On the morning of the 5th of June, three thousand Spanish troops were
drawn up in battle array around a scaffold which had been erected in the
centre of the square. Upon this scaffold, which was covered with black
cloth, were placed two velvet cushions, two iron spikes, and a small
table. Upon the table was a silver crucifix. The provost-marshal, Spelle,
sat on horseback below, with his red wand in his hand, little dreaming
that for him a darker doom was reserved than that of which he was now the
minister. The executioner was concealed beneath the draperies of the
scaffold.

At eleven o'clock, a company of Spanish soldiers, led by Julian Romero
and Captain Salinas, arrived at Egmont's chamber. The Count was ready for
them. They were about to bind his hands, but he warmly protested against
the indignity, and, opening the folds of his robe, showed them that he
had himself shorn off his collars, and made preparations for his death.
His request was granted. Egmont, with the Bishop at his side, then walked
with a steady step the short distance which separated him from the place
of execution. Julian Romero and the guard followed him. On his way, he
read aloud the fifty-first Psalm: "Hear my cry, O God, and give ear unto
my prayer!" He seemed to have selected these scriptural passages as a
proof that, notwithstanding the machinations of his enemies, and the
cruel punishment to which they had led him, loyalty to his sovereign was
as deeply rooted and as religious a sentiment in his bosom as devotion to
his God. "Thou wilt prolong the King's life; and his years as many
generations. He shall abide before God for ever! O prepare mercy and
truth which may preserve him." Such was the remarkable prayer of the
condemned traitor on his way to the block.

Having ascended the scaffold, he walked across it twice or thrice. He was
dressed in a tabard or robe of red damask, over which was thrown a short
black mantle, embroidered in gold. He had a black silk hat, with black
and white plumes, on his head, and held a handkerchief in his hand. As he
strode to and fro, he expressed a bitter regret that he had not been
permitted to die, sword in hand, fighting for his country and his king.
Sanguine to the last, he passionately asked Romero, whether the sentence
was really irrevocable, whether a pardon was not even then to be granted.
The marshal shrugged his shoulders, murmuring a negative reply. Upon
this, Egmont gnashed his teeth together, rather in rage than despair.
Shortly afterward commanding himself again, he threw aside his robe and
mantle, and took the badge of the Golden Fleece from his neck. Kneeling,
then, upon one of the cushions, he said the Lord's Prayer aloud, and
requested the Bishop, who knelt at his side, to repeat it thrice. After
this, the prelate gave him the silver crucifix to kiss, and then
pronounced his blessing upon him. This done, the Count rose again to his
feet, laid aside his hat and handkerchief, knelt again upon the cushion,
drew a little cap over his eyes, and, folding his hands together, cried
with a loud voice, "Lord, into Thy hands I commit my spirit." The
executioner then suddenly appeared, and severed his head from his
shoulders at a single blow.

A moment of shuddering silence succeeded the stroke. The whole vast
assembly seemed to have felt it in their own hearts. Tears fell from the
eyes even of the Spanish soldiery, for they knew and honored Egmont as a
valiant general. The French embassador, Mondoucet, looking upon the scene
from a secret place, whispered that he had now seen the head fall before
which France had twice trembled. Tears were even seen upon the iron cheek
of Alva, as, from a window in a house directly opposite the scaffold, he
looked out upon the scene.

A dark cloth was now quickly thrown over the body and the blood, and,
within a few minutes, the Admiral was seen advancing through the crowd.
His bald head was uncovered, his hands were unbound. He calmly saluted
such of his acquaintances as he chanced to recognize upon his path. Under
a black cloak, which he threw off when he had ascended the scaffold, he
wore a plain, dark doublet, and he did not, like Egmont, wear the
insignia of the Fleece. Casting his eyes upon the corpse, which lay
covered with the dark cloth, he asked if it were the body of Egmont.
Being answered in the affirmative, he muttered a few words in Spanish,
which were not distinctly audible. His attention was next caught by the
sight of his own coat of arms reversed, and he expressed anger at this
indignity to his escutcheon, protesting that he had not deserved the
insult. He then spoke a few words to the crowd below, wishing them
happiness, and begging them to pray for his soul. He did not kiss the
crucifix, but he knelt upon the scaffold to pray, and was assisted in his
devotions by the Bishop of Ypres. When they were concluded, he rose again
to his feet. Then drawing a Milan cap completely over his face, and
uttering, in Latin, the same invocation which Egmont had used, he
submitted his neck to the stroke.

Egmont had obtained, as a last favor, that his execution should precede
that of his friend. Deeming himself in part to blame for Horn's
reappearance in Brussels after the arrival of Alva, and for his, death,
which was the result, he wished to be spared the pang of seeing him dead.
Gemma Frisius, the astrologer who had cast the horoscope of Count Horn at
his birth, had come to him in the most solemn manner to warn him against
visiting Brussels. The Count had answered stoutly that he placed his
trust in God, and that, moreover, his friend Egmont was going thither
also, who had engaged that no worse fate should befal the one of them
than the other.

The heads of both sufferers were now exposed for two hours upon the iron
stakes. Their bodies, placed in coffins, remained during the same
interval upon the scaffold. Meantime, notwithstanding the presence of the
troops, the populace could not be restrained from tears and from
execrations. Many crowded about the scaffold, and dipped their
handkerchiefs in the blood, to be preserved afterwards as memorials of
the crime and as ensigns of revenge.

The bodies were afterwards delivered to their friends. A stately
procession of the guilds, accompanied by many of the clergy, conveyed
their coffins to the church of Saint Gudule. Thence the body of Egmont
was carried to the convent of Saint Clara, near the old Brussels gate,
where it was embalmed. His escutcheon and banners were hung upon the
outward wall of his residence, by order of the Countess. By command of
Alva they were immediately torn down. His remains were afterwards
conveyed to his city of Sottegem, in Flanders, where they were interred.
Count Horn was entombed at Kempen. The bodies had been removed from the
scaffold at two o'clock. The heads remained exposed between burning
torches for two hours longer. They were then taken down, enclosed in
boxes, and, as it was generally supposed, despatched to Madrid. The King
was thus enabled to look upon the dead faces of his victims without the
trouble of a journey to the provinces.

Thus died Philip Montmorency, Count of Horn, and Lamoral of Egmont,
Prince of Gaveren. The more intense sympathy which seemed to attach
itself to the fate of Egmont, rendered the misfortune of his companion in
arms and in death comparatively less interesting.

Egmont is a great historical figure, but he was certainly not a great
man. His execution remains an enduring monument not only of Philip's
cruelty and perfidy but of his dullness. The King had everything to hope
from Egmont and nothing to fear. Granvelle knew the man well, and, almost
to the last, could not believe in the possibility of so unparalleled a
blunder as that which was to make a victim, a martyr, and a popular idol
of a personage brave indeed, but incredibly vacillating and inordinately
vain, who, by a little management, might have been converted into a most
useful instrument for the royal purposes.

It is not necessary to recapitulate the events of Egmont's career. Step
by step we have studied his course, and at no single period have we
discovered even a germ of those elements which make the national
champion. His pride of order rendered him furious at the insolence of
Granvelle, and caused him to chafe under his dominion. His vanity of high
rank and of distinguished military service made him covet the highest
place under the Crown, while his hatred of those by whom he considered
himself defrauded of his claims, converted him into a malcontent. He had
no sympathy with the people, but he loved, as a grand Seignior, to be
looked up to and admired by a gaping crowd. He was an unwavering
Catholic, held sectaries in utter loathing, and, after the
image-breaking, took a positive pleasure in hanging ministers, together
with their congregations, and in pressing the besieged Christians of
Valenciennes to extremities. Upon more than one occasion he pronounced
his unequivocal approval of the infamous edicts, and he exerted himself
at times to enforce them within his province. The transitory impression
made upon his mind by the lofty nature of Orange was easily effaced in
Spain by court flattery and by royal bribes. Notwithstanding the
coldness, the rebuffs, and the repeated warnings which might have saved
him from destruction, nothing could turn him at last from the fanatic
loyalty towards which, after much wavering, his mind irrevocably pointed.
His voluntary humiliation as a general, a grandee, a Fleming, and a
Christian before the insolent Alva upon his first arrival, would move our
contempt were it not for the gentler emotions suggested by the infatuated
nobleman's doom. Upon the departure of Orange, Egmont was only too eager
to be employed by Philip in any work which the monarch could find for him
to do. Yet this was the man whom Philip chose, through the executioner's
sword, to convert into a popular idol, and whom Poetry has loved to
contemplate as a romantic champion of freedom.

As for Horn, details enough have likewise been given of his career to
enable the reader thoroughly to understand the man. He was a person of
mediocre abilities and thoroughly commonplace character. His high rank
and his tragic fate are all which make him interesting. He had little
love for court or people. Broken in fortunes, he passed his time mainly
in brooding over the ingratitude of Charles and Philip, and in
complaining bitterly of the disappointments to which their policy had
doomed him. He cared nothing for Cardinalists or confederates. He
disliked Brederode, he detested Granvelle. Gloomy and morose, he went to
bed, while the men who were called his fellow-conspirators were dining
and making merry in the same house with himself: He had as little
sympathy with the cry of "Vivent les gueux" as for that of "Vive le Roy."
The most interesting features in his character are his generosity toward
his absent brother and the manliness with which, as Montigny's
representative at Tournay, he chose rather to confront the anger of the
government, and to incur the deadly revenge of Philip, than make himself
the executioner of the harmless Christians in Tournay. In this regard,
his conduct is vastly more entitled to our respect than that of Egmont,
and he was certainly more deserving of reverence from the people, even
though deserted by all men while living, and left headless and solitary
in his coffin at Saint Gudule.

The hatred for Alva, which sprang from the graves of these illustrious
victims, waxed daily more intense. "Like things of another world," wrote
Hoogstraaten, "seem the cries, lamentations, and just compassion which
all the inhabitants of Brussels, noble or ignoble, feel for such
barbarous tyranny, while this Nero of an Alva is boasting that he will do
the same to all whom he lays his hands upon." No man believed that the
two nobles had committed a crime, and many were even disposed to acquit
Philip of his share in the judicial murder. The people ascribed the
execution solely to the personal jealousy of the Duke. They discoursed to
each other not only of the envy with which the Governor-general had
always regarded the military triumphs of his rival, but related that
Egmont had at different times won large sums of Alva at games of hazard,
and that he had moreover, on several occasions, carried off the prize
from the Duke in shooting at the popinjay. Nevertheless, in spite of all
these absurd rumors, there is no doubt that Philip and Alva must share
equally in the guilt of the transaction, and that the "chastisement" had
been arranged before Alva had departed from Spain.

The Countess Egmont remained at the convent of Cambre with her eleven
children, plunged in misery and in poverty. The Duke wrote to Philip,
that he doubted if there were so wretched a family in the world. He, at
the same time, congratulated his sovereign on the certainty that the more
intense the effects, the more fruitful would be the example of this great
execution. He stated that the Countess was considered a most saintly
woman, and that there had been scarcely a night in which, attended by her
daughters, she had not gone forth bare-footed to offer up prayers for her
husband in every church within the city. He added, that it was doubtful
whether they had money enough to buy themselves a supper that very night,
and he begged the King to allow them the means of supporting life. He
advised that the Countess should be placed, without delay in a Spanish
convent, where her daughters might at once take the veil, assuring his
Majesty that her dower was entirely inadequate to her support. Thus
humanely recommending his sovereign to bestow an alms on the family which
his own hand had reduced from a princely station to beggary, the Viceroy
proceeded to detail the recent events in Friesland, together with the
measures which he was about taking to avenge the defeat and death of
Count Aremberg.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
     He had omitted to execute heretics
     Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
     Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
     Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
     The perpetual reproductions of history
     Wealth was an unpardonable sin




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 16.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855




1568 [CHAPTER III.]

   Preparations of the Duke against Count Louis--Precarious situation
   of Louis in Friesland--Timidity of the inhabitants--Alva in
   Friesland--Skirmishing near Groningen--Retreat of the patriots--
   Error committed by Louis--His position at Jemmingen--Mutinous
   demonstrations of his troops--Louis partially restores order--
   Attempt to destroy the dykes interrupted by the arrival of Alva's
   forces--Artful strategy of the Duke--Defeat of Count Louis and utter
   destruction of his army--Outrages committed by the Spaniards--Alva
   at Utrecht--Execution of Vrow van Diemen--Episode of Don Carlos--
   Fables concerning him and Queen Isabella--Mystery, concerning his
   death--Secret letters of Philip to the Pope--The one containing the
   truth of the transaction still concealed in the Vatican--Case
   against Philip as related by Mathieu, De Thou, and others--Testimony
   in the King's favor by the nuncio, the Venetian envoy, and others--
   Doubtful state of the question--Anecdotes concerning Don Carlos--His
   character.

Those measures were taken with the precision and promptness which marked
the Duke's character, when precision and promptness were desirable. There
had been a terrible energy in his every step, since the successful foray
of Louis Nassau. Having determined to take the field in person with
nearly all the Spanish veterans, he had at once acted upon the necessity
of making the capital secure, after his back should be turned. It was
impossible to leave three thousand choice troops to guard Count Egmont. A
less number seemed insufficient to prevent a rescue. He had, therefore,
no longer delayed the chastisement which had already been determined, but
which the events in the north had precipitated. Thus the only positive
result of Louis Nassau's victory was the execution of his imprisoned
friends.

The expedition under Aremberg had failed from two causes. The Spanish
force had been inadequate, and they had attacked the enemy at a
disadvantage. The imprudent attack was the result of the contempt with
which they had regarded their antagonist. These errors were not to be
repeated. Alva ordered Count Meghem, now commanding in the province of
Groningen, on no account to hazard hostilities until the game was sure.
He also immediately ordered large reinforcements to move forward to the
seat of war. The commanders intrusted with this duty were Duke Eric of
Brunswick, Chiappin Vitelli, Noircarmes, and Count de Roeulx. The
rendezvous for the whole force was Deventer, and here they all arrived on
the 10th July. On the same day the Duke of Alva himself entered Deventer,
to take command in person. On the evening of the 14th July he reached
Rolden, a village three leagues distant from Groningen, at the head of
three terzios of Spanish infantry, three companies of light horse, and a
troop of dragoons. His whole force in and about Groningen amounted to
fifteen thousand choice troops besides a large but uncertain number of
less disciplined soldiery.

Meantime, Louis of Nassau, since his victory, had accomplished nothing.
For this inactivity there was one sufficient excuse, the total want of
funds. His only revenue was the amount of black mail which he was able to
levy upon the inhabitants of the province. He repeated his determination
to treat them all as enemies, unless they furnished him with the means of
expelling their tyrants from the country. He obtained small sums in this
manner from time to time. The inhabitants were favorably disposed, but
they were timid and despairing. They saw no clear way towards the
accomplishment of the result concerning which Louis was so confident.
They knew that the terrible Alva was already on his way. They felt sure
of being pillaged by both parties, and of being hanged as rebels,
besides, as soon as the Governor-general should make his appearance.

Louis had, however, issued two formal proclamations for two especial
contributions. In these documents he had succinctly explained that the
houses of all recusants should be forthwith burned about their ears, and
in consequence of these peremptory measures, he had obtained some ten
thousand florins. Alva ordered counter-proclamations to be affixed to
church doors and other places, forbidding all persons to contribute to
these forced loans of the rebels, on penalty of paying twice as much to
the Spaniards, with arbitrary punishment in addition, after his arrival.
The miserable inhabitants, thus placed between two fires, had nothing for
it but to pay one-half of their property to support the rebellion in the
first place, with the prospect of giving the other half as a subsidy to
tyranny afterwards; while the gibbet stood at the end of the vista to
reward their liberality. Such was the horrible position of the peasantry
in this civil conflict. The weight of guilt thus accumulated upon the
crowned head which conceived, and upon the red right hand which wrought
all this misery, what human scales can measure?

With these precarious means of support, the army of Louis of Nassau, as
may easily be supposed, was anything but docile. After the victory of
Heiliger Lee there had seemed to his German mercenaries a probability of
extensive booty, which grew fainter as the slender fruit of that battle
became daily more apparent. The two abbots of Wittewerum and of Heiliger
Lee, who had followed Aremberg's train in order to be witnesses of his
victory, had been obliged to pay to the actual conqueror a heavy price
for the entertainment to which they had invited themselves, and these
sums, together with the amounts pressed from the reluctant estates, and
the forced contributions paid by luckless peasants, enabled him to keep
his straggling troops together a few weeks longer. Mutiny, however, was
constantly breaking out, and by the eloquent expostulations and vague
promises of the Count, was with difficulty suppressed.

He had, for a few weeks immediately succeeding the battle, distributed
his troops in three different stations. On the approach of the Duke,
however, he hastily concentrated his whole force at his own strongly
fortified camp, within half cannon shot of Groningen. His army, such as
it was, numbered from 10,000 to 12,000 men. Alva reached Groningen early
in the morning, and without pausing a moment, marched his troops directly
through the city. He then immediately occupied an entrenched and
fortified house, from which it was easy to inflict damage upon the camp.
This done, the Duke, with a few attendants, rode forward to reconnoitre
the enemy in person. He found him in a well fortified position, having
the river on his front, which served as a moat to his camp, and with a
deep trench three hundred yards beyond, in addition. Two wooden bridges
led across the river; each was commanded by a fortified house, in which
was a provision of pine torches, ready at a moment's warning, to set fire
to the bridges. Having thus satisfied himself, the Duke rode back to his
army, which had received strict orders not to lift a finger till his
return. He then despatched a small force of five hundred musketeers,
under Robles, to skirmish with the enemy, and, if possible, to draw them
from their trenches.

The troops of Louis, however, showed no greediness to engage. On the
contrary, it soon became evident that their dispositions were of an
opposite tendency. The Count himself, not at that moment trusting his
soldiery, who were in an extremely mutinous condition, was desirous of
falling back before his formidable antagonist. The Duke, faithful,
however, to his life-long principles, had no intentions of precipitating
the action in those difficult and swampy regions. The skirmishing,
therefore, continued for many hours, an additional force of 1000 men
being detailed from the Spanish army. The day was very sultry, however,
the enemy reluctant, and the whole action languid. At last, towards
evening, a large body, tempted beyond their trenches, engaged warmly with
the Spaniards. The combat lasted but a few minutes, the patriots were
soon routed, and fled precipitately back to their camp. The panic spread
with them, and the whole army was soon in retreat. On retiring, they had,
however, set fire to the bridges, and thus secured an advantage at the
outset of the chase. The Spaniards were no longer to be held. Vitelli
obtained permission to follow with 2000 additional troops. The fifteen
hundred who had already been engaged, charged furiously upon their
retreating foes. Some dashed across the blazing bridges, with their
garments and their very beards on fire. Others sprang into the river.
Neither fire nor water could check the fierce pursuit. The cavalry
dismounting, drove their horses into the stream, and clinging to their
tails, pricked the horses forward with their lances. Having thus been
dragged across, they joined their comrades in the mad chase along the
narrow dykes, and through the swampy and almost impassable country where
the rebels were seeking shelter. The approach of night, too soon
advancing, at last put an end to the hunt. The Duke with difficulty
recalled his men, and compelled them to restrain their eagerness until
the morrow. Three hundred of the patriots were left dead upon the field,
besides at least an equal number who perished in the river and canals.
The army of Louis was entirely routed, and the Duke considered it
virtually destroyed. He wrote to the state council that he should pursue
them the next day, but doubted whether he should find anybody to talk
with him. In this the Governor-general soon found himself delightfully
disappointed.

Five days later, the Duke arrived at Reyden, on the Ems. Owing to the
unfavorable disposition of the country people, who were willing to
protect the fugitives by false information to their pursuers, he was
still in doubt as to the position then occupied by the enemy. He had been
fearful that they would be found at this very village of Reyden. It was a
fatal error on the part of Count Louis that they were not. Had he made a
stand at this point, he might have held out a long time. The bridge which
here crossed the river would have afforded him a retreat into Germany at
any moment, and the place was easily to be defended in front. Thus he
might have maintained himself against his fierce but wary foe, while his
brother Orange, who was at Strasburg watching the progress of events, was
executing his own long-planned expedition into the heart of the
Netherlands. With Alva thus occupied in Friesland, the results of such an
invasion might have been prodigious. It was, however, not on the cards
for that campaign. The mutinous disposition of the mercenaries under his
command had filled Louis with doubt and disgust. Bold and sanguine, but
always too fiery and impatient, he saw not much possibility of paying his
troops any longer with promises. Perhaps he was not unwilling to place
them in a position where they would be obliged to fight or to perish. At
any rate, such was their present situation. Instead of halting at Reyden,
he had made his stand at Jemmingen, about four leagues distant from that
place, and a little further down the river. Alva discovered this
important fact soon after his arrival at Reyden, and could not conceal
his delight. Already exulting at the error made by his adversary, in
neglecting the important position which he now occupied himself, he was
doubly delighted at learning the nature of the place which he had in
preference selected. He saw that Louis had completely entrapped himself.

Jemmingen was a small town on the left bank of the Ems. The stream here
very broad and deep, is rather a tide inlet than a river, being but a
very few miles from the Dollart. This circular bay, or ocean chasm, the
result of the violent inundation of the 13th century, surrounds, with the
river, a narrow peninsula. In the corner of this peninsula, as in the
bottom of a sack, Louis had posted his army. His infantry, as usual, was
drawn up in two large squares, and still contained ten thousand men. The
rear rested upon the village, the river was upon his left; his meagre
force of cavalry upon the right. In front were two very deep trenches.
The narrow road, which formed the only entrance to his camp, was guarded
by a ravelin on each side, and by five pieces of artillery.

The Duke having reconnoitred the enemy in person, rode back, satisfied
that no escape was possible. The river was too deep and too wide for
swimming or wading, and there were but very few boats. Louis was shut up
between twelve thousand Spanish veterans and the river Ems. The rebel
army, although not insufficient in point of numbers, was in a state of
disorganization. They were furious for money and reluctant to fight. They
broke out into open mutiny upon the very verge of battle, and swore that
they would instantly disband, if the gold, which, as they believed, had
been recently brought into the camp, were not immediately distributed
among them. Such was the state of things on the eventful morning of the
21st July. All the expostulations of Count Louis seemed powerless. His
eloquence and his patience, both inferior to his valor, were soon
exhausted. He peremptorily, refused the money for which they clamored,
giving the most cogent of all reasons, an empty coffer. He demonstrated
plainly that they were in that moment to make their election, whether to
win a victory or to submit to a massacre. Neither flight nor surrender
was possible. They knew how much quarter they could expect from the
lances of the Spaniards or the waters of the Dollart. Their only chance
of salvation lay in their own swords. The instinct of self-preservation,
thus invoked, exerted a little of its natural effect.

Meantime, a work which had been too long neglected, was then, if
possible, to be performed. In that watery territory, the sea was only
held in check by artificial means. In a very short time, by the
demolition of a few dykes and the opening of a few sluices, the whole
country through which the Spaniards had to pass could be laid under
water. Believing it yet possible to enlist the ocean in his defence,
Louis, having partially reduced his soldiers to obedience, ordered a
strong detachment upon this important service. Seizing a spade, he
commenced the work himself, and then returned to set his army in battle
array. Two or three tide gates had been opened, two or three bridges had
been demolished, when Alva, riding in advance of his army, appeared
within a mile or two of Jemmingen. It was then eight o'clock in the
morning. The patriots redoubled their efforts. By ten o'clock the waters
were already knee high, and in some places as deep as to the waist. At
that hour, the advanced guard of the Spaniards arrived. Fifteen hundred
musketeers were immediately ordered forward by the Duke. They were
preceded by a company of mounted carabineers, attended by a small band of
volunteers of distinction. This little band threw themselves at once upon
the troops engaged in destroying the dykes. The rebels fled at the first
onset, and the Spaniards closed the gates. Feeling the full importance of
the moment, Count Louis ordered a large force of musketeers to recover
the position, and to complete the work of inundation. It was too late.
The little band of Spaniards held the post with consummate tenacity.
Charge after charge, volley after volley, from the overwhelming force
brought against them, failed to loosen the fierce grip with which they
held this key to the whole situation. Before they could be driven from
the dykes, their comrades arrived, when all their antagonists at once
made a hurried retreat to their camp.

Very much the same tactics were now employed by the Duke, as in the
engagement near Selwaert Abbey. He was resolved that this affair, also,
should be a hunt, not a battle; but foresaw that it was to be a more
successful one. There was no loophole of escape, so that after a little
successful baiting, the imprisoned victims would be forced to spring from
their lurking-place, to perish upon his spears. On his march from Reyden
that morning, he had taken care to occupy every farm-house, every
building of whatever description along the road, with his troops. He had
left a strong guard on the bridge at Reyden, and had thus closed
carefully every avenue. The same fifteen hundred musketeers were now
advanced further towards the camp. This small force, powerfully but
secretly sustained, was to feel the enemy; to skirmish with him, and to
draw him as soon as possible out of his trenches. The plan succeeded.
Gradually the engagements between them and the troops sent out by Count
Louis grew more earnest. Finding so insignificant a force opposed to
them, the mutinous rebels took courage. The work waged hot. Lodrono and
Romero, commanders of the musketeers, becoming alarmed, sent to the Duke
for reinforcements. He sent back word in reply, that if they were not
enough to damage the enemy, they could, at least, hold their own for the
present. So much he had a right to expect of Spanish soldiers. At any
rate, he should send no reinforcements.

Again they were more warmly pressed; again their messenger returned with
the same reply. A third time they send the most urgent entreaties for
succour. The Duke was still inexorable.

Meantime the result of this scientific angling approached. By noon the
rebels, not being able to see how large a portion of the Spanish army had
arrived, began to think the affair not so serious. Count Louis sent out a
reconnoitring party upon the river in a few boats. They returned without
having been able to discover any large force. It seemed probable,
therefore, that the inundation had been more successful in stopping their
advance than had been supposed. Louis, always too rash, inflamed his men
with temporary enthusiasm. Determined to cut their way out by one
vigorous movement, the whole army at last marched forth from their
entrenchments, with drums beating, colors flying; but already the
concealed reinforcements of their enemies were on the spot. The patriots
met with a warmer reception than they had expected. Their courage
evaporated. Hardly had they advanced three hundred yards, when the whole
body wavered and then retreated precipitately towards the encampment,
having scarcely exchanged a shot with the enemy. Count Louis, in a frenzy
of rage and despair, flew from rank to rank, in vain endeavouring to
rally his terror-stricken troops. It was hopeless. The battery which
guarded the road was entirely deserted. He rushed to the cannon himself,
and fired them all with his own hand. It was their first and last
discharge. His single arm, however bold, could not turn the tide of
battle, and he was swept backwards with his coward troops. In a moment
afterwards, Don Lope de Figueroa, who led the van of the Spaniards,
dashed upon the battery, and secured it, together with the ravelins.
Their own artillery was turned against the rebels, and the road was soon
swept. The Spaniards in large numbers now rushed through the trenches in
pursuit of the retreating foe. No resistance was offered, nor quarter
given. An impossible escape was all which was attempted. It was not a
battle, but a massacre. Many of the beggars in their flight threw down
their arms; all had forgotten their use. Their antagonists butchered them
in droves, while those who escaped the sword were hurled into the river.
Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels.

   [Letter of Alva to the Council of State. Correspondanee du Duc
   d'Albe, 158. The same letter is published in Igor, iv. 245, 246.
   All writers allow seven thousand to have been killed on the patriot
   side, and--the number of Spaniards slain is not estimated at more
   than eighty, even by the patriotic Meteren, 55. Compare Bor, iv.
   245-246; Herrera, av. 696; Hoofd, v, 176, and Mendoza, 72.]

The swift ebb-tide swept the hats of the perishing wretches in such
numbers down the stream, that the people at Embden knew the result of the
battle in an incredibly short period of time. The skirmishing had lasted
from ten o'clock till one, but the butchery continued much longer. It
took time to slaughter even unresisting victims. Large numbers obtained
refuge for the night upon an island in the river. At low water next day
the Spaniards waded to them, and slew every man. Many found concealment
in hovels, swamps, and thickets, so that the whole of the following day
was occupied in ferreting out and despatching them. There was so much to
be done, that there was work enough for all. "Not a soldier," says, with
great simplicity, a Spanish historian who fought in the battle, "not a
soldier, nor even a lad, who wished to share in the victory, but could
find somebody to wound, to kill, to burn, or to drown." The wounding,
killing, burning, drowning lasted two days, and very few escaped. The
landward pursuit extended for three or four leagues around, so that the
roads and pastures were covered with bodies, with corslets, and other
weapons. Count Louis himself stripped off his clothes, and made his
escape, when all was over, by swimming across the Ems. With the paltry
remnant of his troops he again took refuge in Germany.

The Spanish army, two days afterwards, marched back to Groningen. The
page which records their victorious campaign is foul with outrage and red
with blood. None of the horrors which accompany the passage of hostile
troops through a defenceless country were omitted. Maids and matrons were
ravished in multitudes; old men butchered in cold blood. As Alva
returned, with the rear-guard of his army, the whole sky was red with a
constant conflagration; the very earth seemed changed to ashes. Every
peasant's hovel, every farm-house, every village upon the road had been
burned to the ground. So gross and so extensive had been the outrage,
that the commander-in-chief felt it due to his dignity to hang some of
his own soldiers who had most distinguished themselves in this work. Thus
ended the campaign of Count Louis in Friesland. Thus signally and
terribly had the Duke of Alva vindicated the supremacy of Spanish
discipline and of his own military skill.

On his return to Groningen, the estates were summoned, and received a
severe lecture for their suspicious demeanour in regard to the rebellion.
In order more effectually to control both province and city, the
Governor-general ordered the construction of a strong fortress, which was
soon begun but never completed. Having thus furnished himself with a key
to this important and doubtful region, he returned by way of Amsterdam to
Utrecht. There he was met by his son Frederic with strong reinforcements.
The Duke reviewed his whole army, and found himself at the head of 30,000
infantry and 7,000 cavalry. Having fully subdued the province, he had no
occupation for such a force, but he improved the opportunity by cutting
off the head of an old woman in Utrecht. The Vrow van Diemen, eighteen
months previously, had given the preacher Arendsoon a night's lodging in
her house. The crime had, in fact, been committed by her son-in-law, who
dwelt under her roof, and who had himself, without her participation,
extended this dangerous hospitality to a heretic; but the old lady,
although a devout Catholic, was rich. Her execution would strike a
wholesome terror into the hearts of her neighbours. The confiscation of
her estates would bring a handsome sum into the government coffers. It
would be made manifest that the same hand which could destroy an army of
twelve thousand rebels at a blow could inflict as signal punishment on
the small delinquencies of obscure individuals. The old lady, who was
past eighty-four years of age, was placed in a chair upon the scaffold.
She met her death with heroism, and treated her murderers with contempt.
"I understand very well," she observed, "why my death is considered
necessary. The calf is fat and must be killed." To the executioner she
expressed a hope that his sword was sufficiently sharp, "as he was likely
to find her old neck very tough." With this grisly parody upon the
pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn, the courageous old gentlewoman
submitted to her fate.

The tragedy of Don Carlos does not strictly belong to our subject, which
is the rise of the Netherland commonwealth--not the decline of the
Spanish monarchy, nor the life of Philip the Second. The thread is but
slender which connects the unhappy young prince with the fortunes of the
northern republic. He was said, no doubt with truth, to desire the
government of Flanders. He was also supposed to be in secret
correspondence with the leaders of the revolt in the provinces. He
appeared, however, to possess very little of their confidence. His name
is only once mentioned by William of Orange, who said in a letter that
"the Prince of Spain had lately eaten sixteen pounds of fruit, including
four pounds of grapes at a single sitting, and had become ill in
consequence." The result was sufficiently natural, but it nowhere appears
that the royal youth, born to consume the fruits of the earth so largely,
had ever given the Netherlanders any other proof of his capacity to
govern them. There is no doubt that he was a most uncomfortable personage
at home, both to himself and to others, and that he hated his father'
very cordially. He was extremely incensed at the nomination of Alva to
the Netherlands, because he had hoped that either the King would go
thither or entrust the mission to him, in either of which events he
should be rid for a time of the paternal authority, or at least of the
paternal presence. It seems to be well ascertained that Carlos nourished
towards his father a hatred which might lead to criminal attempts, but
there is no proof that such attempts were ever made. As to the fabulous
amours of the Prince and the Queen, they had never any existence save in
the imagination of poets, who have chosen to find a source of sentimental
sorrow for the Infante in the arbitrary substitution of his father for
himself in the marriage contract with the daughter of Henry the Second.
As Carlos was but twelve or thirteen years of age when thus deprived of a
bride whom he had never seen, the foundation for a passionate regret was
but slight. It would hardly be a more absurd fantasy, had the poets
chosen to represent Philip's father, the Emperor Charles, repining in his
dotage for the loss of "bloody Mary," whom he had so handsomely ceded to
his son. Philip took a bad old woman to relieve his father; he took a
fair young princess at his son's expense; but similar changes in state
marriages were such matters of course, that no emotions were likely to be
created in consequence. There is no proof whatever, nor any reason to
surmise; that any love passages ever existed between Don Carlos and his
step-mother.

As to the process and the death of the Prince, the mystery has not yet
been removed, and the field is still open to conjecture. It seems a
thankless task to grope in the dark after the truth at a variety of
sources; when the truth really exists in tangible shape if profane hands
could be laid upon it. The secret is buried in the bosom of the Vatican.
Philip wrote two letters on the subject to Pius V. The contents of the
first (21st January, 1568) are known. He informed the pontiff that he had
been obliged to imprison his son, and promised that he would, in the
conduct of the affair, omit nothing which could be expected of a father
and of a just and prudent king. The second letter, in which he narrated,
or is supposed to have narrated, the whole course of the tragic
proceedings, down to the death and burial of the Prince, has never yet
been made public. There are hopes that this secret missive, after three
centuries of darkness, may soon see the light.--[I am assured by Mr.
Gachard that a copy of this important letter is confidently expected by
the Commission Royale d'Histoire.]

As Philip generally told the truth to the Pope, it is probable that the
secret, when once revealed, will contain the veritable solution of the
mystery. Till that moment arrives, it seems idle to attempt fathoming the
matter. Nevertheless, it may be well briefly to state the case as it
stands. As against the King, it rests upon no impregnable, but certainly
upon respectable authority. The Prince of Orange, in his famous Apology,
calls Philip the murderer of his wife and of his son, and says that there
was proof of the facts in France. He alludes to the violent death of
Carlos almost as if it were an indisputable truth. "As for Don Charles,"
he says, "was he not our future sovereign? And if the father could allege
against his son fit cause for death, was it not rather for us to judge
him than for three or four monks or inquisitors of Spain?"

The historian, P. Matthieu, relates that Philip assembled his council of
conscience; that they recommended mercy; that hereupon Philip gave the
matter to the inquisition, by which tribunal Carlos was declared a
heretic on account of his connexion with Protestants, and for his attempt
against his father's life was condemned to death, and that the sentence
was executed by four slaves, two holding the arms, one the feet, while
the fourth strangled him.

De Thou gives the following account of the transaction, having derived
many of his details from the oral communications of Louis de Foix:

Philip imagined that his son was about to escape from Spain, and to make
his way to the Netherlands. The King also believed himself in danger of
assassination from Carlos, his chief evidence being that the Prince
always carried pistols in the pockets of his loose breeches. As Carlos
wished always to be alone at night without any domestic in his chamber,
de Foix had arranged for him a set of pulleys, by means of which he could
open or shut his door without rising from his bed. He always slept with
two pistols and two drawn swords under his pillow, and had two loaded
arquebusses in a wardrobe close at hand. These remarkable precautions
would seem rather to indicate a profound fear of being himself
assassinated; but they were nevertheless supposed to justify Philip's
suspicions, that the Infante was meditating parricide. On Christmas eve,
however (1567), Don Carlos told his confessor that he had determined to
kill a man. The priest, in consequence, refused to admit him to the
communion. The Prince demanded, at least, a wafer which was not
consecrated, in order that he might seem to the people to be
participating in the sacrament. The confessor declined the proposal, and
immediately repairing to the King, narrated the whole story. Philip
exclaimed that he was himself the man whom the Prince intended to kill,
but that measures should be forthwith taken to prevent such a design. The
monarch then consulted the Holy Office of the inquisition, and the
resolution was taken to arrest his son. De Foix was compelled to alter
the pulleys of the door to the Prince's chamber in such a manner that it
could be opened without the usual noise, which was almost sure to awaken
him. At midnight, accordingly, Count Lerma entered the room so stealthily
that the arms were all, removed from the Prince's pillow and the
wardrobe, without awakening the sleeper. Philip, Ruy Gomez, the Duke de
Feria, and two other nobles, then noiselessly, crept into the apartment.
Carlos still slept so profoundly that it was necessary for Derma to shake
him violently by the arm before he could be aroused. Starting from his
sleep in the dead of night, and seeing his father thus accompanied,
before his bed, the Prince cried out that he was a dead man, and
earnestly besought the bystanders to make an end of him at once. Philip
assured him, however, that he was not come to kill him, but to chastise
him paternally, and to recal him to his duty. He then read him a serious
lecture, caused him to rise from his bed, took away his servants, and
placed him under guard. He was made to array himself in mourning
habiliments, and to sleep on a truckle bed. The Prince was in despair. He
soon made various attempts upon his own life. He threw himself into the
fire, but was rescued by his guards, with his clothes all in flames. He
passed several days without taking any food, and then ate so many patties
of minced meat that he nearly died of indigestion. He was also said to
have attempted to choke himself with a diamond, and to have been
prevented by his guard; to have filled his bed with ice; to have sat in
cold draughts; to have gone eleven days without food, the last method
being, as one would think, sufficiently thorough. Philip, therefore,
seeing his son thus desperate, consulted once more with the Holy Office,
and came to the decision that it was better to condemn him legitimately
to death than to permit him to die by his own hand. In order, however, to
save appearances, the order was secretly carried into execution. Don
Carlos was made to swallow poison in a bowl of broth, of which he died in
a few hours. This was at the commencement of his twenty-third year. The
death was concealed for several months, and was not made public till
after Alva's victory at Jemmingen.

Such was the account drawn up by de Thou from the oral communications of
de Foix, and from other sources not indicated. Certainly, such a
narrative is far from being entitled to implicit credence. The historian
was a contemporary, but he was not in Spain, and the engineer's testimony
is, of course, not entitled to much consideration on the subject of the
process and the execution (if there were an execution); although
conclusive as to matters which had been within his personal knowledge.
For the rest, all that it can be said to establish is the existence of
the general rumor, that Carlos came to his death by foul means and in
consequence of advice given by the inquisition.

On the other hand, in all the letters written at the period by persons in
Madrid most likely, from their position, to know the truth, not a
syllable has been found in confirmation of the violent death said to have
been suffered by Carlos. Secretary Erasso, the papal nuncio Castagna, the
Venetian envoy Cavalli, all express a conviction that the death of the
prince had been brought about by his own extravagant conduct and mental
excitement; by alternations of starving and voracious eating, by throwing
himself into the fire; by icing his bed, and by similar acts of
desperation. Nearly every writer alludes to the incident of the refusal
of the priest to admit Carlos to communion, upon the ground of his
confessed deadly hatred to an individual whom all supposed to be the
King. It was also universally believed that Carlos meant to kill his
father. The nuncio asked Spinosa (then president of Castile) if this
report were true. "If nothing more were to be feared," answered the
priest, "the King would protect himself by other measures," but the
matter was worse, if worse could be. The King, however, summoned all the
foreign diplomatic body and assured them that the story was false. After
his arrest, the Prince, according to Castagna, attempted various means of
suicide, abstaining, at last, many days from food, and dying in
consequence, "discoursing, upon his deathbed, gravely and like a man of
sense."

The historian Cabrera, official panegyrist of Philip the Second, speaks
of the death of Carlos as a natural one, but leaves a dark kind of
mystery about the symptoms of his disease. He states, that the Prince was
tried and condemned by a commission or junta, consisting of Spinosa, Ruy
Gomez, and the Licentiate Virviesca, but that he was carried off by an
illness, the nature of which he does not describe.

Llorente found nothing in the records of the Inquisition to prove that
the Holy Office had ever condemned the Prince or instituted any process
against him. He states that he was condemned by a commission, but that he
died of a sickness which supervened. It must be confessed that the
illness was a convenient one, and that such diseases are very apt to
attack individuals whom tyrants are disposed to remove from their path,
while desirous, at the same time, to save appearances. It would certainly
be presumptuous to accept implicitly the narrative of de Thou, which is
literally followed by Hoofd and by many modern writers. On the other
hand, it would be an exaggeration of historical scepticism to absolve
Philip from the murder of his son, solely upon negative testimony. The
people about court did not believe in the crime. They saw no proofs of
it. Of course they saw none. Philip would take good care that there
should be none if he had made up his mind that the death of the Prince
should be considered a natural one. And priori argument, which omits the
character of the suspected culprit, and the extraordinary circumstances
of time and place, is not satisfactory. Philip thoroughly understood the
business of secret midnight murder. We shall soon have occasion to relate
the elaborate and ingenious method by which the assassination of Montigny
was accomplished and kept a profound secret from the whole world, until
the letters of the royal assassin, after three centuries' repose, were
exhumed, and the foul mystery revealed. Philip was capable of any crime.
Moreover, in his letter to his aunt, Queen Catharine of Portugal, he
distinctly declares himself, like Abraham, prepared to go all lengths in
obedience to the Lord. "I have chosen in this matter," he said, "to make
the sacrifice to God of my own flesh and blood, and to prefer His service
and the universal welfare to all other human considerations." Whenever
the letter to Pius V. sees the light, it will appear whether the
sacrifice which the monarch thus made to his God proceeded beyond the
imprisonment and condemnation of his son, or was completed by the actual
immolation of the victim.

With regard to the Prince himself, it is very certain that, if he had
lived, the realms of the Spanish Crown would have numbered one tyrant
more. Carlos from his earliest youth, was remarkable for the ferocity of
his character. The Emperor Charles was highly pleased with him, then
about fourteen years of age, upon their first interview after the
abdication. He flattered himself that the lad had inherited his own
martial genius together with his name. Carlos took much interest in his
grandfather's account of his various battles, but when the flight from
Innspruck was narrated, he repeated many times, with much vehemence, that
he never would have fled; to which position he adhered, notwithstanding
all the arguments of the Emperor, and very much to his amusement. The
young Prince was always fond of soldiers, and listened eagerly to
discourses of war. He was in the habit also of recording the names of any
military persons who, according to custom, frequently made offers of
their services to the heir apparent, and of causing them to take a solemn
oath to keep their engagements. No other indications of warlike talent,
however, have been preserved concerning him. "He was crafty, ambitious,
cruel, violent," says the envoy Suriano, "a hater of buffoons, a lover of
soldiers." His natural cruelty seems to have been remarkable from his
boyhood. After his return from the chase, he was in the habit of cutting
the throats of hares and other animals, and of amusing himself with their
dying convulsions. He also frequently took pleasure in roasting them
alive. He once received a present of a very large snake from some person
who seemed to understand how to please this remarkable young prince.
After a time, however, the favorite reptile allowed itself to bite its
master's finger, whereupon Don Carlos immediately retaliated by biting
off its head.

He was excessively angry at the suggestion that the prince who was
expected to spring from his father's marriage with the English queen,
would one day reign over the Netherlands, and swore he would challenge
him to mortal combat in order to prevent such an infringement of his
rights. His father and grandfather were both highly diverted with this
manifestation of spirit, but it was not decreed that the world should
witness the execution of these fraternal intentions against the babe
which was never to be born.

Ferocity, in short, seems to have been the leading characteristic of the
unhappy Carlos. His preceptor, a man of learning and merit, who was
called "the honorable John", tried to mitigate this excessive ardor of
temperament by a course of Cicero de Officiis, which he read to him
daily. Neither the eloquence of Tully, however, nor the precepts of the
honorable John made the least impression upon this very savage nature. As
he grew older he did not grow wiser nor more gentle. He was prematurely
and grossly licentious. All the money which as a boy, he was allowed, he
spent upon women of low character, and when he was penniless, he gave
them his chains, his medals, even the clothes from his back. He took
pleasure in affronting respectable females when he met them in the
streets, insulting them by the coarsest language and gestures. Being
cruel, cunning, fierce and licentious, he seemed to combine many of the
worst qualities of a lunatic. That he probably was one is the best
defence which can be offered for his conduct. In attempting to offer
violence to a female, while he was at the university of Alcala, he fell
down a stone staircase, from which cause he was laid up for a long time
with a severely wounded head, and was supposed to have injured his brain.

The traits of ferocity recorded of him during his short life are so
numerous that humanity can hardly desire that it should have been
prolonged. A few drops of water having once fallen upon his head from a
window, as he passed through the street, he gave peremptory orders to his
guard to burn the house to the ground, and to put every one of its
inhabitants to the sword. The soldiers went forthwith to execute the
order, but more humane than their master, returned with the excuse that
the Holy Sacrament of the Viaticum had that moment been carried into the
house. This appeal to the superstition of the Prince successfully
suspended the execution of the crimes which his inconceivable malignity
had contemplated. On another occasion, a nobleman, who slept near his
chamber, failed to answer his bell on the instant. Springing upon his
dilatory attendant, as soon as he made his appearance, the Prince seized
him in his arms and was about to throw him from the window, when the
cries of the unfortunate chamberlain attracted attention, and procured a
rescue.

The Cardinal Espinoza had once accidentally detained at his palace an
actor who was to perform a favorite part by express command of Don
Carlos. Furious at this detention, the Prince took the priest by the
throat as soon as he presented himself at the palace, and plucking his
dagger from its sheath, swore, by the soul of his father, that he would
take his life on the spot. The grand inquisitor fell on his knees and
begged for mercy, but it is probable that the entrance of the King alone
saved his life.

There was often something ludicrous mingled with the atrocious in these
ungovernable explosions of wrath. Don Pedro Manuel, his chamberlain, had
once, by his command, ordered a pair of boots to be made for the Prince.
When brought home, they were, unfortunately, too tight. The Prince after
vainly endeavouring to pull them on, fell into a blazing passion. He
swore that it was the fault of Don Pedro, who always wore tight boots
himself, but he at the same time protested that his father was really at
the bottom of the affair. He gave the young nobleman a box on the ear for
thus conspiring with the King against his comfort, and then ordered the
boots to be chopped into little pieces, stewed and seasoned. Then sending
for the culprit shoemaker, he ordered him to eat his own boots, thus
converted into a pottage; and with this punishment the unfortunate
mechanic, who had thought his life forfeited, was sufficiently glad to
comply.

Even the puissant Alva could not escape his violence. Like all the men in
whom his father reposed confidence, the Duke was odious to the heir
apparent. Don Carlos detested him with the whole force of his little
soul. He hated him as only a virtuous person deserved to be hated by such
a ruffian. The heir apparent had taken the Netherlands under his
patronage. He had even formed the design of repairing secretly to the
provinces, and could not, therefore, disguise his wrath at the
appointment of the Duke. It is doubtful whether the country would have
benefited by the gratification of his wishes. It is possible that the
pranks of so malignant an ape might have been even more mischievous than
the concentrated and vigorous tyranny of an Alva. When the new
Captain-general called, before his departure, to pay his respects to the
Infante, the Duke seemed, to his surprise, to have suddenly entered the
den of a wild beast. Don Carlos sprang upon him with a howl of fury,
brandishing a dagger in his hand. He uttered reproaches at having been
defrauded of the Netherland government. He swore that Alva should never
accomplish his mission, nor leave his presence alive. He was proceeding
to make good the threat with his poniard, when the Duke closed with him.
A violent struggle succeeded. Both rolled together on the ground, the
Prince biting and striking like a demoniac, the Duke defending himself as
well as he was able, without attempting his adversary's life. Before the
combat was decided, the approach of many persons put an end to the
disgraceful scene. As decent a veil as possible was thrown over the
transaction, and the Duke departed on his mission. Before the end of the
year, the Prince was in the prison whence he never came forth alive.

The figure of Don Carlos was as misshapen as his mind. His head was
disproportionately large, his limbs were rickety, one shoulder was
higher, one leg longer than the other. With features resembling those of
his father, but with a swarthy instead of a fair complexion, with an
expression of countenance both fierce and foolish, and with a character
such as we have sketched it, upon the evidence of those who knew him
well, it is indeed strange that he should ever have been transformed by
the magic of poetry into a romantic hero. As cruel and cunning as his
father, as mad as his great-grandmother, he has left a name, which not
even his dark and mysterious fate can render interesting.




1568 [CHAPTER IV.]

   Continued and excessive barbarity of the government--Execution of
   Antony van Straalen, of "Red--Rod" Spelle--The Prince of Orange
   advised by his German friends to remain quiet--Heroic sentiments of
   Orange--His religious opinions--His efforts in favor of toleration--
   His fervent piety--His public correspondence with the Emperor--His
   "Justification," his "Warning," and other papers characterized--The
   Prince, with a considerable army, crosses the Rhine--Passage of the
   Meuse at Stochem--He offers battle to Alva--Determination of the
   Duke to avoid an engagement--Comparison of his present situation
   with his previous position in Friesland--Masterly tactics of the
   Duke--Skirmish on the Geta--Defeat of the Orangists--Death of
   Hoogstraaten--Junction with Genlis--Adherence of Alva to his
   original plan--The Prince crosses the frontier of France--
   Correspondence between Charles IX. and Orange--The patriot army
   disbanded at Strasburg--Comments by Granvelle upon the position of
   the Prince--Triumphant attitude of Alva--Festivities at Brussels--
   Colossal statue of Alva erected by himself in Antwerp citadel--
   Intercession of the Emperor with Philip--Memorial of six Electors to
   the Emperor--Mission of the Archduke Charles to Spain--His
   negotiations with Philip--Public and private correspondence between
   the King and Emperor--Duplicity of Maximilian--Abrupt conclusion to
   the intervention--Granvelle's suggestions to Philip concerning the
   treaty of Passau.

The Duke having thus crushed the project of Count Bouts, and quelled the
insurrection in Friesland, returned in triumph to Brussels. Far from
softened by the success of his arms, he renewed with fresh energy the
butchery which, for a brief season, had been suspended during his
brilliant campaign in the north. The altars again smoked with victims;
the hanging, burning, drowning, beheading, seemed destined to be the
perpetual course of his administration, so long as human bodies remained
on which his fanatical vengeance could be wreaked. Four men of eminence
were executed soon after his return to the capital. They had previously
suffered such intense punishment on the rack, that it was necessary to
carry them to the scaffold and bind them upon chairs, that they might be
beheaded. These four sufferers were a Frisian nobleman, named Galena, the
secretaries of Egmont and Horn, Bakkerzeel and La Loo, and the
distinguished burgomaster of Antwerp, Antony Van Straalen. The arrest of
the three last-mentioned individuals, simultaneously with that of the two
Counts, has been related in a previous chapter. In the case of Van
Straalen, the services rendered by him to the provinces during his long
and honorable career, had been so remarkable, that even the
Blood-Council, in sending his case to Alva for his sentence, were
inspired by a humane feeling. They felt so much compunction at the
impending fate of a man who, among other meritorious acts, had furnished
nearly all the funds for the brilliant campaign in Picardy, by which the
opening years of Philip's reign had been illustrated, as to hint at the
propriety of a pardon. But the recommendation to mercy, though it came
from the lips of tigers, dripping with human blood, fell unheeded on the
tyrant's ear. It seemed meet that the man who had supplied the nerves of
war in that unforgiven series of triumphs, should share the fate of the
hero who had won the laurels.

   [Bor, Cappella, Hoofd, ubi sup. The last words of the Burgomaster
   as he bowed his neck to the executioner's stroke were, "Voor wel
   gedaan, kwaclyk beloud,"--"For faithful service, evil recompense."
   --Cappella, 232.]

Hundreds of obscure martyrs now followed in the same path to another
world, where surely they deserved to find their recompense, if steadfast
adherence to their faith, and a tranquil trust in God amid tortures and
death too horrible to be related, had ever found favor above. The
"Red-Rod," as the provost of Brabant was popularly designated, was never
idle. He flew from village to village throughout the province, executing
the bloody behests of his masters with congenial alacrity. Nevertheless
his career was soon destined to close upon the same scaffold where he had
so long officiated. Partly from caprice, partly from an uncompromising
and fantastic sense of justice, his master now hanged the executioner
whose industry had been so untiring. The sentence which was affixed to
his breast, as he suffered, stated that he had been guilty of much
malpractice; that he had executed many persons without a warrant, and had
suffered many guilty persons for a bribe, to escape their doom. The
reader can judge which of the two clauses constituted the most sufficient
reason.

During all these triumphs of Alva, the Prince of Orange had not lost his
self-possession. One after another, each of his bold, skilfully-conceived
and carefully-prepared plans had failed. Villers had been entirely
discomfited at Dalhena, Cocqueville had been cut to pieces in Picardy,
and now the valiant and experienced Louis had met with an entire
overthrow in Friesland. The brief success of the patriots at Heiliger Zee
had been washed out in the blood-torrents of Jemmingen. Tyranny was more
triumphant, the provinces more timidly crouching, than ever. The friends
on whom William of Orange relied in Germany, never enthusiastic in his
cause, although many of them true-hearted and liberal, now grew cold and
anxious. For months long, his most faithful and affectionate allies, such
men as the Elector of Hesse and the Duke of Wirtemberg, as well as the
less trustworthy Augustus of Saxony, had earnestly expressed their
opinion that, under the circumstances, his best course was to sit still
and watch the course of events.

It was known that the Emperor had written an urgent letter to Philip on
the subject of his policy in the Netherlands in general, and concerning
the position of Orange in particular. All persons, from the Emperor down
to the pettiest potentate, seemed now of opinion that the Prince had
better pause; that he was, indeed, bound to wait the issue of that
remonstrance. "Your highness must sit still," said Landgrave William.
"Your highness must sit still," said Augustus of Saxony. "You must move
neither hand nor foot in the cause of the perishing provinces," said the
Emperor. "Not a soldier-horse, foot, or dragoon-shall be levied within
the Empire. If you violate the peace of the realm, and embroil us with
our excellent brother and cousin Philip, it is at your own peril. You
have nothing to do but to keep quiet and await his answer to our letter."
But the Prince knew how much effect his sitting still would produce upon
the cause of liberty and religion. He knew how much effect the Emperor's
letter was like to have upon the heart of Philip. He knew that the more
impenetrable the darkness now gathering over that land of doom which he
had devoted his life to defend, the more urgently was he forbidden to
turn his face away from it in its affliction. He knew that thousands of
human souls, nigh to perishing, were daily turning towards him as their
only hope on earth, and he was resolved, so long as he could dispense a
single ray of light, that his countenance should never be averted. It is
difficult to contemplate his character, at this period, without being
infected with a perhaps dangerous enthusiasm. It is not an easy task
coldly to analyse a nature which contained so much of the
self-sacrificing and the heroic, as well as of the adroit and the subtle;
and it is almost impossible to give utterance to the emotions which
naturally swell the heart at the contemplation of so much active virtue,
without rendering oneself liable to the charge of excessive admiration.
Through the mists of adversity, a human form may dilate into proportions
which are colossal and deceptive. Our judgment may thus, perhaps, be led
captive, but at any rate the sentiment excited is more healthful than
that inspired by the mere shedder of blood, by the merely selfish
conqueror. When the cause of the champion is that of human right against
tyranny, of political ind religious freedom against an all-engrossing and
absolute bigotry, it is still more difficult to restrain veneration
within legitimate bounds. To liberate the souls and bodies of millions,
to maintain for a generous people, who had well-nigh lost their all,
those free institutions which their ancestors had bequeathed, was a noble
task for any man. But here stood a Prince of ancient race, vast
possessions, imperial blood, one of the great ones of the earth, whose
pathway along the beaten track would have been smooth and successful, but
who was ready to pour out his wealth like water, and to coin his heart's
blood, drop by drop, in this virtuous but almost desperate cause. He felt
that of a man to whom so much had been entrusted, much was to be asked.
God had endowed him with an incisive and comprehensive genius,
unfaltering fortitude, and with the rank and fortune which enable a man
to employ his faculties, to the injury or the happiness of his fellows,
on the widest scale. The Prince felt the responsibility, and the world
was to learn the result.

It was about this time that a deep change came over his mind. Hitherto,
although nominally attached to the communion of the ancient Church, his
course of life and habits of mind had not led him to deal very earnestly
with things beyond the world. The severe duties, the grave character of
the cause to which his days were henceforth to be devoted, had already
led him to a closer inspection of the essential attributes of
Christianity. He was now enrolled for life as a soldier of the
Reformation. The Reformation was henceforth his fatherland, the sphere,
of his duty and his affection. The religious Reformers became his
brethren, whether in France, Germany, the Netherlands, or England. Yet
his mind had taken a higher flight than that of the most eminent
Reformers. His goal was not a new doctrine, but religious liberty. In an
age when to think was a crime, and when bigotry and a persecuting spirit
characterized Romanists and Lutherans, Calvinists and Zwinglians, he had
dared to announce freedom of conscience as the great object for which
noble natures should strive. In an age when toleration was a vice, he had
the manhood to cultivate it as a virtue. His parting advice to the
Reformers of the Netherlands, when he left them for a season in the
spring of 1567, was to sink all lesser differences in religious union.
Those of the Augsburg Confession and those of the Calvinistic Church, in
their own opinion as incapable of commingling as oil and water, were, in
his judgment, capable of friendly amalgamation. He appealed eloquently to
the good and influential of all parties to unite in one common cause
against oppression. Even while favoring daily more and more the cause of
the purified Church, and becoming daily more alive to the corruption of
Rome, he was yet willing to tolerate all forms of worship, and to leave
reason to combat error.

Without a particle of cant or fanaticism, he had become a deeply
religious man. Hitherto he had been only a man of the world and a
statesman, but from this time forth he began calmly to rely upon God's
providence in all the emergencies of his eventful life. His letters
written to his most confidential friends, to be read only by themselves,
and which have been gazed upon by no other eyes until after the lapse of
nearly three centuries, abundantly prove his sincere and simple trust.
This sentiment was not assumed for effect to delude others, but cherished
as a secret support for himself. His religion was not a cloak to his
designs, but a consolation in his disasters. In his letter of instruction
to his most confidential agent, John Bazius, while he declared himself
frankly in favor of the Protestant principles, he expressed his extreme
repugnance to the persecution of Catholics. "Should we obtain power over
any city or cities," he wrote, "let the communities of papists be as much
respected and protected as possible. Let them be overcome, not by
violence, but with gentle-mindedness and virtuous treatment." After the
terrible disaster at Jemmingen, he had written to Louis, consoling him,
in the most affectionate language, for the unfortunate result of his
campaign. Not a word of reproach escaped from him, although his brother
had conducted the operations in Friesland, after the battle of Heiliger
Lee, in a manner quite contrary to his own advice. He had counselled
against a battle, and had foretold a defeat; but after the battle had
been fought and a crushing defeat sustained, his language breathed only
unwavering submission to the will of God, and continued confidence in his
own courage. "You may be well assured, my brother," he wrote, "that I
have never felt anything more keenly than the pitiable misfortune which
has happened to you, for many reasons which you can easily imagine.
Moreover, it hinders us much in the levy which we are making, and has
greatly chilled the hearts of those who otherwise would have been ready
to give us assistance. Nevertheless, since it has thus pleased God, it is
necessary to have patience and to lose not courage; conforming ourselves
to His divine will, as for my part I have determined to do in everything
which may happen, still proceeding onward in our work with his Almighty
aid. 'Soevis tranquillus in undis', he was never more placid than when
the storm was wildest and the night darkest. He drew his consolations and
refreshed his courage at the never-failing fountains of Divine mercy.

"I go to-morrow," he wrote to the unworthy Anne of Saxony; "but when I
shall return, or when I shall see you, I cannot, on my honor, tell you
with certainty. I have resolved to place myself in the hands of the
Almighty, that he may guide me whither it is His good pleasure that I
should go. I see well enough that I am destined to pass this life in
misery and labor, with which I am well content, since it thus pleases the
Omnipotent, for I know that I have merited still greater chastisement. I
only implore Him graciously to send me strength to endure with patience."

Such language, in letters the most private, never meant to be seen by
other eyes than those to which they were addressed, gives touching
testimony to the sincere piety of his character. No man was ever more
devoted to a high purpose, no man had ever more right to imagine himself,
or less inclination to pronounce himself, entrusted with a divine
mission. There was nothing of the charlatan in his character. His nature
was true and steadfast. No narrow-minded usurper was ever more loyal to
his own aggrandisement than this large-hearted man to the cause of
oppressed humanity. Yet it was inevitable that baser minds should fail to
recognise his purity. While he exhausted his life for the emancipation of
a people, it was easy to ascribe all his struggles to the hope of
founding a dynasty. It was natural for grovelling natures to search in
the gross soil of self-interest for the sustaining roots of the tree
beneath whose branches a nation found its shelter. What could they
comprehend of living fountains and of heavenly dews?

In May, 1568, the Emperor Maximilian had formally issued a requisition to
the Prince of Orange to lay down his arms, and to desist from all levies
and machinations against the King of Spain and the peace of the realm.
This summons he was commanded to obey on pain of forfeiting all rights,
fiefs, privileges and endowments bestowed by imperial hands on himself or
his predecessors, and of incurring the heaviest disgrace, punishment, and
penalties of the Empire.

To this document the Prince replied in August, having paid in the
meantime but little heed to its precepts. Now that the Emperor, who at
first was benignant, had begun to frown on his undertaking, he did not
slacken in his own endeavours to set his army on foot. One by one, those
among the princes of the empire who had been most stanch in his cause,
and were still most friendly to his person, grew colder as tyranny became
stronger; but the ardor of the Prince was not more chilled by their
despair than by the overthrow at Jemmingen, which had been its cause. In
August, he answered the letter of the Emperor, respectfully but warmly.
He still denounced the tyranny of Alva and the arts of Granvelle with
that vigorous eloquence which was always at his command, while, as usual,
he maintained a show of almost exaggerated respect for their monarch. It
was not to be presumed, he said, that his Majesty, "a king debonair and
bountiful," had ever intended such cruelties as those which had been
rapidly retraced in the letter, but it was certain that the Duke of Alva
had committed them all of his own authority. He trusted, moreover, that
the Emperor, after he had read the "Justification" which the Prince had
recently published, would appreciate the reason for his taking up arms.
He hoped that his Majesty would now consider the resistance just,
Christian, and conformable to the public peace. He expressed the belief
that rather than interpose any hindrance, his Majesty would thenceforth
rather render assistance "to the poor and desolate Christians," even as
it was his Majesty's office and authority to be the last refuge of the
injured.

The "Justification against the false blame of his calumniators by the
Prince of Orange," to which the Prince thus referred, has been mentioned
in a previous chapter. This remarkable paper had been drawn up at the
advice of his friends, Landgrave William and Elector Augustus, but it was
not the only document which the Prince caused to be published at this
important epoch. He issued a formal declaration of war against the Duke
of Alva; he addressed a solemn and eloquent warning or proclamation to
all the inhabitants of the Netherlands. These documents are all extremely
important and interesting. Their phraseology shows the intentions and the
spirit by which the Prince was actuated on first engaging in the
struggle. Without the Prince and his efforts--at this juncture, there
would probably have never been a free Netherland commonwealth. It is
certain, likewise, that without an enthusiastic passion for civil and
religious liberty throughout the masses of the Netherland people, there
would have been no successful effort on the part of the Prince. He knew
his countrymen; while they, from highest to humblest, recognised in him
their saviour. There was, however, no pretence of a revolutionary
movement. The Prince came to maintain, not to overthrow. The freedom
which had been enjoyed in the provinces until the accession of the
Burgundian dynasty, it was his purpose to restore. The attitude which he
now assumed was a peculiar one in history. This defender of a people's
cause set up no revolutionary standard. In all his documents he paid
apparent reverence to the authority of the King. By a fiction, which was
not unphilosophical, he assumed that the monarch was incapable of the
crimes which he charged upon the Viceroy. Thus he did not assume the
character of a rebel in arms against his prince, but in his own capacity
of sovereign he levied troops and waged war against a satrap whom he
chose to consider false to his master's orders. In the interest of
Philip, assumed to be identical with the welfare of his people, he took
up arms against the tyrant who was sacrificing both. This mask of loyalty
would never save his head from the block, as he well knew, but some
spirits lofty as his own, might perhaps be influenced by a noble
sophistry, which sought to strengthen the cause of the people by
attributing virtue to the King.

And thus did the sovereign of an insignificant little principality stand
boldly forth to do battle with the most powerful monarch in the world. At
his own expense, and by almost superhuman exertions, he had assembled
nearly thirty thousand men. He now boldly proclaimed to the world, and
especially to the inhabitants of the provinces, his motives, his
purposes, and his hopes.

   "We, by God's grace Prince of Orange," said his declaration of 31st
   August, 1568, "salute all faithful subjects of his Majesty. To few
   people is it unknown that the Spaniards have for a long time sought
   to govern the land according to their pleasure. Abusing his
   Majesty's goodness, they have persuaded him to decree the
   introduction of the inquisition into the Netherlands. They well
   understood, that in case the Netherlanders could be made to tolerate
   its exercise, they would lose all protection to their liberty; that
   if they opposed its introduction, they would open those rich
   provinces as a vast field of plunder. We had hoped that his
   Majesty, taking the matter to heart, would have spared his
   hereditary provinces from such utter ruin. We have found our hopes
   futile. We are unable, by reason of our loyal service due to his
   Majesty, and of our true compassion for the faithful lieges, to look
   with tranquillity any longer at such murders, robberies, outrages,
   and agony. We are, moreover, certain that his Majesty has been
   badly informed upon Netherland matters. We take up arms, therefore,
   to oppose the violent tyranny of the Spaniards, by the help of the
   merciful God, who is the enemy of all bloodthirstiness. Cheerfully
   inclined to wager our life and all our worldly wealth on the cause,
   we have now, God be thanked, an excellent army of cavalry, infantry,
   and artillery, raised all at our own expense. We summon all loyal
   subjects of the Netherlands to come and help us. Let them take to
   heart the uttermost need of the country, the danger of perpetual
   slavery for themselves and their children, and of the entire
   overthrow of the Evangelical religion. Only when Alva's blood-
   thirstiness shall have been at last overpowered, can the provinces
   hope to recover their pure administration of justice, and a
   prosperous condition for their commonwealth."

In the "warning" or proclamation to all the inhabitants of the
Netherlands, the Prince expressed similar sentiments. He announced his
intention of expelling the Spaniards forever from the country. To
accomplish the mighty undertaking, money was necessary. He accordingly
called on his countrymen to contribute, the rich out of their abundance,
the poor even out of their poverty, to the furtherance of the cause. To
do this, while it was yet time, he solemnly warned them "before God, the
fatherland, and the world." After the title of this paper were cited the
28th, 29th, and 30th verses of the tenth chapter of Proverbs. The
favorite motto of the Prince, "pro lege, rege, grege," was also affixed
to the document.

These appeals had, however, but little effect. Of three hundred thousand
crowns, promised on behalf of leading nobles and merchants of the
Netherlands by Marcus Perez, but ten or twelve thousand came to hand. The
appeals to the gentlemen who had signed the Compromise, and to many
others who had, in times past, been favorable to the liberal party were
powerless. A poor Anabaptist preacher collected a small sum from a
refugee congregation on the outskirts of Holland, and brought it, at the
peril of his life, into the Prince's camp. It came from people, he said,
whose will was better than the gift. They never wished to be repaid, he
said, except by kindness, when the cause of reform should be triumphant
in the Netherlands. The Prince signed a receipt for the money, expressing
himself touched by this sympathy from these poor outcasts. In the course
of time, other contributions from similar sources, principally collected
by dissenting preachers, starving and persecuted church communities, were
received. The poverty-stricken exiles contributed far more, in
proportion, for the establishment of civil and religious liberty, than
the wealthy merchants or the haughty nobles.

Late in September, the Prince mustered his army in the province of
Treves, near the monastery of Romersdorf. His force amounted to nearly
thirty thousand men, of whom nine thousand were cavalry. Lumey, Count de
la Marek, now joined him at the head of a picked band of troopers; a
bold, ferocious partisan, descended from the celebrated Wild Boar of
Ardennes. Like Civilis, the ancient Batavian hero, he had sworn to leave
hair and beard unshorn till the liberation of the country was achieved,
or at least till the death of Egmont, whose blood relation he was, had
been avenged. It is probable that the fierce conduct of this chieftain,
and particularly the cruelties exercised upon monks and papists by his
troops, dishonored the cause more than their valor could advance it. But
in those stormy times such rude but incisive instruments were scarcely to
be neglected, and the name of Lumey was to be forever associated with
important triumphs of the liberal cause.

It was fated, however, that but few laurels should be won by the patriots
in this campaign. The Prince crossed the Rhine at Saint Feit, a village
belonging to himself. He descended along the banks as far as the
neighbourhood of Cologne. Then, after hovering in apparent uncertainty
about the territories of Juliers and Limburg, he suddenly, on a bright
moonlight night, crossed the Meuse with his whole army, in the
neighbourhood of Stochem. The operation was brilliantly effected. A
compact body of cavalry, according to the plan which had been more than
once adopted by Julius Caesar, was placed in the midst of the current,
under which shelter the whole army successfully forded the river. The
Meuse was more shallow than usual, but the water was as high as the
soldiers' necks. This feat was accomplished on the night and morning of
the 4th and 5th of October. It was considered so bold an achievement that
its fame spread far and wide. The Spaniards began to tremble at the
prowess of a Prince whom they had affected to despise. The very fact of
the passage was flatly contradicted. An unfortunate burgher at Amsterdam
was scourged at the whipping-post, because he mentioned it as matter of
common report. The Duke of Alva refused to credit the tale when it was
announced to him. "Is the army of the Prince of Orange a flock of wild
geese," he asked, "that it can fly over rivers like the Meuse?"
Nevertheless it was true. The outlawed, exiled Prince stood once more on
the borders of Brabant, with an army of disciplined troops at his back.
His banners bore patriotic inscriptions. "Pro Lege, Rege, Grege," was
emblazoned upon some. A pelican tearing her breast to nourish her young
with her life-blood was the pathetic emblem of others. It was his
determination to force or entice the Duke of Alva into a general
engagement. He was desirous to wipe out the disgrace of Jemmingen. Could
he plant his victorious standard thus in the very heart of the country,
he felt that thousands would rally around it. The country would rise
almost to a man, could he achieve a victory over the tyrant, flushed as
he was with victory, and sated with blood.

With banners flying, drums beating, trumpets sounding, with all the pomp
and defiance which an already victorious general could assume, Orange
marched into Brabant, and took up a position within six thousand paces of
Alva's encampment. His plan was at every hazard to dare or to decoy his
adversary into the chances of a stricken field. The Governor was
entrenched at a place called Keiserslager, which Julius Caesar had once
occupied. The city of Maestricht was in his immediate neighbourhood,
which was thus completely under his protection, while it furnished him
with supplies. The Prince sent to the Duke a herald, who was to propose
that all prisoners who might be taken in the coming campaign should be
exchanged instead of being executed. The herald, booted and spurred, even
as he had dismounted from his horse, was instantly hanged. This was the
significant answer to the mission of mercy. Alva held no parley with
rebels before a battle, nor gave quarter afterwards.

In the meantime, the Duke had carefully studied the whole position of
affairs, and had arrived at his conclusion. He was determined not to
fight. It was obvious that the Prince would offer battle eagerly,
ostentatiously, frequently, but the Governor was resolved never to accept
the combat. Once taken, his resolution was unalterable. He recognized the
important difference between his own attitude at present, and that in
which he had found himself during the past summer in Friesland. There a
battle had been necessary, now it was more expedient to overcome his
enemy by delay. In Friesland, the rebels had just achieved a victory over
the choice troops of Spain. Here they were suffering from the stigma of a
crushing defeat. Then, the army of Louis Nassau was swelling daily by
recruits, who poured in from all the country round. Now, neither peasant
nor noble dared lift a finger for the Prince. The army of Louis had been
sustained by the one which his brother was known to be preparing. If
their movements had not been checked, a junction would have been
effected. The armed revolt would then have assumed so formidable an
aspect, that rebellion would seem, even for the timid, a safer choice
than loyalty. The army of the Prince, on the contrary, was now the last
hope of the patriots: The three by which it had been preceded had been
successively and signally vanquished.

Friesland, again, was on the outskirts of the country. A defeat sustained
by the government there did not necessarily imperil the possession of the
provinces. Brabant, on the contrary, was the heart of the Netherlands.
Should the Prince achieve a decisive triumph then and there, he would be
master of the nation's fate. The Viceroy knew himself to be odious, and
he reigned by terror. The Prince was the object of the people's idolatry,
and they would rally round him if they dared. A victory gained by the
liberator over the tyrant, would destroy the terrible talisman of
invincibility by which Alva governed. The Duke had sufficiently
demonstrated his audacity in the tremendous chastisement which he had
inflicted upon the rebels under Louis. He could now afford to play that
scientific game of which he was so profound a master, without risking any
loss of respect or authority. He was no enthusiast. Although he doubtless
felt sufficiently confident of overcoming the Prince in a pitched battle,
he had not sufficient relish for the joys of contest to be willing to
risk even a remote possibility of defeat. His force, although composed of
veterans and of the best musketeers and pikemen in Europe, was still
somewhat inferior in numbers to that of his adversary. Against the twenty
thousand foot and eight thousand, horse of Orange, he could oppose only
fifteen or sixteen thousand foot and fifty-five hundred riders. Moreover,
the advantage which he had possessed in Friesland, a country only
favorable to infantry, in which he had been stronger than his opponent,
was now transferred to his new enemy. On the plains of Brabant, the
Prince's superiority in cavalry was sure to tell. The season of the year,
too, was an important element in the calculation. The winter alone would
soon disperse the bands of German mercenaries, whose expenses Orange was
not able to support, even while in active service. With unpaid wages and
disappointed hopes of plunder, the rebel army would disappear in a few
weeks as totally as if defeated in the open field. In brief, Orange by a
victory would gain new life and strength, while his defeat could no more
than anticipate, by a few weeks, the destruction of his army, already
inevitable. Alva, on the contrary, might lose the mastery of the
Netherlands if unfortunate, and would gain no solid advantage if
triumphant. The Prince had everything to hope, the Duke everything to
fear, from the result of a general action.

The plan, thus deliberately resolved upon, was accomplished with
faultless accuracy. As a work of art, the present campaign of Alva
against Orange was a more consummate masterpiece than the more brilliant
and dashing expedition into Friesland. The Duke had resolved to hang upon
his adversary's skirts, to follow him move by move, to check him at every
turn, to harass him in a hundred ways, to foil all his enterprises, to
parry all his strokes, and finally to drive him out of the country, after
a totally barren campaign, when, as he felt certain, his ill-paid
hirelings would vanish in all directions, and leave their patriot Prince
a helpless and penniless adventurer. The scheme thus sagaciously
conceived, his adversary, with all his efforts, was unable to circumvent.

The campaign lasted little more than a month. Twenty-nine times the
Prince changed his encampment, and at every remove the Duke was still
behind him, as close and seemingly as impalpable as his shadow. Thrice
they were within cannon-shot of each other; twice without a single trench
or rampart between them. The country people refused the Prince supplies,
for they trembled at the vengeance of the Governor. Alva had caused the
irons to be removed from all the mills, so that not a bushel of corn
could be ground in the whole province. The country thus afforded but
little forage for the thirty thousand soldiers of the Prince. The troops,
already discontented, were clamorous for pay and plunder. During one
mutinous demonstration, the Prince's sword was shot from his side, and it
was with difficulty that a general outbreak was suppressed. The soldiery
were maddened and tantalized by the tactics of Alva. They found
themselves constantly in the presence of an enemy, who seemed to court a
battle at one moment and to vanish like a phantom at the next They felt
the winter approaching, and became daily more dissatisfied with the
irritating hardships to which they were exposed. Upon the night of the
5th and 6th of October the Prince had crossed the Meuse at Stochem.
Thence he had proceeded to Tongres, followed closely by the enemy's
force, who encamped in the immediate neighbourhood. From Tongres he had
moved to Saint Trond, still pursued and still baffled in the same
cautious manner. The skirmishing at the outposts was incessant, but the
main body was withdrawn as soon as there seemed a chance of its becoming
involved.

From Saint Trond, in the neighbourhood of which he had remained several
days, he advanced in a southerly direction towards Jodoigne. Count de
Genlis, with a reinforcement of French Huguenots, for which the Prince
had been waiting, had penetrated through the Ardennes, crossed the Meuse
at Charlemont, and was now intending a junction with him at Waveron. The
river Geta flowed between them. The Prince stationed a considerable force
upon a hill near the stream to protect the passage, and then proceeded
leisurely to send his army across the river. Count Hoogstraaten, with the
rear-guard, consisting of about three thousand men, were alone left upon
the hither bank, in order to provoke or to tempt the enemy, who, as
usual, was encamped very near. Alva refused to attack the main army, but
Frederic with a force of four thousand men, were alone left on the hither
bank, in order to provoke or to tempt the enemy, who as usual, was
encamped very near. Alva refused to attack the main army but rapidly
detached his son, Don Fredrick, with a force of four thousand foot and
three thousand horse, to cut off the rear-guard. The movement was
effected in a masterly manner, the hill was taken, the three thousand
troops which had not passed the river were cut to pieces, and Vitelli
hastily despatched a gentleman named Barberini to implore the Duke to
advance with the main body, cross the river, and, once for all,
exterminate the rebels in a general combat. Alva, inflamed, not with
ardor for an impending triumph, but with rage, that his sagely-conceived
plans could not be comprehended even by his son and by his favorite
officers, answered the eager messenger with peremptory violence. "Go back
to Vitelli," he cried. "Is he, or am I, to command in this campaign? Tell
him not to suffer a single man to cross the river. Warn him against
sending any more envoys to advise a battle; for should you or any other
man dare to bring me another such message, I swear to you, by the head of
the King, that you go not hence alive."

With this decisive answer the messenger had nothing for it but to gallop
back with all haste, in order to participate in what might be left of the
butchery of Count Hoogstraaten's force, and to prevent Vitelli and Don
Frederic in their ill-timed ardor, from crossing the river. This was
properly effected, while in the meantime the whole rear-guard of the
patriots had been slaughtered. A hundred or two, the last who remained,
had made their escape from the field, and had taken refuge in a house in
the neighbourhood. The Spaniards set the buildings on fire, and standing
around with lifted lances, offered the fugitives the choice of being
consumed in the flames or of springing out upon their spears. Thus
entrapped some chose the one course, some the other. A few, to escape the
fury of the fire and the brutality of the Spaniards, stabbed themselves
with their own swords. Others embraced, and then killed each other, the
enemies from below looking on, as at a theatrical exhibition; now hissing
and now applauding, as the death struggles were more or less to their
taste. In a few minutes all the fugitives were dead. Nearly three
thousand of the patriots were slain in this combat, including those
burned or butchered after the battle was over. The Sieur de Louverwal was
taken prisoner, and soon afterwards beheaded in Brussels; but the
greatest misfortune sustained by the liberal party upon this occasion was
the death of Antony de Lalaing, Count of Hoogstraaten. This brave and
generous nobleman, the tried friend of the Prince of Orange, and his
colleague during the memorable scenes at Antwerp, was wounded in the foot
during the action, by an accidental discharge of his own pistol. The
injury, although apparently slight, caused his death in a few days. There
seemed a strange coincidence in his good and evil fortunes. A casual
wound in the hand from his own pistol while he was on his way to
Brussels, to greet Alva upon his first arrival, had saved him from the
scaffold. And now in his first pitched battle with the Duke, this
seemingly trifling injury in the foot was destined to terminate his
existence. Another peculiar circumstance had marked the event. At a gay
supper in the course of this campaign, Hoogstraaten had teased Count
Louis, in a rough, soldierly way, with his disaster at Jemmingen. He had
affected to believe that the retreat upon that occasion had been
unnecessary. "We have been now many days in the Netherlands;" said he,
"and we have seen nothing of the Spaniards but their backs."--"And when
the Duke does break loose," replied Louis, somewhat nettled, "I warrant
you will see their faces soon enough, and remember them for the rest of
your life." The half-jesting remark was thus destined to become a gloomy
prophecy.

This was the only important action daring the campaign. Its perfect
success did not warp Alva's purpose, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of
many of his officers, he remained firm in his resolution. After the
termination of the battle on the Geta, and the Duke's obstinate refusal
to pursue his advantage, the Baron de Chevreau dashed his pistol to the
ground, in his presence, exclaiming that the Duke would never fight. The
Governor smiled at the young man's chagrin, seemed even to approve his
enthusiasm, but reminded him that it was the business of an officer to
fight, of a general to conquer. If the victory were bloodless, so much
the better for all.

This action was fought on the 20th of October. A few days afterwards, the
Prince made his junction with Genlis at Waveren, a place about three
leagues from Louvain and from Brussels. This auxiliary force was,
however, insignificant. There were only five hundred cavalry and three
thousand foot, but so many women and children, that it seemed rather an
emigrating colony than an invading army. They arrived late. If they had
come earlier, it would have been of little consequence, for it had been
written that no laurels were to be gathered in that campaign. The
fraternal spirit which existed between the Reformers in all countries was
all which could be manifested upon the occasion. The Prince was
frustrated in his hopes of a general battle, still more bitterly
disappointed by the supineness of the country. Not a voice was raised to
welcome the deliverer. Not a single city opened its gates. All was
crouching, silent, abject. The rising, which perhaps would have been
universal had a brilliant victory been obtained, was, by the masterly
tactics of Alva, rendered an almost inconceivable idea. The mutinous
demonstrations in the Prince's camp became incessant; the soldiers were
discontented and weary. What the Duke had foretold was coming to pass,
for the Prince's army was already dissolving.

Genlis and the other French officers were desirous that the Prince should
abandon the Netherlands for the present, and come to the rescue of the
Huguenots, who had again renewed the religious war under Conde and
Coligny. The German soldiers, however would listen to no such proposal.
They had enlisted to fight the Duke of Alva in the Netherlands, and would
not hear of making war against Charles IX. in France. The Prince was
obliged to countermarch toward the Rhine. He recrossed the Geta, somewhat
to Alva's astonishment, and proceeded in the direction of the Meuse. The
autumn rains, however, had much swollen that river since his passage at
the beginning of the month, so that it could no longer be forded. He
approached the city of Liege, and summoned their Bishop, as he had done
on his entrance into the country, to grant a free passage to his troops.
The Bishop who stood in awe of Alva, and who had accepted his protection
again refused. The Prince had no time to parley. He was again obliged to
countermarch, and took his way along the high-road to France, still
watched and closely pursued by Alva, between whose troops and his own
daily skirmishes took place. At Le Quesnoy, the Prince gained a trifling
advantage over the Spaniards; at Cateau Cambresis he also obtained a
slight and easy-victory; but by the 17th of November the Duke of Alva had
entered Cateau Cambresis, and the Prince had crossed the frontier of
France.

The Marechal de Cosse, who was stationed on the boundary of France and
Flanders, now harassed the Prince by very similar tactics to those of
Alva. He was, however, too weak to inflict any serious damage, although
strong enough to create perpetual annoyance. He also sent a secretary to
the Prince, with a formal prohibition, in the name of Charles IX.,
against his entering the French territory with his troops.

Besides these negotiations, conducted by Secretary Favelles on the part
of Marechal de Cosse, the King, who was excessively alarmed, also
despatched the Marechal Gaspar de Schomberg on the same service. That
envoy accordingly addressed to the Prince a formal remonstrance in the
name of his sovereign. Charles IX., it was represented, found it very
strange that the Prince should thus enter the French territory. The King
was not aware that he had ever given him the least cause for hostile
proceedings, could not therefore take it in good part that the Prince
should thus enter France with a "large and puissant army;" because no
potentate, however humble, could tolerate such a proceeding, much less a
great and powerful monarch. Orange was therefore summoned to declare his
intentions, but was at the same, time informed, that if he merely desired
"to pass amiably through the country," and would give assurance, and
request permission to that, effect, under his hand and seal, his Majesty
would take all necessary measures to secure that amiable passage.

The Prince replied by a reference to the statements which he had already
made to Marechal de Cosse. He averred that he had not entered France with
evil intent, but rather with a desire to render very humble service to
his Majesty, so far as he could do so with a clear conscience.

Touching the King's inability to remember having given any occasion to
hostile proceedings on the part of the Prince, he replied that he would
pass that matter by. Although he could adduce many, various, and strong
reasons for violent measures, he was not so devoid of understanding as
not to recognize the futility of attempting anything, by his own personal
means, against so great and powerful a King, in comparison with whom he
was "but a petty companion."

"Since the true religion," continued Orange, "is a public and general
affair, which ought to be preferred to all private matters; since the
Prince, as a true Christian, is held by his honor and conscience to
procure, with all his strength, its advancement and establishment in
every place whatever; since, on the other hand, according to the edict
published in September last by his Majesty, attempts have been made to
force in their consciences all those who are of the Christian religion;
and since it has been determined to exterminate the pure word of God, and
the entire exercise thereof, and to permit no other religion than the
Roman Catholic, a thing very, prejudicial to the neighbouring nations
where there is a free exercise of the Christian religion, therefore the
Prince would put no faith in the assertions of his Majesty, that it was
not his Majesty's intentions to force the consciences of any one."

Having given this very deliberate and succinct contradiction to the
statements of the French King, the Prince proceeded to express his
sympathy for the oppressed Christians everywhere. He protested that he
would give them all the aid, comfort, counsel, and assistance that he was
able to give them. He asserted his conviction that the men who professed
the religion demanded nothing else than the glory of God and the
advancement of His word, while in all matters of civil polity they were
ready to render obedience to his Majesty. He added that all his doings
were governed by a Christian and affectionate regard for the King and his
subjects, whom his Majesty must be desirous of preserving from extreme
ruin. He averred, moreover, that if he should perceive any indication
that those of the religion were pursuing any other object than liberty of
conscience and security for life and property, he would not only withdraw
his assistance from them, but would use the whole strength of his army to
exterminate them. In conclusion, he begged the King to believe that the
work which the Prince had undertaken was a Christian work, and that his
intentions were good and friendly towards his Majesty.

   [This very eloquently written letter was dated Ciasonne, December
   3rd, 1568. It has never been published. It is in the Collection of
   MSS, Pivoen concernant, etc., Hague archives.]

It was, however, in vain that the Prince endeavoured to induce his army
to try the fortunes of the civil war in France. They had enlisted for the
Netherlands, the campaign was over, and they insisted upon being led back
to Germany. Schomberg, secretly instructed by the King of France, was
active in fomenting the discontent, and the Prince was forced to yield.
He led his army through Champagne and Lorraine to Strasburg, where they
were disbanded. All the money which the Prince had been able to collect
was paid them. He pawned all his camp equipage, his plate, his furniture.

What he could not pay in money he made up in promises, sacredly to be
fulfilled, when he should be restored to his possessions. He even
solemnly engaged, should he return from France alive, and be still unable
to pay their arrears of wages, to surrender his person to them as a
hostage for his debt.

Thus triumphantly for Alva, thus miserably for Orange, ended the
campaign. Thus hopelessly vanished the army to which so many proud hopes
had attached themselves. Eight thousand teen had been slain in paltry
encounters, thirty thousand were dispersed, not easily to be again
collected. All the funds which the Prince could command had been wasted
without producing a result. For the present, nothing seemed to afford a
ground of hope for the Netherlands, but the war of freedom had been
renewed in France. A band of twelve hundred mounted men-at-arms were
willing to follow the fortunes of the Prince. The three brothers
accordingly; William, Louis, and Henry--a lad of eighteen, who had
abandoned his studies at the university to obey the chivalrous instincts
of his race--set forth early in the following spring to join the banner
of Conde.

Cardinal Granvelle, who had never taken his eyes or thoughts from the
provinces during his residence at Rome, now expressed himself with
exultation. He had predicted, with cold malice, the immediate results of
the campaign, and was sanguine enough to believe the contest over, and
the Prince for ever crushed. In his letters to Philip he had taken due
notice of the compliments paid to him by Orange in his Justification, in
his Declaration, and in his letter to the Emperor. He had declined to
make any answer to the charges, in order to enrage the Prince the more.
He had expressed the opinion, however, that this publication of writings
was not the business of brave soldiers, but of cowards. He made the same
reflection upon the alleged intrigues by Orange to procure an embassy on
his own behalf from the Emperor to Philip--a mission which was sure to
end in smoke, while it would cost the Prince all credit, not only in
Germany but the Netherlands. He felt sure, he said, of the results of the
impending campaign. The Duke of Alva was a man upon whose administrative
prudence and military skill his sovereign could implicitly rely, nor was
there a person in the ranks of the rebels capable of, conducting an
enterprise of such moment. Least of all had the Prince of Orange
sufficient brains for carrying on such weighty affairs, according to the
opinion which he had formed of him during their long intercourse in
former days.

When the campaign had been decided, and the Prince had again become an
exile, Granvelle observed that it was now proved how incompetent he and
all his companions were to contend in military skill with the Duke of
Alva. With a cold sneer at motives which he assumed, as a matter of
course, to be purely selfish, he said that the Prince had not taken the
proper road to recover his property, and that he would now be much
embarrassed to satisfy his creditors. Thus must those ever fall, he
moralized, who would fly higher than they ought; adding, that henceforth
the Prince would have enough to do in taking care of madam his wife, if
she did not change soon in humor and character.

Meantime the Duke of Alva, having despatched from Cateau Cambresis a
brief account of the victorious termination of the campaign, returned in
triumph to Brussels. He had certainly amply vindicated his claim to be
considered the first warrior of the age. By his lieutenants he had
summarily and rapidly destroyed two of the armies sent against him; he
had annihilated in person the third, by a brilliantly successful battle,
in which he had lost seven men, and his enemies seven thousand; and he
had now, by consummate strategy, foiled the fourth and last under the
idolized champion of the Netherlands, and this so decisively that,
without losing a man, he had destroyed eight thousand rebels, and
scattered to the four winds the remaining twenty thousand. Such signal
results might well make even a meeker nature proud. Such vast and
fortunate efforts to fix for ever an impregnable military tyranny upon a
constitutional country, might cause a more modest despot to exult. It was
not wonderful that the haughty, and now apparently omnipotent Alva,
should almost assume the god. On his return to Brussels he instituted a
succession of triumphant festivals. The people were called upon to
rejoice and to be exceeding glad, to strew flowers in his path, to sing
Hosannas in his praise who came to them covered with the blood of those
who had striven in their defence. The holiday was duly called forth;
houses, where funeral hatchments for murdered inmates had been
perpetually suspended, were decked with garlands; the bells, which had
hardly once omitted their daily knell for the victims of an incredible
cruelty, now rang their merriest peals; and in the very square where so
lately Egmont and Horn, besides many other less distinguished martyrs,
had suffered an ignominious death, a gay tournament was held, day after
day, with all the insolent pomp which could make the exhibition most
galling.

But even these demonstrations of hilarity were not sufficient. The
conqueror and tamer of the Netherlands felt that a more personal and
palpable deification was necessary for his pride. When Germanicus had
achieved his last triumph over the ancient freedom of those generous
races whose descendants, but lately in possession of a better organized
liberty, Alva had been sent by the second and the worse Tiberius to
insult and to crush, the valiant but modest Roman erected his trophy upon
the plains of Idistavisus. "The army of Tiberius Caesar having subdued
the nations between the Rhine and the Elbe, dedicate this monument to
Mars, to Jupiter, and to Augustus." So ran the inscription of Germanicus,
without a word of allusion to his own name. The Duke of Alva, on his
return from the battle-fields of Brabant and Friesland, reared a colossal
statue of himself, and upon its pedestal caused these lines to be
engraved: "To Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, Governor of the
Netherlands under Philip the Second, for having extinguished sedition,
chastised rebellion, restored religion, secured justice, established
peace; to the King's most faithful minister this monument is erected."

   [Bor, iv. 257, 258. Meteren, 61. De Thou, v. 471-473, who saw it
   after it was overthrown, and who was "as much struck by the beauty
   of the work as by the insane pride of him who ordered it to be
   made."]

So pompous a eulogy, even if truthful and merited, would be sufficiently
inflated upon a tombstone raised to a dead chieftain by his bereaved
admirers. What shall we say of such false and fulsome tribute, not to a
god, not to the memory of departed greatness, but to a living, mortal
man, and offered not by his adorers but by himself? Certainly,
self-worship never went farther than in this remarkable monument, erected
in Alva's honor, by Alva's hands. The statue was colossal, and was placed
in the citadel of Antwerp. Its bronze was furnished by the cannon
captured at Jemmingen. It represented the Duke trampling upon a prostrate
figure with two heads, four arms, and one body. The two heads were
interpreted by some to represent Egmont and Horn, by others, the two
Nassaus, William and Louis. Others saw in them an allegorical presentment
of the nobles and commons of the Netherlands, or perhaps an impersonation
of the Compromise and the Request. Besides the chief inscription on the
pedestal, were sculptured various bas-reliefs; and the spectator, whose
admiration for the Governor-general was not satiated with the colossal
statue itself, was at liberty to find a fresh, personification of the
hero, either in a torch-bearing angel or a gentle shepherd. The work,
which had considerable esthetic merit, was executed by an artist named
Jacob Jongeling. It remained to astonish and disgust the Netherlanders
until it was thrown down and demolished by Alva's successor, Requesens.

It has already been observed that many princes of the Empire had, at
first warmly and afterwards, as the storm darkened around him, with less
earnestness, encouraged the efforts of Orange. They had, both privately
and officially, urged the subject upon the attention of the Emperor, and
had solicited his intercession with Philip. It was not an interposition
to save the Prince from chastisement, however the artful pen of Granvelle
might distort the facts. It was an address in behalf of religious liberty
for the Netherlands, made by those who had achieved it in their own
persons, and who were at last enjoying immunity from persecution. It was
an appeal which they who made it were bound to make, for the Netherland
commissioners had assisted at the consultations by which the Peace of
Passau had been wrung from the reluctant hand of Charles.

These applications, however, to the Emperor, and through him to the King
of Spain, had been, as we have seen, accompanied by perpetual advice to
the Prince of Orange, that he should "sit still." The Emperor had
espoused his cause with apparent frankness, so far as friendly mediation
went, but in the meantime had peremptorily commanded him to refrain from
levying war upon Alva, an injunction which the Prince had as peremptorily
declined to obey. The Emperor had even sent especial envoys to the Duke
and to the Prince, to induce them to lay down their arms, but without
effect. Orange knew which course was the more generous to his oppressed
country; to take up arms, now that hope had been converted into despair
by the furious tyranny of Alva, or to "sit still" and await the result of
the protocols about to be exchanged between king and kaiser. His arms had
been unsuccessful indeed, but had he attended the issue of this sluggish
diplomacy, it would have been even worse for the cause of freedom. The
sympathy of his best friends, at first fervent then lukewarm, had, as
disasters thickened around him, grown at last stone-cold. From the grave,
too, of Queen Isabella arose the most importunate phantom in his path.
The King of Spain was a widower again, and the Emperor among his sixteen
children had more than one marriageable daughter. To the titles of
"beloved cousin and brother-in-law," with which Philip had always been
greeted in the Imperial proclamations, the nearer and dearer one of
son-in-law was prospectively added.

The ties of wedlock were sacred in the traditions of the Habsburg house,
but still the intervention was nominally made. As early as August, 1568,
the Emperor's minister at Madrid had addressed a memorial to the King. He
had spoken in warm and strong language of the fate of Egmont and Horn,
and had reminded Philip that the executions which were constantly taking
place in the provinces were steadily advancing the Prince of Orange's
cause. On the 22nd September, 1568, the six electors had addressed a
formal memorial to the Emperor. They thanked him for his previous
interposition in favor of the Netherlands, painted in lively colors the
cruelty of Alva, and denounced the unheard-of rigor with which he had
massacred, not only many illustrious seigniors, but people of every
degree. Notwithstanding the repeated assurances given by the King to the
contrary, they reminded the Emperor, that the inquisition, as well as the
Council of Trent, had now been established in the Netherlands in full
vigor. They maintained that the provinces had been excluded from the
Augsburg religious peace, to which their claim was perfect. Nether
Germany was entitled to the same privileges as Upper Germany. They begged
the Emperor to make manifest his sentiments and their own. It was fitting
that his Catholic Majesty should be aware that the princes of the Empire
were united for the conservation of fatherland and of tranquillity. To
this end they placed in the Emperor's hands their estates, their
fortunes, and their lives.

Such was the language of that important appeal to the Emperor in behalf
of oppressed millions in the Netherlands, an appeal which Granvelle had
coldly characterized as an intrigue contrived by Orange to bring about
his own restoration to favor!

The Emperor, in answer, assured the electoral envoys that he had taken
the affair to heart, and had resolved to despatch his own brother, the
Archduke Charles, on a special mission to Spain.

Accordingly, on the 21st October, 1568, the Emperor presented his brother
with an ample letter of instructions. He was to recal to Philip's memory
the frequent exhortations made by the Emperor concerning the policy
pursued in the Netherlands. He was to mention the urgent interpellations
made to him by the electors and princes of the Empire in their recent
embassy. He was to state that the Emperor had recently deputed
commissioners to the Prince of Orange and the Duke of Alva, in order to
bring about, if possible, a suspension of arms. He was to represent that
the great number of men raised by the Prince of Orange in Germany, showed
the powerful support which he had found in the country. Under such
circumstances he was to show that it had been impossible for the Emperor
to decree the ban against him, as the Duke of Alva had demanded. The
Archduke was to request the King's consent to the reconciliation of
Orange, on honorable conditions. He was to demand the substitution of
clemency in for severity, and to insist on the recall of the foreign
soldiery from the Netherlands.

Furnished with this very warm and stringent letter, the Archduke arrived
in Madrid on the 10th December, 1568. A few days later he presented the
King with a copy of the instructions; those brave words upon which the
Prince of Orange was expected to rely instead of his own brave heart and
the stout arms of his followers. Philip having examined the letter,
expressed his astonishment that such propositions should be made to him,
and by the agency, too, of such a personage as the Archduke. He had
already addressed a letter to the Emperor, expressing his dissatisfaction
at the step now taken. He had been disturbed at the honor thus done to
the Prince of Orange, and at this interference with his own rights. It
was, in his opinion, an unheard-of proceeding thus to address a monarch
of his quality upon matters in which he could accept the law from no man.
He promised, however, that a written answer should be given to the letter
of instructions.

On the 20th of January, 1569, that answer was placed in the hands of the
Archduke. It was intimated that the paper was a public one, fit to be
laid by the Emperor, before the electors; but that the King had also
caused a confidential one to be prepared, in which his motives and
private griefs were indicated to Maximilian.

In the more public document, Philip observed that he had never considered
himself obliged to justify his conduct, in his own affairs, to others. He
thought, however, that his example of severity would have been received
with approbation by princes whose subjects he had thus taught obedience.
He could not admit that, on account of the treaties which constituted the
Netherlands a circle of the Empire, he was obliged to observe within
their limits the ordinances of the imperial diet. As to the matter of
religion, his principal solicitude, since his accession to the crown, had
been to maintain the Catholic faith throughout all his states. In things
sacred he could admit no compromise. The Church alone had the right to
prescribe rules to the faithful. As to the chastisement inflicted by him
upon the Netherland rebels, it would be found that he had not used rigor,
as had been charged against him, but, on the contrary, great clemency
and gentleness. He had made no change in the government of the provinces,
certainly none in the edicts, the only statutes binding upon princes. He
had appointed the Duke of Alva to the regency, because it was his royal
will and pleasure so to appoint him. The Spanish soldiery were necessary
for the thorough chastisement of the rebels, and could not be at present
removed. As to the Prince of Orange, whose case seemed the principal
motive for this embassy, and in whose interest so much had been urged,
his crimes were so notorious that it was impossible even to attempt to
justify them. He had been, in effect, the author of all the conspiracies,
tumults, and seditious which had taken place in the Netherlands. All the
thefts, sacrileges, violations of temples, and other misdeeds of which
these provinces had been the theatre, were, with justice, to be imputed
to him. He had moreover, levied an army and invaded his Majesty's
territories. Crimes so enormous had closed the gate to all clemency.
Notwithstanding his respect for the intercession made by the Emperor and
the princes of the Empire, the King could not condescend to grant what
was now asked of him in regard to the Prince of Orange. As to a truce
between him and the Duke of Alva, his Imperial Majesty ought to reflect
upon the difference between a sovereign and his rebellious vassal, and
consider how indecent and how prejudicial to the King's honor such a
treaty must be esteemed.

So far the public letter, of which the Archduke was furnished with a
copy, both in Spanish and in Latin. The private memorandum was intended
for the Emperor's eyes alone and those of his envoy. In this paper the
King expressed himself with more warmth and in more decided language. He
was astonished, he said, that the Prince of Orange, in levying an army
for the purpose of invading the states of his natural sovereign, should
have received so much aid and comfort in Germany. It seemed incredible
that this could not have been prevented by imperial authority. He had
been pained that commissioners had been sent to the Prince. He regretted
such a demonstration in his favor as had now been made by the mission of
the Archduke to Madrid. That which, however, had caused the King the
deepest sorrow was, that his Imperial Majesty should wish to persuade him
in religious matters to proceed with mildness. The Emperor ought to be
aware that no human consideration, no regard for his realms, nothing in
the world which could be represented or risked, would cause him to swerve
by a single hair's breadth from his path in the matter of religion. This
path was the same throughout all his kingdoms. He had ever trod in it
faithfully, and he meant to keep in it perpetually. He would admit
neither counsel nor persuasion to the contrary, and should take it ill if
counsel or persuasion should be offered. He could not but consider the
terms of the instructions given to the Archduke as exceeding the limits
of amicable suggestion. They in effect amounted to a menace, and he was
astonished that a menace should be employed, because, with princes
constituted like himself, such means could have but little success.

On the 23rd of January, 1569, the Archduke presented the King with a
spirited reply to the public letter. It was couched in the spirit of the
instructions, and therefore need not be analysed at length. He did not
believe that his Imperial Majesty would admit any justification of the
course pursued in the Netherlands. The estates of the Empire would never
allow Philip's reasoning concerning the connexion of those countries with
the Empire, nor that they were independent, except in the particular
articles expressed in the treaty of Augsburg. In 1555, when Charles the
Fifth and King Ferdinand had settled the religious peace, they had been
assisted by envoys from the Netherlands. The princes of the Empire held
the ground, therefore, that the religious peace, which alone had saved a
vestige of Romanism in Germany, should of right extend to the provinces.
As to the Prince of Orange, the Archduke would have preferred to say
nothing more, but the orders of the Emperor did not allow him to be
silent. It was now necessary to put an end to this state of things in
Lower Germany. The princes of the Empire were becoming exasperated. He
recalled the dangers of the Smalcaldian war--the imminent peril in which
the Emperor had been placed by the act of a single elector. They who
believed that Flanders could be governed in the same manner as Italy and
Spain were greatly mistaken, and Charles the Fifth had always recognised
that error.

This was the sum and substance of the Archduke's mission to Madrid, so
far as its immediate objects were concerned. In the course, however, of
the interview between this personage and Philip, the King took occasion
to administer a rebuke to his Imperial Majesty for his general negligence
in religious matters. It was a matter which lay at his heart, he said,
that the Emperor, although, as he doubted not, a Christian and Catholic
prince, was from policy unaccustomed to make those exterior
demonstrations which matters of faith required. He therefore begged the
Archduke to urge this matter upon the attention of his Imperial Majesty.

The Emperor, despite this solemn mission, had become more than
indifferent before his envoy had reached Madrid. For this indifference
there were more reasons than one. When the instructions had been drawn
up, the death of the Queen of Spain had not been known in Vienna. The
Archduke had even been charged to inform Philip of the approaching
marriages of the two Archduchesses, that of Anne with the King of France,
and that of Isabella with the King of Portugal. A few days later,
however, the envoy received letters from the Emperor, authorizing him to
offer to the bereaved Philip the hand of the Archduchess Anne.

   [Herrera (lib. xv. 707) erroneously states that the Archduke was,
   at the outset, charged with these two commissions by the Emperor;
   namely, to negotiate the marriage of the Archduchess Anne with
   Philip, and to arrange the affairs of the Netherlands. On the
   contrary, he was empowered to offer Anne to the King of France,
   and had already imparted his instructions to that effect to Philip,
   before he received letters from Vienna, written after the death of
   Isabella had become known. At another interview, he presented this
   new matrimonial proposition to Philip. These facts are important,
   for they indicate how completely the objects of the embassy, the
   commencement of which was so pretentious, were cast aside, that a
   more advantageous marriage for one of the seven Austrian
   Archduchesses might be secured.--Compare Correspondance de Philippe]

The King replied to the Archduke, when this proposition was made, that if
he had regard only to his personal satisfaction, he should remain as he
was. As however he had now no son, he was glad that the proposition had
been made, and would see how the affair could be arranged with France.

Thus the ill success of Orange in Brabant, so disheartening to the German
princes most inclined to his cause, and still more the widowhood of
Philip, had brought a change over the views of Maximilian. On the 17th of
January, 1569, three days before his ambassador had entered upon his
negotiations, he had accordingly addressed an autograph letter to his
Catholic Majesty. In this epistle, by a few, cold lines, he entirely
annihilated any possible effect which might have been produced by the
apparent earnestness of his interposition in favor of the Netherlands. He
informed the King that the Archduke had been sent, not to vex him, but to
convince him of his friendship. He assured Philip that he should be
satisfied with his response, whatever it might be. He entreated only that
it might be drawn up in such terms that the princes and electors to whom
it must be shown, might not be inspired with suspicion.

The Archduke left Madrid on the 4th of March, 1569. He retired, well
pleased with the results of his mission, not because its ostensible
objects had been accomplished, for those had signally failed, but because
the King had made him a present of one hundred thousand ducats, and had
promised to espouse the Archduchess Anne. On the 26th of May, 1569, the
Emperor addressed a final reply to Philip, in which he expressly approved
the King's justification of his conduct. It was founded, he thought, in
reason and equity. Nevertheless, it could hardly be shown, as it was, to
the princes and electors, and he had therefore modified many points which
he thought might prove offensive.

Thus ended "in smoke," as Granvelle had foretold, the famous mission of
Archduke Charles. The Holy Roman Emperor withdrew from his pompous
intervention, abashed by a rebuke, but consoled by a promise. If it were
good to be guardian of religious freedom in Upper and Nether Germany, it
was better to be father-in-law to the King of Spain and both the Indies.
Hence the lame and abrupt conclusion.

Cardinal Granvelle had been very serviceable in this juncture. He had
written to Philip to assure him that, in his, opinion, the Netherlands
had no claim, under the transaction of Augsburg, to require the
observance within their territory of the decrees of the Empire. He added,
that Charles the Fifth had only agreed to the treaty of Passau to save
his brother Ferdinand from ruin; that he had only consented to it as
Emperor, and had neither directly nor indirectly included the Netherlands
within its provisions. He stated, moreover, that the Emperor had revoked
the treaty by an act which was never published, in consequence of the
earnest solicitations of Ferdinand.

It has been seen that the King had used this opinion of Granvelle in the
response presented to the Archduke. Although he did not condescend to an
argument, he had laid down the fact as if it were indisputable. He was
still more delighted to find that Charles had revoked the treaty of
Passau, and eagerly wrote to Granvelle to inquire where the secret
instrument was to be found. The Cardinal replied that it was probably
among his papers at Brussels, but that he doubted whether it would be
possible to find it in his absence. Whether such a document ever existed,
it is difficult to say. To perpetrate such a fraud would have been worthy
of Charles; to fable its perpetration not unworthy of the Cardinal. In
either case, the transaction was sufficiently high-handed and exceedingly
disgraceful.

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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 17.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1569-70 [CHAPTER V.]

   Quarrel between Alva and Queen Elizabeth of England--Spanish funds
   seized by the English government--Non-intercourse between England
   and the Netherlands--Stringent measures against heresy--Continued
   persecution--Individual cases--Present of hat and sword to Alva from
   the Pope--Determination of the Governor--general to establish a
   system of arbitrary taxation in the provinces--Assembly of estates
   at Brussels--Alva's decrees laid before them--The hundredth, tenth,
   and fifth pence--Opposition of Viglius to the project--Estates of
   various provinces give a reluctant consent--Determined resistance of
   Utrecht--The city and province cited before the Blood Council--
   Sentence of confiscation and disfranchisement against both--Appeal
   to the King--Difficulty of collecting the new tax--Commutation for
   two years--Projects for a pardon-general--Growing disfavour of the
   Duke--His desire to resign his post--Secret hostility between the
   Governor and Viglius--Altered sentiments of the President--Opinions
   expressed by Granvelle--The pardon pompously proclaimed by the Duke
   at Antwerp--Character of the amnesty--Dissatisfaction of the people
   with the act--Complaints of Alva to the King--Fortunes and fate of
   Baron Montigny in Spain--His confinement at Segovia--His attempt to
   escape--Its failure--His mock trial--His wife's appeal to Philip--
   His condemnation--His secret assassination determined upon--Its
   details, as carefully prescribed and superintended by the King--
   Terrible inundation throughout the Netherlands--Immense destruction
   of life and property in Friesland--Lowestein Castle taken by De
   Ruyter, by stratagem--Recapture of the place by the Spaniards--
   Desperate resistance and death of De Ruyter.

It was very soon after the Duke's return to Brussels that a quarrel
between himself and the Queen of England took place. It happened thus.
Certain vessels, bearing roving commissions from the Prince of Conde, had
chased into the ports of England some merchantmen coming from Spain with
supplies in specie for the Spanish army in the Netherlands. The trading
ships remained in harbor, not daring to leave for their destination,
while the privateers remained in a neighbouring port ready to pounce upon
them should they put to sea. The commanders of the merchant fleet
complained to the Spanish ambassador in London. The envoy laid the case
before the Queen. The Queen promised redress, and, almost as soon as the
promise had been made, seized upon all the specie in the vessels,
amounting to about eight hundred thousand dollars--[1885 exchange
rate]--and appropriated the whole to her own benefit. The pretext for
this proceeding was twofold. In the first place, she assured the
ambassador that she had taken the money into her possession in order that
it might be kept safe for her royal brother of Spain. In the second
place, she affirmed that the money did not belong to the Spanish
government at all, but that it was the property of certain Genoese
merchants, from whom, as she had a right to do, she had borrowed it for a
short period. Both these positions could hardly be correct, but either
furnished an excellent reason for appropriating the funds to her own use.

The Duke of Alva being very much in want of money, was furious when
informed of the circumstance. He immediately despatched Councillor
d'Assonleville with other commissioners on a special embassy to the Queen
of England. His envoys were refused an audience, and the Duke was taxed
with presumption in venturing, as if he had been a sovereign, to send a
legation to a crowned head. No satisfaction was given to Alva, but a
secret commissioner was despatched to Spain to discuss the subject there.
The wrath of Alva was not appeased by this contemptuous treatment.
Chagrined at the loss of his funds, and stung to the quick by a rebuke
which his arrogance had merited, he resorted to a high-handed measure. He
issued a proclamation commanding the personal arrest of every Englishman
within the territory of the Netherlands, and the seizure of every article
of property which could be found belonging to individuals of that nation.
The Queen retaliated by measures of the same severity against
Netherlanders in England. The Duke followed up his blow by a proclamation
(of March 31st, 1569), in which the grievance was detailed, and strict
non-intercourse with England enjoined. While the Queen and the Viceroy
were thus exchanging blows, the real sufferers were, of course, the
unfortunate Netherlanders. Between the upper and nether millstones of
Elizabeth's rapacity and Alva's arrogance, the poor remains of Flemish
prosperity were well nigh crushed out of existence. Proclamations and
commissions followed hard upon each other, but it was not till April
1573, that the matter was definitely arranged. Before that day arrived,
the commerce of the Netherlands had suffered, at the lowest computation,
a dead loss of two million florins, not a stiver of which was ever
reimbursed to the sufferers by the Spanish government.

Meantime, neither in the complacency of his triumph over William of
Orange, nor in the torrent of his wrath against the English Queen, did
the Duke for a moment lose sight of the chief end of his existence in the
Netherlands. The gibbet and the stake were loaded with their daily
victims. The records of the period are foul with the perpetually renewed
barbarities exercised against the new religion. To the magistrates of the
different cities were issued fresh instructions, by which all municipal
officers were to be guided in the discharge of their great duty. They
were especially enjoined by the Duke to take heed that Catholic midwives,
and none other, should be provided for every parish, duly sworn to give
notice within twenty-four hours of every birth which occurred, in order
that the curate might instantly proceed to baptism. They were also
ordered to appoint certain spies who should keep watch at every
administration of the sacraments, whether public or private, whether at
the altar or at death-beds, and who should report for exemplary
punishment (that is to say, death by fire) all persons who made derisive
or irreverential gestures, or who did not pay suitable honor to the said
Sacraments. Furthermore, in order that not even death itself should cheat
the tyrant of his prey, the same spies were to keep watch at the couch of
the dying, and to give immediate notice to government of all persons who
should dare to depart this life without previously receiving extreme
unction and the holy wafer. The estates of such culprits, it was
ordained, should be confiscated, and their bodies dragged to the public
place of execution.

An affecting case occurred in the north of Holland, early in this year,
which, for its peculiarity, deserves brief mention. A poor Anabaptist,
guilty of no crime but his fellowship with a persecuted sect, had been
condemned to death. He had made his escape, closely pursued by an officer
of justice, across a frozen lake. It was late in the winter, and the ice
had become unsound. It trembled and cracked beneath his footsteps, but he
reached the shore in safety. The officer was not so fortunate. The ice
gave way beneath him, and he sank into the lake, uttering a cry for
succor. There were none to hear him, except the fugitive whom he had been
hunting. Dirk Willemzoon, for so was the Anabaptist called, instinctively
obeying the dictates of a generous nature, returned, crossed the quaking
and dangerous ice, at the peril of his life, extended his hand to his
enemy, and saved him from certain death. Unfortunately for human nature,
it cannot be added that the generosity, of, the action was met by a
corresponding heroism. The officer was desirous, it is true, of avoiding
the responsibility of sacrificing the preserver of his life, but the
burgomaster of Asperen sternly reminded him to remember his oath. He
accordingly arrested the fugitive, who, on the 16th of May following, was
burned to death under the most lingering tortures.

Almost at the same time four clergymen, the eldest seventy years of age,
were executed at the Hague, after an imprisonment of three years. All
were of blameless lives, having committed no crime save that of having
favored the Reformation. As they were men of some local eminence, it was
determined that they should be executed with solemnity. They were
condemned to the flames, and as they were of the ecclesiastical
profession, it was necessary before execution that their personal
sanctity should be removed. Accordingly, on the 27th May, attired in the
gorgeous robes of high mass, they were brought before the Bishop of Bois
le Duc. The prelate; with a pair of scissors, cut a lock of hair from
each of their heads. He then scraped their crowns and the tips of their
fingers with a little silver knife very gently, and without inflicting
the least injury. The mystic oil of consecration was thus supposed to be
sufficiently removed. The prelate then proceeded to disrobe the victims,
saying to each one as he did so, "Eximo tibi vestem justitiae, quem
volens abjecisti;" to which the oldest pastor, Arent Dirkzoon, stoutly
replied, "imo vestem injustitiae." The bishop having thus completed the
solemn farce of desecration, delivered the prisoners to the Blood
Council, begging that they might be handled very gently. Three days
afterwards they were all executed at the stake, having, however, received
the indulgence of being strangled before being thrown into the flames.

It was precisely at this moment, while the agents of the Duke's
government were thus zealously enforcing his decrees, that a special
messenger arrived from the Pope, bringing as a present to Alva a jewelled
hat and sword. It was a gift rarely conferred by the Church, and never
save upon the highest dignitaries, or upon those who had merited her most
signal rewards by the most shining exploits in her defence. The Duke was
requested, in the autograph letter from his Holiness which accompanied
the presents, "to remember, when he put the hat upon his head, that he
was guarded with it as with a helmet of righteousness, and with the
shield of God's help, indicating the heavenly crown which was ready for
all princes who support the Holy Church and the Roman Catholic faith."
The motto on the sword ran as follows, "Accipe sanctum gladium, menus a
Deo in quo dejicies adversarios populi mei Israel."

The Viceroy of Philip, thus stimulated to persevere in his master's
precepts by the Vicegerent of Christ, was not likely to swerve from his
path, nor to flinch from his work. It was beyond the power of man's
ingenuity to add any fresh features of horror to the religious
persecution under which the provinces were groaning, but a new attack
could be made upon the poor remains of their wealth.

The Duke had been dissatisfied with the results of his financial
arrangements. The confiscation of banished and murdered heretics had not
proved the inexhaustible mine he had boasted. The stream of gold which
was to flow perennially into the Spanish coffers, soon ceased to flow at
all. This was inevitable. Confiscations must, of necessity, offer but a
precarious supply to any treasury. It was only the frenzy of an Alva
which could imagine it possible to derive a permanent revenue from such a
source. It was, however, not to be expected that this man, whose tyranny
amounted to insanity, could comprehend the intimate connection between
the interests of a people and those of its rulers, and he was determined
to exhibit; by still more fierce and ludicrous experiments, how easily a
great soldier may become a very paltry financier.

He had already informed his royal master that, after a very short time,
remittances would no longer be necessary from Spain to support the
expenses of the array and government in the Netherlands. He promised, on
the contrary, that at least two millions yearly should be furnished by
the provinces, over and above the cost of their administration, to enrich
the treasury at home. Another Peru had already been discovered by his
ingenuity, and one which was not dependent for its golden fertility on
the continuance of that heresy which it was his mission to extirpate. His
boast had been much ridiculed in Madrid, where he had more enemies than
friends, and he was consequently the more eager to convert it into
reality. Nettled by the laughter with which all his schemes of political
economy had been received at home, he was determined to show that his
creative statesmanship was no less worthy of homage than his indisputable
genius for destruction.

His scheme was nothing more than the substitution of an arbitrary system
of taxation by the Crown, for the legal and constitutional right of the
provinces to tax themselves. It was not a very original thought, but it
was certainly a bold one. For although a country so prostrate might
suffer the imposition of any fresh amount of tyranny, yet it was doubtful
whether she had sufficient strength remaining to bear the weight after it
had been imposed. It was certain, moreover, that the new system would
create a more general outcry than any which had been elicited even by the
religious persecution. There were many inhabitants who were earnest and
sincere Catholics, and who therefore considered themselves safe from the
hangman's hands, while there were none who could hope to escape the gripe
of the new tax-gatherers. Yet the Governor was not the man to be daunted
by the probable unpopularity of the measure. Courage he possessed in more
than mortal proportion. He seemed to have set himself to the task of
ascertaining the exact capacity of the country for wretchedness. He was
resolved accurately to gauge its width and its depth; to know how much of
physical and moral misery might be accumulated within its limits, before
it should be full to overflowing. Every man, woman, and child in the
country had been solemnly condemned to death; and arbitrary executions,
in pursuance of that sentence, had been daily taking place. Millions of
property had been confiscated; while the most fortunate and industrious,
as well as the bravest of the Netherlanders, were wandering penniless in
distant lands. Still the blows, however recklessly distributed, had not
struck every head. The inhabitants had been decimated, not annihilated,
and the productive energy of the country, which for centuries had
possessed so much vitality, was even yet not totally extinct. In the
wreck of their social happiness, in the utter overthrow of their
political freedom, they had still preserved the shadow, at least, of one
great bulwark against despotism. The king could impose no tax.

The "Joyeuse Entree" of Brabant, as well as the constitutions of
Flanders, Holland, Utrecht, and all the other provinces, expressly
prescribed the manner in which the requisite funds for government should
be raised. The sovereign or his stadholder was to appear before the
estates in person, and make his request for money. It was for the
estates, after consultation with their constituents, to decide whether or
not this petition (Bede) should be granted, and should a single branch
decline compliance, the monarch was to wait with patience for a more
favorable moment. Such had been the regular practice in the Netherlands,
nor had the reigning houses often had occasion to accuse the estates of
parsimony. It was, however, not wonderful that the Duke of Alva should be
impatient at the continued existence of this provincial privilege. A
country of condemned criminals, a nation whose universal neck might at
any moment be laid upon the block without ceremony, seemed hardly fit to
hold the purse-strings, and to dispense alms to its monarch. The Viceroy
was impatient at this arrogant vestige of constitutional liberty.
Moreover, although he had taken from the Netherlanders nearly all the
attributes of freemen, he was unwilling that they should enjoy the
principal privilege of slaves, that of being fed and guarded at their
master's expense. He had therefore summoned a general assembly of the
provincial estates in Brussels, and on the 20th of March, 1569, had
caused the following decrees to be laid before them.

A tax of the hundredth penny, or one per cent., was laid upon all
property, real and personal, to be collected instantly. This impost,
however, was not perpetual, but only to be paid once, unless, of course,
it should suit the same arbitrary power by which it was assessed to
require it a second time.

A tax of the twentieth penny; or five per cent., was laid upon every
transfer of real estate. This imposition was perpetual.

Thirdly, a tag of the tenth penny, or ten per cent., was assessed upon
every article of merchandise or personal-property, to be paid as often as
it should be sold. This tax was likewise to be perpetual.

The consternation in the assembly when these enormous propositions were
heard, can be easily imagined. People may differ about religious dogmas.
In the most bigoted persecutions there will always be many who, from
conscientious although misguided motives, heartily espouse the cause of
the bigot. Moreover, although resistance to tyranny in matters of faith,
is always the most ardent of struggles, and is supported by the most
sublime principle in our nature, yet all men are not of the sterner stuff
of which martyrs are fashioned. In questions relating to the world above;
many may be seduced from their convictions by interest, or forced into
apostasy by violence. Human nature is often malleable or fusible, where
religious interests are concerned, but in affairs material and financial
opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous.

The interests of commerce and manufacture, when brought into conflict
with those of religion, had often proved victorious in the Netherlands.
This new measure, however--this arbitrary and most prodigious system of
taxation, struck home to every fireside. No individual, however adroit or
time-serving, could parry the blow by which all were crushed.

It was most unanswerably maintained in the assembly, that this tenth and
twentieth penny would utterly destroy the trade and the manufactures of
the country. The hundredth penny, or the one per cent. assessment on all
property throughout the land, although a severe subsidy, might be borne
with for once. To pay, however, a twentieth part of the full value of a
house to the government as often as the house was sold, was a most
intolerable imposition. A house might be sold twenty times in a year, and
in the course, therefore, of the year be confiscated in its whole value.
It amounted either to a prohibition of all transfers of real estate, or
to an eventual surrender of its price.

As to the tenth penny upon articles of merchandise, to be paid by the
vendor at every sale, the scheme was monstrous. All trade and
manufactures must, of necessity, expire, at the very first attempt to put
it in execution. The same article might be sold ten times in a week, and
might therefore pay one hundred per cent. weekly. An article, moreover,
was frequently compounded of ten, different articles, each of which might
pay one hundred per cent., and therefore the manufactured article, if ten
times transferred, one thousand per cent. weekly. Quick transfers and
unfettered movements being the nerves and muscles of commerce, it was
impossible for it long to survive the paralysis of such a tax. The impost
could never be collected, and would only produce an entire prostration of
industry. It could by no possibility enrich the government.

The King could not derive wealth from the ruin of his subjects; yet to
establish such a system was the stern and absurd determination of the
Governor-general. The infantine simplicity of the effort seemed
incredible. The ignorance was as sublime as the tyranny. The most lucid
arguments and the most earnest remonstrances were all in vain. Too opaque
to be illumined by a flood of light, too hard to be melted by a nation's
tears, the Viceroy held calmly to his purpose. To the keen and vivid
representations of Viglius, who repeatedly exhibited all that was
oppressive and all that was impossible in the tax, he answered simply
that it was nothing more nor less than the Spanish "alcabala," and that
he derived 50,000 ducats yearly from its imposition in his own city of
Alva.

Viglius was upon this occasion in opposition to the Duke. It is but
justice to state that the learned jurisconsult manfully and repeatedly
confronted the wrath of his superior in many a furious discussion in
council upon the subject. He had never essayed to snatch one brand from
the burning out of the vast holocaust of religious persecution, but he
was roused at last by the threatened destruction of all the material
interests of the land. He confronted the tyrant with courage, sustained
perhaps by the knowledge that the proposed plan was not the King's, but
the Governor's. He knew that it was openly ridiculed in Madrid, and that
Philip, although he would probably never denounce it in terms, was
certainly not eager for its execution. The President enlarged upon the
difference which existed between the condition of a sparsely-peopled
country of herdsmen and laborers in Spain, and the densely-thronged and
bustling cities of the Netherlands. If the Duke collected 50,000 ducats
yearly from the alcabala in Alva, he could only offer him his
congratulations, but could not help assuring him that the tax would prove
an impossibility in the provinces. To his argument, that the impost would
fall with severity not upon the highest nor the lowest classes of
society, neither upon the great nobility and clergy nor on the rustic
population, but on the merchants and manufacturers, it was answered by
the President that it was not desirable to rob Saint Peter's altar in
order to build one to Saint Paul. It might have been simpler to suggest
that the consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all,
but the axiom was not so familiar three centuries ago as now.

Meantime, the report of the deputies to the assembly on their return to
their constituents had created the most intense excitement and alarm.
Petition after petition, report after report, poured in upon the
government. There was a cry of despair, and almost of defiance, which had
not been elicited by former agonies. To induce, however, a more favorable
disposition on the part of the Duke, the hundredth penny, once for all,
was conceded by the estates. The tenth and twentieth occasioned--severe
and protracted struggles, until the various assemblies of the patrimonial
provinces, one after another, exhausted, frightened, and hoping that no
serious effort would be made to collect the tax, consented, under certain
restrictions, to its imposition.--The principal conditions were a protest
against the legality of the proceeding, and the provision that the
consent of no province should be valid until that of all had been
obtained. Holland, too, was induced to give in its adhesion, although the
city of Amsterdam long withheld its consent; but the city and province of
Utrecht were inexorable. They offered a handsome sum in commutation,
increasing the sum first proposed from 70,000 to 200,000 florins, but
they resolutely refused to be saddled with this permanent tax. Their
stout resistance was destined to cost them dear. In the course of a few
months Alva, finding them still resolute in their refusal, quartered the
regiment of Lombardy upon them, and employed other coercive measures to
bring them to reason. The rude, insolent, unpaid and therefore
insubordinate soldiery were billeted in every house in the city, so that
the insults which the population were made to suffer by the intrusion of
these ruffians at their firesides would soon, it was thought, compel the
assent of the province to the tax. It was not so, however. The city and
the province remained stanch in their opposition. Accordingly, at the
close of the year (15th. December, 1569) the estates were summoned to
appear within fourteen days before the Blood Council. At the appointed
time the procureur-general was ready with an act of accusation,
accompanied, as was usually the case, with a simultaneous sentence of
condemnation. The indictment revived and recapitulated all previous
offences committed in the city and the province, particularly during the
troubles of 1566, and at the epoch of the treaty with Duchess Margaret.
The inhabitants and the magistrates, both in their individual and public
capacities, were condemned for heresy, rebellion, and misprision. The
city and province were accordingly pronounced guilty of high treason,
were deprived of all their charters, laws, privileges, freedoms, and
customs, and were declared to have forfeited all their property, real and
personal, together with all tolls, rents, excises, and imposts, the whole
being confiscated to the benefit of his Majesty.

The immediate execution of the sentence was, however, suspended, to allow
the estates opportunity to reply. An enormous mass of pleadings, replies,
replications, rejoinders, and apostilles was the result, which few eyes
were destined to read, and least of all those to whom they were nominally
addressed. They were of benefit to none save in the shape of fees which
they engendered to the gentlemen of the robe. It was six months, however,
before the case was closed. As there was no blood to be shed, a summary
process was not considered necessary. At last, on the 14th July, the
voluminous pile of documents was placed before Vargas. It was the first
time he had laid eyes upon them, and they were, moreover, written in a
language of which he did not understand a word. Such, however, was his
capacity for affairs, that a glance only at the outside of the case
enabled him to form his decision. Within half an hour afterwards, booted
and spurred, he was saying mass in the church of Saint Gudule, on his way
to pronounce sentence at Antwerp. That judgment was rendered the same
day, and confirmed the preceding act of condemnation. Vargas went to his
task as cheerfully as if it had been murder. The act of outlawry and
beggary was fulminated against the city and province, and a handsome
amount of misery for others, and of plunder for himself, was the result
of his promptness. Many thousand citizens were ruined, many millions of
property confiscated.

Thus was Utrecht deprived of all its ancient liberties, as a punishment
for having dared to maintain them. The clergy, too, of the province,
having invoked the bull "in Coena Domini," by which clerical property was
declared exempt from taxation, had excited the wrath of the Duke. To
wield so slight a bulrush against the man who had just been girded with
the consecrated and jewelled sword of the Pope, was indeed but a feeble
attempt at defence. Alva treated the Coena Domini with contempt, but he
imprisoned the printer who had dared to-republish it at this juncture.
Finding, moreover, that it had been put in press by the orders of no less
a person than Secretary La Torre, he threw that officer also into prison,
besides suspending him from his functions for a year.

The estates of the province and the magistracy of the city appealed to
his Majesty from the decision of the Duke. The case did not directly
concern the interests of religion, for although the heretical troubles of
1566 furnished the nominal motives of the condemnation, the resistance to
the tenth and twentieth penny was the real crime for which they were
suffering. The King, therefore, although far from clement, was not
extremely rigorous. He refused the object of the appeal, but he did not
put the envoys to death by whom it was brought to Madrid. This would have
certainly been the case in matters strictly religious, or even had the
commissioners arrived two years before, but even Philip believed,
perhaps, that for the moment almost enough innocent blood had been shed.
At any rate he suffered the legates from Utrecht to return, not with
their petition, granted, but at least with their heads upon their
shoulders. Early in the following year, the provinces still remaining
under martial law, all the Utrecht charters were taken into the
possession of government, and deposited in the castle of Vredenberg. It
was not till after the departure of Alva, that they were restored;
according to royal command, by the new governor, Requesens.

By the middle of the year 1569, Alva wrote to the King, with great
cheerfulness of tone, announcing that the estates of the provinces had
all consented to the tax. He congratulated his Majesty upon the fact that
this income might thenceforth be enjoyed in perpetuity, and that it would
bring at least two millions yearly into his coffers, over and above the
expenses of government. The hundredth penny, as he calculated, would
amount to at least five millions.

He was, however, very premature in his triumph, for the estates were not
long in withdrawing a concession which had either been wrung from them by
violence or filched from them by misrepresentation. Taking the ground
that the assent of all had been stipulated before that of any one should
be esteemed valid, every province now refused to enforce or to permit the
collection of the tenth or the twentieth penny within their limits. Dire
were the threatenings and the wrath of the Viceroy, painfully protracted
the renewed negotiations with the estates. At last, a compromise was
effected, and the final struggle postponed. Late in the summer it was
agreed that the provinces should pay two millions yearly for the two
following years, the term to expire in the month of August, 1571. Till
that period, therefore, there was comparative repose upon the subject.

The question of a general pardon had been agitated for more than a year,
both in Brussels and Madrid. Viglius, who knew his countrymen better than
the Viceroy knew them, had written frequently to his friend Hopper, on
the propriety of at once proclaiming an amnesty. There had also been many
conferences between himself and the Duke of Alva, and he had furnished
more than one draught for the proposed measure. The President knew full
well that the point had been reached beyond which the force of tyranny
could go no further. All additional pressure, he felt sure, could only
produce reaction, the effect of which might be to drive the Spaniards
from the Netherlands. There might then be another game to play. The heads
of those who had so assiduously served the government throughout its
terrible career might, in their turn, be brought to the block, and their
estates be made to enrich the Treasury. Moreover, there were symptoms
that Alva's favor was on the wane. The King had not been remarkably
struck with the merits of the new financial measures, and had expressed
much, anxiety lest the trade of the country should suffer. The Duke was
known to be desirous of his recal. His health was broken, he felt that he
was bitterly detested throughout the country, and he was certain that his
enemies at Madrid were fast undermining his credit. He seemed also to
have a dim suspicion that his mission was accomplished in the
Netherlands; that as much blood had been shed at present as the land
could easily absorb. He wrote urgently and even piteously to Philip, on
the subject of his return. "Were your Majesty only pleased to take me
from this country," he said, "I should esteem it as great a favor as if
your Majesty had given me life." He swore "by the soul of the Duchess,"
that he "would rather be cut into little pieces" than retire from his
post were his presence necessary, but he expressed the opinion that
through his exertions affairs had been placed in such train that they
were sure to roll on smoothly to the end of time. "At present, and for
the future," he wrote, "your Majesty is and will be more strictly obeyed
than any of your predecessors;" adding, with insane self-complacency,
"and all this has been accomplished without violence." He also assured
his Majesty as to the prosperous condition of financial affairs. His tax
was to work wonders. He had conversed with capitalists who had offered
him four millions yearly for the tenth penny, but he had refused, because
he estimated the product at a much higher figure. The hundredth penny
could not be rated lower than five millions. It was obvious, therefore,
that instead of remitting funds to the provinces, his Majesty would, for
the future, derive from them a steady and enormous income. Moreover, he
assured the King that there was at present no one to inspire anxiety from
within or without. The only great noble of note in the country was the
Duke of Aerschot, who was devoted to his Majesty, and who, moreover,
"amounted to very little," as the King well knew. As for the Prince of
Orange, he would have business enough in keeping out of the clutches of
his creditors. They had nothing to fear from Germany. England would do
nothing as long as Germany was quiet; and France was sunk too low to be
feared at all.

Such being the sentiments of the Duke, the King was already considering
the propriety of appointing his successor. All this was known to the
President. He felt instinctively that more clemency was to be expected
from that successor, whoever he might be; and he was satisfied,
therefore, that he would at least not be injuring his own position by
inclining at this late hour to the side of mercy. His opposition to the
tenth and twentieth penny had already established a breach between
himself and the Viceroy, but he felt secretly comforted by the reflection
that the King was probably on the same side with himself. Alva still
spoke of him, to be sure, both in public and private, with approbation;
taking occasion to commend him frequently, in his private letters, as a
servant upright and zealous, as a living register, without whose
universal knowledge of things and persons he should hardly know which way
to turn. The President, however, was growing weary of his own sycophancy.
He begged his friend Joachim to take his part, if his Excellency should
write unfavorably about his conduct to the King. He seemed to have
changed his views of the man concerning whose "prudence and gentleness"
he could once turn so many fine periods. He even expressed some anxiety
lest doubts should begin to be entertained as to the perfect clemency of
the King's character. "Here is so much confiscation and bloodshed going
on," said he, "that some taint of cruelty or avarice may chance to
bespatter the robe of his Majesty." He also confessed that he had
occasionally read in history of greater benignity than was now exercised
against the poor Netherlanders. Had the learned Frisian arrived at these
humane conclusions at a somewhat earlier day, it might perhaps have been
better for himself and for his fatherland. Had he served his country as
faithfully as he had served Time, and Philip, and Alva, his lands would
not have been so broad, nor his dignities so numerous, but he would not
have been obliged, in his old age; to exclaim, with whimsical petulance,
that "the faithful servant is always a perpetual ass."

It was now certain that an act of amnesty was in contemplation by the
King. Viglius had furnished several plans, which, however, had been so
much disfigured by the numerous exceptions suggested by Alva, that the
President could scarce recognize his work. Granvelle, too, had frequently
urged the pardon on the attention of Philip. The Cardinal was too astute
not to perceive that the time had arrived when a continued severity could
only defeat its own work. He felt that the country could not be rendered
more abject, the spirit of patriotism more apparently extinct. A show of
clemency, which would now cost nothing, and would mean nothing, might be
more effective than this profuse and wanton bloodshed.

He saw plainly that the brutality of Alva had already overshot the mark.
Too politic, however, openly to reprove so powerful a functionary, he
continued to speak of him and of his administration to Philip in terms of
exalted eulogy. He was a "sage seignior," a prudent governor, one on whom
his Majesty could entirely repose. He was a man of long experience,
trained all his life to affairs, and perfectly capable of giving a good
account of everything to which he turned his hands. He admitted, however,
to other correspondents, that the administration of the sage seignior, on
whom his Majesty could so implicitly rely, had at last "brought that
provinces into a deplorable condition."

Four different forms of pardon had been sent from Madrid, toward the
close of 1569. From these four the Duke was to select one, and carefully
to destroy the other three. It was not, however, till July of the
following year that the choice was made, and the Viceroy in readiness to
announce the pardon. On the 14th of that month a great festival was held
at Antwerp, for the purpose of solemnly proclaiming the long expected
amnesty. In the morning, the Duke, accompanied by a brilliant staff, and
by a long procession of clergy in their gorgeous robes, paraded through
the streets of the commercial capital, to offer up prayers and hear mass
in the cathedral. The Bishop of Arras then began a sermon upon the
blessings of mercy, with a running commentary upon the royal clemency
about to be exhibited. In the very outset, however, of his discourse, he
was seized with convulsions, which required his removal from the pulpit;
an incident which was not considered of felicitous augury. In the
afternoon, the Duke with his suite appeared upon the square in front of
the Town House. Here a large scaffolding or theatre had been erected. The
platform and the steps which led to it were covered with scarlet cloth. A
throne, covered with cloth of gold, was arranged in the most elevated
position for the Duke. On the steps immediately below him were placed two
of the most beautiful women in Antwerp, clad in allegorical garments to
represent righteousness and peace. The staircase and platform were lined
with officers, the square was beset with troops, and filled to its utmost
verge with an expectant crowd of citizens. Toward the close of a summer's
afternoon, the Duke wearing the famous hat and sword of the Pope, took
his seat on the throne with all the airs of royalty. After a few
preliminary ceremonies, a civil functionary, standing between two
heralds; then recited the long-expected act of grace. His reading,
however, was so indistinct, that few save the soldiers in the immediate
vicinity of the platform could hear a word of the document.

This effect was, perhaps, intentional. Certainly but little enthusiasm
could be expected from the crowd, had the text of the amnesty been heard.
It consisted of three parts--a recitation of the wrongs committed, a
statement of the terms of pardon, and a long list of exceptions. All the
sins of omission and commission, the heresy, the public preaching, the
image-breaking, the Compromise, the confederacy, the rebellion, were
painted in lively colors. Pardon, however, was offered to all those who
had not rendered themselves liable to positive impeachment, in case they
should make their peace with the Church before the expiration of two
months, and by confession and repentance obtain their absolution. The
exceptions, however, occupied the greater part of the document. When the
general act of condemnation had been fulminated by which all
Netherlanders were sentenced to death, the exceptions had been very few,
and all the individuals mentioned by name. In the act of pardon, the
exceptions comprehended so many classes of inhabitants, that it was
impossible for any individual to escape a place in, some one of the
categories, whenever it should please the government to take his life.
Expressly excluded from the benefit of the act were all ministers,
teachers, dogmatizers, and all who had favored and harbored such
dogmatizers and preachers; all those in the least degree implicated in
the image-breaking; all who had ever been individually suspected of
heresy or schism; all who had ever signed or favored the Compromise or
the Petition to the Regent; all those who had taken up arms, contributed
money, distributed tracts; all those in any manner chargeable with
misprision, or who had failed to denounce those guilty of heresy. All
persons, however, who were included in any of these classes of exceptions
might report themselves within six months, when, upon confession of their
crime, they might hope for a favorable consideration of their case.

Such, in brief, and stripped of its verbiage, was this amnesty for which
the Netherlands had so long been hoping. By its provisions, not a man or
woman was pardoned who had ever committed a fault. The innocent alone
were forgiven. Even they were not sure of mercy, unless they should
obtain full absolution from the Pope. More certainly than ever would the
accustomed rigor be dealt to all who had committed any of those positive
acts for which so many had already lost their heads. The clause by which
a possibility of pardon was hinted to such criminals, provided they would
confess and surrender, was justly regarded as a trap. No one was deceived
by it. No man, after the experience of the last three years; would
voluntarily thrust his head into the lion's mouth, in order to fix it
more firmly upon his shoulders. No man who had effected his escape was
likely to play informer against himself, in hope of obtaining a pardon
from which all but the most sincere and zealous Catholics were in reality
excepted.

The murmur and discontent were universal, therefore, as soon as the terms
of the act became known. Alva wrote to the King, to be sure, "that the
people were entirely satisfied, save only the demagogues, who could
tolerate no single exception from the amnesty; but he could neither
deceive his sovereign nor himself by such statements." Certainly, Philip
was totally disappointed in the effect which he had anticipated from the
measure. He had thought "it would stop the mouths of many people." On the
contrary, every mouth in the Netherlands became vociferous to denounce
the hypocrisy by which a new act of condemnation had been promulgated
under the name of a pardon. Viglius, who had drawn up an instrument of
much ampler clemency, was far from satisfied with the measure which had
been adopted. "Certainly," he wrote to his confidant, "a more benignant
measure was to be expected from so merciful a Prince. After four years
have past, to reserve for punishment and for execution all those who
during the tumult did not, through weakness of mind, render as much
service to government as brave men might have offered, is altogether
unexampled."

Alva could not long affect to believe in the people's satisfaction. He
soon wrote to the King, acknowledging that the impression produced by the
pardon was far from favorable. He attributed much evil effect to the
severe censure which was openly pronounced upon the act by members of the
government, both in Spain and the Netherlands. He complained that Hopper
had written to Viglius, that "the most severe of the four forms of pardon
transmitted had been selected;" the fact being, that the most lenient one
had been adopted. If this were so, whose imagination is powerful enough
to portray the three which had been burned, and which, although more
severe than the fierce document promulgated, were still entitled acts of
pardon? The Duke spoke bitterly of the manner in which influential
persons in Madrid had openly abominated the cruel form of amnesty which
had been decreed. His authority in the Netherlands was already
sufficiently weakened, he said, and such censure upon his actions from
head-quarters did not tend to improve it. "In truth," he added, almost
pathetically, "it is not wonderful that the whole nation should be
ill-disposed towards me, for I certainly have done nothing to make them
love me. At the same time, such language transmitted from Madrid does not
increase their tenderness."

In short, viewed as a measure by which government, without disarming
itself of its terrible powers, was to pacify the popular mind, the
amnesty was a failure. Viewed as a net, by which fresh victims should be
enticed to entangle themselves, who had already made their way into the
distant atmosphere of liberty, it was equally unsuccessful. A few very
obscure individuals made their appearance to claim the benefit of the
act, before the six months had expired. With these it was thought
expedient to deal gently; but no one was deceived by such clemency. As
the common people expressed themselves, the net was not spread on that
occasion for finches.

The wits of the Netherlands, seeking relief from their wretched condition
in a still more wretched quibble, transposed two letters of the word
Pardona, and re-baptized the new measure Pandora. The conceit was not
without meaning. The amnesty, descending from supernal regions, had been
ushered into the presence of mortals as a messenger laden with heavenly
gifts. The casket, when opened, had diffused curses instead of blessings.
There, however, the classical analogy ended, for it would have puzzled
all the pedants of Louvain to discover Hope lurking, under any disguise,
within the clauses of the pardon.

Very soon after the promulgation of this celebrated act, the new bride of
Philip, Anne of Austria, passed through the Netherlands, on her way to
Madrid. During her brief stay in Brussels, she granted an interview to
the Dowager Countess of Horn. That unhappy lady, having seen her eldest
son, the head of her illustrious house, so recently perish on the
scaffold, wished to make a last effort in behalf of the remaining one,
then closely confined in the prison of Segovia. The Archduchess solemnly
promised that his release should be the first boon which she would
request of her royal bridegroom, and the bereaved countess retired almost
with a hope.

A short digression must here be allowed, to narrate the remaining
fortunes of that son, the ill-starred Seigneur de Montigny. His mission
to Madrid in company of the Marquis Berghen has been related in a
previous volume. The last and most melancholy scene in the life of his
fellow envoy has been described in a recent chapter. After that ominous
event, Montigny became most anxious to effect his retreat from Spain. He
had been separated more than a year from his few months' bride. He was
not imprisoned, but he felt himself under the most rigid although secret
inspection. It was utterly impossible for him to obtain leave to return,
or to take his departure without permission. On one occasion, having left
the city accidentally for a ride on horseback to an adjoining village, he
found himself surrounded by an unexpected escort of forty troopers.
Still, however, the King retained a smiling mien. To Montigny's repeated
and urgent requests for dismissal, Philip graciously urged his desire for
a continuance of his visit. He was requested to remain in order to
accompany his sovereign upon that journey to the Netherlands which would
not be much longer delayed. In his impatience anything seemed preferable
to the state of suspense in which he was made to linger. He eagerly
offered, if he were accused or suspected of crime, to surrender himself
to imprisonment if he only could be brought to trial. Soon after Alva's
arrival in the Netherlands, the first part of this offer was accepted. No
sooner were the arrests of Egmont and Horn known in Madrid, than Montigny
was deprived of his liberty, and closely confined in the alcazar of
Segovia. Here he remained imprisoned for eight or nine months in a high
tower, with no attendant save a young page, Arthur de Munter, who had
accompanied him from the Netherlands. Eight men-at-arms were expressly
employed to watch over him and to prevent his escape.

One day towards the middle of July, 1568, a band of pilgrims, some of
them in Flemish attire, went through the streets of Segovia. They were
chanting, as was customary on such occasions, a low, monotonous song, in
which Montigny, who happened to be listening, suddenly recognized the
language of his fatherland. His surprise was still greater when, upon
paying closer attention, he distinguished the terrible meaning of the
song. The pretended pilgrims, having no other means of communication with
the prisoner, were singing for his information the tragic fates of his
brother, Count Horn, and of his friend, Count Egmont. Mingled with the
strain were warnings of his own approaching doom; if he were not able to
effect his escape before it should be too late. Thus by this friendly
masquerade did Montigny learn the fate of his brother, which otherwise,
in that land of terrible secrecy, might have been concealed from him for
ever.

The hint as to his own preservation was not lost upon him; and he at once
set about a plan of escape. He succeeded in gaining over to his interests
one of the eight soldiers by whom he was guarded, and he was thus enabled
to communicate with many of his own adherents without the prison walls.
His major-domo had previously been permitted to furnish his master's
table with provisions dressed by his own cook. A correspondence was now
carried on by means of letters concealed within the loaves of bread sent
daily to the prisoner. In the same way files were provided for sawing
through his window-bars. A very delicate ladder of ropes, by which he was
to effect his escape into the court below, was also transmitted. The plan
had been completely arranged. A certain Pole employed in the enterprise
was to be at Hernani, with horses in readiness to convey them to San
Sebastian. There a sloop had been engaged, and was waiting their arrival.
Montigny, accordingly, in a letter enclosed within a loaf of bread--the
last, as he hoped, which he should break in prison--was instructed, after
cutting off his beard and otherwise disguising his person, to execute his
plan and join his confederates at Hernani. Unfortunately, the major-domo
of Montigny was in love. Upon the eve of departure from Spain, his
farewell interview with his mistress was so much protracted that the care
of sending the bread was left to another. The substitute managed so
unskilfully that the loaf was brought to the commandant of the castle,
and not to the prisoner. The commandant broke the bread, discovered the
letter, and became master of the whole plot. All persons engaged in the
enterprise were immediately condemned to death, and the Spanish soldier
executed without delay. The others being considered, on account of their
loyalty to their master as deserving a commutation of punishment, were
sent to the galleys. The major-domo, whose ill-timed gallantry had thus
cost Montigny his liberty, received two hundred lashes in addition. All,
however, were eventually released from imprisonment.

The unfortunate gentleman was now kept in still closer confinement in his
lonely tower. As all his adherents had been disposed of, he could no
longer entertain a hope of escape. In the autumn of this year (1568) it
was thought expedient by Alva to bring his case formally before the Blood
Council. Montigny had committed no crime, but he was one of that band of
popular, nobles whose deaths had been long decreed. Letters were
accordingly sent to Spain, empowering certain functionaries there to
institute that preliminary examination, which, as usual, was to be the
only trial vouchsafed. A long list of interrogatories was addressed to
him on February 7th, 1569, in his prison at Segovia. A week afterwards,
he was again visited by the alcalde, who read over to him the answers
which he had made on the first occasion, and required him to confirm
them. He was then directed to send his procuration to certain persons in
the Netherlands, whom he might wish to appear in his behalf. Montigny
complied by sending several names, with a clause of substitution. All the
persons thus appointed, however, declined to act, unless they could be
furnished with a copy of the procuration, and with a statement of the
articles of accusation. This was positively refused by the Blood Council.
Seeing no possibility of rendering service to their friend by performing
any part in this mockery of justice, they refused to accept the
procuration. They could not defend a case when not only the testimony,
but even the charges against the accused were kept secret. An individual
was accordingly appointed by government to appear in the prisoner's
behalf.

Thus the forms of justice were observed, and Montigny, a close prisoner
in the tower of Segovia, was put upon trial for his life in Brussels.
Certainly nothing could exceed the irony of such a process. The advocate
had never seen his client, thousands of miles away, and was allowed to
hold no communication with him by letter. The proceedings were instituted
by a summons, addressed by the Duke of Alva to Madame de Montigny in
Brussels. That unhappy lady could only appeal to the King. "Convinced,"
she said, "that her husband was innocent of the charges brought against
him, she threw herself, overwhelmed and consumed by tears and misery, at
his Majesty's feet. She begged the King to remember the past services of
Montigny, her own youth, and that she had enjoyed his company but four
months. By all these considerations, and by the passion of Jesus Christ,
she adjured the monarch to pardon any faults which her husband might have
committed." The reader can easily judge how much effect such a tender
appeal was like to have upon the heart of Philip. From that rock; thus
feebly smitten, there flowed no fountain of mercy. It was not more
certain that Montigny's answers to the interrogatories addressed to him
had created a triumphant vindication of his course, than that such
vindication would be utterly powerless to save his life. The charges
preferred against him were similar to those which had brought Egmont and
Horn to the block, and it certainly created no ground of hope for him,
that he could prove himself even more innocent of suspicious conduct than
they had done. On the 4th March, 1570, accordingly, the Duke of Alva
pronounced sentence against him. The sentence declared that his head
should be cut off, and afterwards exposed to public view upon the head of
a pike. Upon the 18th March, 1570, the Duke addressed a requisitory
letter to the alcaldes, corregidors, and other judges of Castile,
empowering them to carry the sentence into execution.

On the arrival of this requisition there was a serious debate before the
King in council. It seemed to be the general opinion that there had been
almost severity enough in the Netherlands for the present. The spectacle
of the public execution of another distinguished personage, it was
thought, might now prove more irritating than salutary. The King was of
this opinion himself. It certainly did not occur to him or to his
advisers that this consideration should lead them to spare the life of an
innocent man. The doubts entertained as to the expediency of a fresh
murder were not allowed to benefit the prisoner, who, besides being a
loyal subject and a communicant of the ancient Church, was also clothed
in the white robes of an envoy, claiming not only justice but
hospitality, as the deputy of Philip's sister, Margaret of Parma. These
considerations probably never occurred to the mind of His Majesty. In
view, however, of the peculiar circumstances of the case, it was
unanimously agreed that there should be no more blood publicly shed. Most
of the councillors were in favor of slow poison. Montigny's meat and
drink, they said, should be daily drugged, so that he might die by little
and little. Philip, however, terminated these disquisitions by deciding
that the ends of justice would not thus be sufficiently answered. The
prisoner, he had resolved, should be regularly executed, but the deed
should be secret, and it should be publicly announced that he had died of
a fever.

This point having been settled; the King now set about the arrangement of
his plan with all that close attention to detail which marked his
character. The patient industry which, had God given him a human heart
and a love of right, might have made him a useful monarch, he now devoted
to a scheme of midnight murder with a tranquil sense of enjoyment which
seems almost incredible. There is no exaggeration in calling the deed a
murder, for it certainly was not sanctioned by any law, divine or human,
nor justified or excused by any of the circumstances which are supposed
to palliate homicide. Nor, when the elaborate and superfluous luxury of
arrangements made by Philip for the accomplishment of his design is
considered, can it be doubted that he found a positive pleasure in his
task. It would almost seem that he had become jealous of Alva's
achievements in the work of slaughter. He appeared willing to prove to
those immediately about him, that however capable might be the Viceroy of
conducting public executions on a grand and terrifying scale, there was
yet a certain delicacy of finish never attained by Alva in such business,
and which was all his Majesty's own. The King was resolved to make the
assassination of Montigny a masterpiece.

On the 17th August, 1570, he accordingly directed Don Eugenio de Peralta,
concierge of the fortress of Simancas, to repair to Segovia, and thence
to remove the Seigneur Montigny to Simancas. Here he was to be strictly
immured; yet was to be allowed at times to walk in the corridor adjoining
his chamber. On the 7th October following, the licentiate Don Alonzo de
Avellano, alcalde of Valladolid, was furnished with an order addressed by
the King to Don Eugenio de Peralta, requiring him to place the prisoner
in the hands of the said licentiate, who was charged with the execution
of Alva's sentence. This functionary had, moreover, been provided with a
minute letter of instructions, which had been drawn up according to the
King's directions, on the 1st October. In these royal instructions, it
was stated that, although the sentence was for a public execution, yet
the King had decided in favor of a private one within the walls of the
fortress. It was to be managed so that no one should suspect that
Montigny had been executed, but so that, on the contrary, it should be
universally said and believed that he had died a natural death. Very few
persons, all sworn and threatened into secrecy, were therefore to be
employed. Don Alonzo was to start immediately for Valladolid; which was
within two short leagues of Simancas. At that place he would communicate
with Don Eugenio, and arrange the mode, day, and hour of execution. He
would leave Valladolid on the evening before a holiday, late in the
afternoon, so as to arrive a little after dark at Simancas. He would take
with him a confidential notary, an executioner, and as few servants as
possible. Immediately upon his entrance to the fortress, he was to
communicate the sentence of death to Montigny, in presence of Don Eugenio
and of one or two other persons. He would then console him, in which task
he would be assisted by Don Eugenio. He would afterwards leave him with
the religious person who would be appointed for that purpose. That night
and the whole of the following day, which would be a festival, till after
midnight, would be allotted to Montigny, that he might have time to
confess, to receive the sacraments, to convert himself to God, and to
repent. Between one and two o'clock in the morning the execution was to
take place, in presence of the ecclesiastic, of Don Eugenio de Peralta,
of the notary, and of one or two other persons, who would be needed by
the executioner. The ecclesiastic was to be a wise and prudent person,
and to be informed how little confidence Montigny inspired in the article
of faith. If the prisoner should wish to make a will, it could not be
permitted. As all his property had been confiscated, he could dispose of
nothing. Should he, however, desire to make a memorial of the debts which
he would wish paid; he was to be allowed that liberty. It was, however,
to be stipulated that he was to make no allusion, in any memorial or
letter which he might write, to the execution which was about to take
place. He was to use the language of a man seriously ill, and who feels
himself at the point of death. By this infernal ingenuity it was proposed
to make the victim an accomplice in the plot, and to place a false
exculpation of his assassins in his dying lips. The execution having been
fulfilled, and the death having been announced with the dissimulation
prescribed, the burial was to take place in the church of Saint Saviour,
in Simancas. A moderate degree of pomp, such as befitted a person of
Montigny's quality, was to be allowed, and a decent tomb erected. A grand
mass was also to be celebrated, with a respectable number, "say seven
hundred," of lesser masses. As the servants of the defunct were few in
number, continued the frugal King, they might be provided each with a
suit of mourning. Having thus personally arranged all the details of this
secret work, from the reading of the sentence to the burial of the
prisoner; having settled not only the mode of his departure from life,
but of his passage through purgatory, the King despatched the agent on
his mission.

The royal program was faithfully enacted. Don Alonzo arrived at
Valladolid; and made his arrangements with Don Eugenio. It was agreed
that a paper, prepared by royal authority, and brought by Don Alonzo from
Madrid, should be thrown into the corridor of Montigny's prison. This
paper, written in Latin, ran as follows:

   "In the night, as I understand, there will be no chance for your
   escape. In the daytime there will be many; for you are then in
   charge of a single gouty guardian, no match in strength or speed for
   so vigorous a man as you. Make your escape from the 8th to the 12th
   of October, at any hour you can, and take the road contiguous to the
   castle gate through which you entered. You will find Robert and
   John, who will be ready with horses, and with everything necessary.
   May God favor your undertaking.--R. D. M."

The letter, thus designedly thrown into the corridor by one confederate,
was soon afterwards picked up by the other, who immediately taxed
Montigny with an attempt to escape. Notwithstanding the vehement
protestations of innocence naturally made by the prisoner, his pretended
project was made the pretext for a still closer imprisonment in the
"Bishop's Tower." A letter, written at Madrid, by Philip's orders, had
been brought by Don Alonzo to Simancas, narrating by anticipation these
circumstances, precisely as they had now occurred. It moreover stated
that Montigny, in consequence of his close confinement, had fallen
grievously ill, and that he would receive all the attention compatible
with his safe keeping. This letter, according to previous orders, was now
signed by Don Eugenio de Peralta, dated 10th October, 1570; and publicly
despatched to Philip. It was thus formally established that Montigny was
seriously ill. A physician, thoroughly instructed and sworn to secrecy,
was now ostentatiously admitted to the tower, bringing with him a vast
quantity of drugs. He duly circulated among the townspeople, on his
return, his opinion that the illustrious prisoner was afflicted with a
disorder from which it was almost impossible that he should recover.
Thus, thanks to Philip's masterly precautions, not a person in Madrid or
Simancas was ignorant that Montigny was dying of a fever, with the single
exception of the patient himself.

On Saturday, the 14th of October, at nightfall, Don Alonzo de Avellano,
accompanied by the prescribed individuals, including Fray Hernando del,
Castillo, an ecclesiastic of high reputation, made their appearance at
the prison of Simancas. At ten in the evening the announcement of the
sentence was made to Montigny. He was visibly agitated at the sudden
intelligence, for it was entirely unexpected by him. He had, on the
contrary, hoped much from the intercession of, the Queen, whose arrival
he had already learned. He soon recovered himself, however, and requested
to be left alone with the ecclesiastic. All the night and the following
day were passed in holy offices. He conducted himself with great
moderation, courage, and tranquillity. He protested his entire innocence
of any complicity with the Prince of Orange, or of any disloyal designs
or sentiments at any period of his life. He drew up a memorial,
expressing his strong attachment to every point of the Catholic faith,
from which he had never for an instant swerved. His whole demeanor was
noble, submissive, and Christian. "In every essential," said Fray
Hernando, "he conducted himself so well that we who remain may bear him
envy." He wrote a paper of instructions concerning his faithful and
bereaved dependents. He placed his signet ring, attached to a small gold
chain, in the hands of the ecclesiastic, to be by him transmitted to his
wife. Another ring, set with turquois, he sent to his mother-in-law, the
Princess Espinoy, from whom he had received it. About an hour after
midnight, on the morning, therefore, of the 16th of October, Fray
Hernando gave notice that the prisoner was ready to die. The alcalde Don
Alonzo then entered, accompanied by the executioner and the notary. The
sentence of Alva was now again recited, the alcalde adding that the King,
"out of his clemency and benignity," had substituted a secret for a
public execution. Montigny admitted that the judgment would be just and
the punishment lenient, if it were conceded that the charges against him
were true. His enemies, however, while he had been thus immured, had
possessed the power to accuse him as they listed. He ceased to speak, and
the executioner then came forward and strangled him. The alcalde, the
notary, and the executioner then immediately started for Valladolid, so
that no person next morning knew that they had been that night at
Simancas, nor could guess the dark deed which they had then and there
accomplished. The terrible, secret they were forbidden, on pain of death,
to reveal.

Montigny, immediately after his death, was clothed in the habit of Saint
Francis, in order to conceal the marks of strangulation. In the course of
the day the body was deposited, according to the King's previous orders,
in the church of Saint Saviour. Don Eugenio de Peralta, who superintended
the interment, uncovered the face of the defunct to prove his identity,
which was instantly recognised by many sorrowing servants. The next
morning the second letter, prepared by Philip long before, and brought by
Don Alonzo de Avellano to Simancas, received the date of 17th October,
1570, together with the signature of Don Eugenio de Peralta, keeper of
Simancas fortress, and was then publicly despatched to the King. It
stated that, notwithstanding the care given to the Seigneur de Montigny
in his severe illness by the physicians who had attended him, he had
continued to grow worse and worse until the previous morning between
three and four o'clock, when he had expired. The Fray Hernando del
Castillo, who had accidentally happened to be at Simancas, had performed
the holy offices, at the request of the deceased, who had died in so
catholic a frame of mind, that great hopes might be entertained of his
salvation. Although he possessed no property, yet his burial had been
conducted very respectably.

On the 3rd of November, 1570, these two letters, ostensibly written by
Don Eugenio de Peralta, were transmitted by Philip to the Duke of Alva.
They were to serve as evidence of the statement which the
Governor-General was now instructed to make, that the Seigneur de
Montigny had died a natural death in the fortress of Simancas. By the
same courier, the King likewise forwarded a secret memoir, containing the
exact history of the dark transaction, from which memoir the foregoing
account has been prepared. At the same time the Duke was instructed
publicly to exhibit the lying letters of Don Eugenio de Peralta, as
containing an authentic statement of the affair. The King observed,
moreover, in his letter, that there was not a person in Spain who doubted
that Montigny had died of a fever. He added that if the sentiments of the
deceased nobleman had been at all in conformity with his external
manifestations, according to the accounts received of his last moments,
it was to be hoped that God would have mercy upon his soul. The secretary
who copied the letter, took the liberty of adding, however, to this
paragraph the suggestion, that "if Montigny were really a heretic, the
devil, who always assists his children in such moments, would hardly have
failed him in his dying hour." Philip, displeased with this flippancy,
caused the passage to be erased. He even gave vent to his royal
indignation in a marginal note, to the effect that we should always
express favorable judgments concerning the dead--a pious sentiment always
dearer to writing masters than to historians. It seemed never to have
occurred however to this remarkable moralist, that it was quite as
reprehensible to strangle an innocent man as to speak ill of him after
his decease.

Thus perished Baron Montigny, four years after his arrival in Madrid as
Duchess Margaret's ambassador, and three years after the death of his
fellow-envoy Marquis Berghen. No apology is necessary for so detailed an
account of this dark and secret tragedy. The great transactions of a
reign are sometimes paltry things; great battles and great treaties,
after vast consumption of life and of breath, often leave the world where
they found it. The events which occupy many of the statelier pages of
history, and which have most lived in the mouths of men, frequently
contain but commonplace lessons of philosophy. It is perhaps otherwise
when, by the resuscitation of secret documents, over which the dust of
three centuries has gathered, we are enabled to study the internal
working of a system of perfect tyranny. Liberal institutions, republican
or constitutional governments, move in the daylight; we see their mode of
operation, feel the jar of their wheels, and are often needlessly alarmed
at their apparent tendencies. The reverse of the picture is not always so
easily attainable. When, therefore, we find a careful portrait of a
consummate tyrant, painted by his own hand, it is worth our while to
pause for a moment, that we may carefully peruse the lineaments.
Certainly, we shall afterwards not love liberty the less.

Towards the end of the year 1570, still another and a terrible misfortune
descended upon the Netherlands. It was now the hand of God which smote
the unhappy country, already so tortured by the cruelty of war. An
inundation, more tremendous than any which had yet been recorded in those
annals so prolific in such catastrophes, now swept the whole coast from
Flanders to Friesland. Not the memorable deluge of the thirteenth
century, out of which the Zuyder Zee was born; not that in which the
waters of the Dollart had closed for ever over the villages and churches
of Groningen; not one of those perpetually recurring floods by which the
inhabitants of the Netherlands, year after year, were recalled to an
anxious remembrance of the watery chaos out of which their fatherland had
been created, and into which it was in daily danger of resolving itself
again, had excited so much terror and caused so much destruction. A
continued and violent gale from the north-west had long been sweeping the
Atlantic waters into the North Sea, and had now piled them upon the
fragile coasts of the provinces. The dykes, tasked beyond their strength,
burst in every direction. The cities of Flanders, to a considerable
distance inland, were suddenly invaded by the waters of the ocean. The
whole narrow peninsula of North Holland was in imminent danger of being
swept away for ever. Between Amsterdam and Meyden, the great Diemer dyke
was broken through in twelve places. The Hand-bos, a bulwark formed of
oaken piles, fastened with metal clamps, moored with iron anchors, and
secured by gravel and granite, was snapped to pieces like packthread. The
"Sleeper," a dyke thus called, because it was usually left in repose by
the elements, except in great emergencies, alone held firm, and prevented
the consummation of the catastrophe. Still the ocean poured in upon the
land with terrible fury. Dort, Rotterdam, and many other cities were, for
a time, almost submerged. Along the coast, fishing vessels, and even
ships of larger size, were floated up into the country, where they
entangled themselves in groves and orchards, or beat to pieces the roofs
and walls of houses. The destruction of life and of property was enormous
throughout the maritime provinces, but in Friesland the desolation was
complete. There nearly all the dykes and sluices were dashed to
fragments; the country, far and-wide, converted into an angry sea. The
steeples and towers of inland cities became islands of the ocean.
Thousands of human beings were swept out of existence in a few hours.
Whole districts of territory, with all their villages, farms, and
churches, were rent from their places, borne along by the force of the
waves, sometimes to be lodged in another part of the country, sometimes
to be entirely engulfed. Multitudes of men, women, children, of horses,
oxen, sheep, and every domestic animal, were struggling in the waves in
every direction. Every boat, and every article which could serve as a
boat, were eagerly seized upon. Every house was inundated; even the
grave-yards gave up their dead. The living infant in his cradle, and the
long-buried corpse in his coffin, floated side by side. The ancient flood
seemed about to be renewed. Everywhere, upon the top of trees, upon the
steeples of churches, human beings were clustered, praying to God for
mercy, and to their fellow-men for assistance. As the storm at last was
subsiding, boats began to ply in every direction, saving those who were
still struggling in the water, picking fugitives from roofs and
tree-tops, and collecting the bodies of those already drowned. Colonel
Robles, Seigneur de Billy, formerly much hated for his Spanish or
Portuguese blood, made himself very active in this humane work. By his
exertions, and those of the troops belonging to Groningen, many lives
were rescued, and gratitude replaced the ancient animosity. It was
estimated that at least twenty thousand persons were destroyed in the
province of Friesland alone. Throughout the Netherlands, one hundred
thousand persons perished. The damage alone to property, the number of
animals engulfed in the sea, were almost incalculable.

These events took place on the 1st and 2nd November, 1570. The former
happened to be the day of All Saints, and the Spaniards maintained loudly
that the vengeance of Heaven had descended upon the abode of heretics.
The Netherlanders looked upon the catastrophe as ominous of still more
terrible misfortunes in store for them. They seemed doomed to destruction
by God and man. An overwhelming tyranny had long been chafing against
their constitutional bulwarks, only to sweep over them at last; and now
the resistless ocean, impatient of man's feeble barriers, had at last
risen to reclaim his prey. Nature, as if disposed to put to the blush the
feeble cruelty of man, had thus wrought more havoc in a few hours, than
bigotry, however active, could effect in many years.

Nearly at the close of this year (1570) an incident occurred,
illustrating the ferocious courage so often engendered in civil contests.
On the western verge of the Isle of Bommel, stood the castle of
Lowestein. The island is not in the sea. It is the narrow but important
territory which is enclosed between the Meuse and the Waal. The castle,
placed in a slender hook, at the junction of the two rivers, commanded
the two cities of Gorcum and Dorcum, and the whole navigation of the
waters. One evening, towards the end of December, four monks, wearing the
cowls and robes of Mendicant Grey Friars, demanded hospitality at the
castle gate. They were at once ushered into the presence of the
commandant, a brother of President Tisnacq. He was standing by the fire,
conversing with his wife. The foremost monk approaching him, asked
whether the castle held for the Duke of Alva or the Prince of Orange. The
castellian replied that he recognized no prince save Philip, King of
Spain. Thereupon the monk, who was no other than Herman de Ruyter, a
drover by trade, and a warm partisan of Orange, plucked a pistol from
beneath his robe, and shot the commandant through the head. The others,
taking advantage of the sudden panic, overcame all the resistance offered
by the feeble garrison, and made themselves masters of the place. In the
course of the next day they introduced into the castle four or five and
twenty men, with which force they diligently set themselves to fortify
the place, and secure themselves in its possession. A larger
reinforcement which they had reckoned upon, was detained by the floods
and frosts, which, for the moment, had made the roads and fivers alike
impracticable.

Don Roderigo de Toledo, governor of Bois le Duc, immediately despatched a
certain Captain Perea, at the head of two hundred soldiers, who were
joined on the way by a miscellaneous force of volunteers, to recover the
fortress as soon as possible. The castle, bathed on its outward walls by
the Waal and Meuse, and having two redoubts, defended by a double
interior foss, would have been difficult to take by assaults had the
number of the besieged been at all adequate to its defence. As matters
stood, however, the Spaniards, by battering a breach in the wall with
their cannon on the first day, and then escalading the inner works with
remarkable gallantry upon the second, found themselves masters of the
place within eight and forty hours of their first appearance before its
gates. Most of the defenders were either slain or captured alive. De
Ruyter alone had betaken himself to an inner hall of the castle, where he
stood at bay upon the threshold. Many Spaniards, one after another, as
they attempted to kill or to secure him, fell before his sword, which he
wielded with the strength of a giant. At last, overpowered by numbers,
and weakened by the loss of blood, he retreated slowly into the hall,
followed by many of his antagonists. Here, by an unexpected movement, he
applied a match to a train of powder, which he had previously laid along
the floor of the apartment. The explosion was instantaneous. The tower,
where the contest was taking place, sprang into the air, and De Ruyter
with his enemies shared a common doom. A part of the mangled remains of
this heroic but ferocious patriot were afterwards dug from the ruins of
the tower, and with impotent malice nailed upon the gallows at Bois le
Duc. Of his surviving companions, some were beheaded, some were broken on
the wheel, some were hung and quartered--all were executed.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
     Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
     Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
     Great battles often leave the world where they found it
     Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
     The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 18.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1570 [CHAPTER VI.]

   Orange and Count Louis in France--Peace with the Huguenots--
   Coligny's memoir, presented by request to Charles IX., on the
   subject of invading the Netherlands--Secret correspondence of Orange
   organized by Paul Buys--Privateering commissions issued by the
   Prince--Regulations prescribed by him for the fleets thus created--
   Impoverished condition of the Prince--His fortitude--His personal
   sacrifices and privations--His generosity--Renewed contest between
   the Duke and the Estates on the subject of the tenth and twentieth
   pence--Violent disputes in the council--Firm opposition of Viglius--
   Edict commanding the immediate collection of the tax--Popular
   tumults--Viglius denounced by Alva--The Duke's fierce complaints to
   the King--Secret schemes of Philip against Queen Elizabeth of
   England--The Ridolphi plot to murder Elizabeth countenanced by
   Philip and Pius V.--The King's orders to Alva to further the plan--
   The Duke's remonstrances--Explosion of the plot--Obstinacy of
   Philip--Renewed complaints of Alva as to the imprudent service
   required of him--Other attempts of Philip to murder Elizabeth--Don
   John of Austria in the Levant----Battle of Lepanto--Slothfulness of
   Selim--Appointment of Medina Celi--Incessant wrangling in Brussels
   upon the tax--Persevering efforts of Orange--Contempt of Alva for
   the Prince--Proposed sentence of ignominy against his name--Sonoy's
   mission to Germany--Remarkable papers issued by the Prince--The
   "harangue"--Intense hatred for Alva entertained by the highest as
   well as lower orders--Visit of Francis de Alva to Brussels--His
   unfavourable report to the King--Querulous language of the Duke--
   Deputation to Spain--Universal revolt against the tax--Ferocity of
   Alva--Execution of eighteen tradesmen secretly ordered--Interrupted
   by the capture of Brill--Beggars of the sea--The younger Wild Boar
   of Ardennes--Reconciliation between the English government and that
   of Alva--The Netherland privateersmen ordered out of English ports--
   De la Marck's fleet before Brill--The town summoned to surrender--
   Commissioners sent out to the fleet--Flight of the magistrates and
   townspeople--Capture of the place--Indignation of Alva--Popular
   exultation in Brussels--Puns and Caricatures--Bossu ordered to
   recover the town of Brill--His defeat--His perfidious entrance into
   Rotterdam--Massacre in that city--Flushing revolutionized--
   Unsuccessful attempt of Governor de Bourgogne to recal the citizens
   to their obedience--Expedition under Treslong from Brill to assist
   the town of Flushing--Murder of Paccheco by the Patriots--Zeraerts
   appointed Governor of Walcheren by Orange.

While such had been the domestic events of the Netherlands during the
years 1569 and 1570, the Prince of Orange, although again a wanderer, had
never allowed himself to despair. During this whole period, the darkest
hour for himself and for his country, he was ever watchful. After
disbanding his troops at Strasburg, and after making the best
arrangements possible under the circumstances for the eventual payment of
their wages, he had joined the army which the Duke of Deux Ponts had been
raising in Germany to assist the cause of the Huguenots in France. The
Prince having been forced to acknowledge that, for the moment, all open
efforts in the Netherlands were likely to be fruitless, instinctively
turned his eyes towards the more favorable aspect of the Reformation in
France. It was inevitable that, while he was thus thrown for the time out
of his legitimate employment, he should be led to the battles of freedom
in a neighbouring land. The Duke of Deux Ponts, who felt his own military
skill hardly adequate to the task which he had assumed, was glad, as it
were, to put himself and his army under the orders of Orange.

Meantime the battle of Jamac had been fought; the Prince of Condo,
covered with wounds, and exclaiming that it was sweet to die for Christ
and country, had fallen from his saddle; the whole Huguenot army had been
routed by the royal forces under the nominal command of Anjou, and the
body of Conde, tied to the back of a she ass, had been paraded through
the streets of Jarnap in derision.

Affairs had already grown almost as black for the cause of freedom in
France as in the provinces. Shortly afterwards William of Orange, with a
band of twelve hundred horsemen, joined the banners of Coligny. His two
brothers accompanied him. Henry, the stripling, had left the university
to follow the fortunes of the Prince. The indomitable Louis, after seven
thousand of his army had been slain, had swum naked across the Ems,
exclaiming "that his courage, thank God, was as fresh and lively as
ever," and had lost not a moment in renewing his hostile schemes against
the Spanish government. In the meantime he had joined the Huguenots in
France. The battle of Moncontour had succeeded, Count Peter Mansfeld,
with five thousand troops sent by Alva, fighting on the side of the
royalists, and Louis Nassau on that of the Huguenots, atoning by the
steadiness and skill with which he covered the retreat, for his
intemperate courage, which had precipitated the action, and perhaps been
the main cause of Coligny's overthrow. The Prince of Orange, who had been
peremptorily called to the Netherlands in the beginning of the autumn,
was not present at the battle. Disguised as a peasant, with but five
attendants, and at great peril, he had crossed the enemy's lines,
traversed France, and arrived in Germany before the winter. Count Louis
remained with the Huguenots. So necessary did he seem to their cause, and
so dear had he become to their armies, that during the severe illness of
Coligny in the course of the following summer all eyes were turned upon
him as the inevitable successor of that great man, the only remaining
pillar of freedom in France.

Coligny recovered. The deadly peace between the Huguenots and the Court
succeeded. The Admiral, despite his sagacity and his suspicions, embarked
with his whole party upon that smooth and treacherous current which led
to the horrible catastrophe of Saint Bartholomew. To occupy his
attention, a formal engagement was made by the government to send succor
to the Netherlands. The Admiral was to lead the auxiliaries which were to
be despatched across the frontier to overthrow the tyrannical government
of Alva. Long and anxious were the colloquies held between Coligny and
the Royalists. The monarch requested a detailed opinion, in writing, from
the Admiral, on the most advisable plan for invading the Netherlands. The
result was the preparation of the celebrated memoir, under Coligny's
directions, by young De Mornay, Seigneur de Plessis. The document was
certainly not a paper of the highest order. It did not appeal to the
loftier instincts which kings or common mortals might be supposed to
possess. It summoned the monarch to the contest in the Netherlands that
the ancient injuries committed by Spain might be avenged. It invoked the
ghost of Isabella of France, foully murdered, as it was thought, by
Philip. It held out the prospect of re-annexing the fair provinces,
wrested from the King's ancestors by former Spanish sovereigns. It
painted the hazardous position of Philip; with the Moorish revolt gnawing
at the entrails of his kingdom, with the Turkish war consuming its
extremities, with the canker of rebellion corroding the very heart of the
Netherlands. It recalled, with exultation, the melancholy fact that the
only natural and healthy existence of the French was in a state of
war--that France, if not occupied with foreign campaigns, could not be
prevented from plunging its sword into its own vitals.

It indulged in refreshing reminiscences of those halcyon days, not long
gone by, when France, enjoying perfect tranquillity within its own
borders, was calmly and regularly carrying on its long wars beyond the
frontier.

In spite of this savage spirit, which modern documents, if they did not
scorn, would, at least have shrouded, the paper was nevertheless a
sagacious one; but the request for the memoir, and the many interviews on
the subject of the invasion, were only intended to deceive. They were but
the curtain which concealed the preparations for the dark tragedy which
was about to be enacted. Equally deceived, and more sanguine than ever,
Louis Nassau during this period was indefatigable in his attempts to gain
friends for his cause. He had repeated audiences of the King, to whose
court he had come in disguise. He made a strong and warm impression upon
Elizabeth's envoy at the French Court, Walsingham. It is probable that in
the Count's impetuosity to carry his point, he allowed more plausibility
to be given to certain projects for subdividing the Netherlands than his
brother would ever have sanctioned. The Prince was a total stranger to
these inchoate schemes. His work was to set his country free, and to
destroy the tyranny which had grown colossal. That employment was
sufficient for a lifetime, and there is no proof to be found that a
paltry and personal self-interest had even the lowest place among his
motives.

Meantime, in the autumn of 1569, Orange had again reached Germany. Paul
Buys, Pensionary of Leyden, had kept him constantly informed of the state
of affairs in the provinces. Through his means an extensive
correspondence was organized and maintained with leading persons in every
part of the Netherlands. The conventional terms by which different
matters and persons of importance were designated in these letters were
familiarly known to all friends of the cause, not only in the provinces,
but in France, England, Germany, and particularly in the great commercial
cities. The Prince, for example, was always designated as Martin
Willemzoon, the Duke of Alva as Master Powels van Alblas, the Queen of
England as Henry Philipzoon, the King of Denmark as Peter Peterson. The
twelve signs of the zodiac were used instead of the twelve months, and a
great variety of similar substitutions were adopted. Before his visit to
France, Orange had, moreover, issued commissions, in his capacity of
sovereign, to various seafaring persons, who were empowered to cruise
against Spanish commerce.

The "beggars of the sea," as these privateersmen designated themselves,
soon acquired as terrible a name as the wild beggars, or the forest
beggars; but the Prince, having had many conversations with Admiral
Coligny on the important benefits to be derived from the system, had
faithfully set himself to effect a reformation of its abuses after his
return from France. The Seigneur de Dolhain, who, like many other refugee
nobles, had acquired much distinction in this roving corsair life, had
for a season acted as Admiral for the Prince. He had, however, resolutely
declined to render any accounts of his various expeditions, and was now
deprived of his command in consequence. Gillain de Fiennes, Seigneur de
Lumbres, was appointed to succeed him. At the same time strict orders
were issued by Orange, forbidding all hostile measures against the
Emperor or any of the princes of the empire, against Sweden, Denmark,
England, or against any potentates who were protectors of the true
Christian religion. The Duke of Alva and his adherents were designated as
the only lawful antagonists. The Prince, moreover, gave minute
instructions as to the discipline to be observed in his fleet. The
articles of war were to be strictly enforced. Each commander was to
maintain a minister on board his ship, who was to preach God's word, and
to preserve Christian piety among the crew. No one was to exercise any
command in the fleet save native Netherlanders, unless thereto expressly
commissioned by the Prince of Orange. All prizes were to be divided and
distributed by a prescribed rule. No persons were to be received on
board, either as sailors or soldiers, save "folk of goad name and fame."
No man who had ever been punished of justice was to be admitted. Such
were the principal features in the organization of that infant navy
which, in course of this and the following centuries, was to achieve so
many triumphs, and to which a powerful and adventurous mercantile marine
had already led the way. "Of their ships," said Cardinal Bentivoglio,
"the Hollanders make houses, of their houses schools. Here they are born,
here educated, here they learn their profession. Their sailors, flying
from one pale to the other, practising their art wherever the sun
displays itself to mortals, become so skilful that they can scarcely be
equalled, certainly not surpassed; by any nation in the civilized world."

The Prince, however, on his return from France, had never been in so
forlorn a condition. "Orange is plainly perishing," said one of the
friends of the cause. Not only had he no funds to organize new levies,
but he was daily exposed to the most clamorously-urged claims, growing
out of the army which he had been recently obliged to disband. It had
been originally reported in the Netherlands that he had fallen in the
battle of Moncontour. "If he have really been taken off," wrote Viglius,
hardly daring to credit the great news, "we shall all of us have less
cause to tremble." After his actual return, however, lean and beggared,
with neither money nor credit, a mere threatening shadow without
substance or power, he seemed to justify the sarcasm of Granvelle. "Vana
sine viribus ira," quoted the Cardinal, and of a verity it seemed that
not a man was likely to stir in Germany in his behalf, now that so deep a
gloom had descended upon his cause. The obscure and the oppressed
throughout the provinces and Germany still freely contributed out of
their weakness and their poverty, and taxed themselves beyond their means
to assist enterprizes for the relief of the Netherlands. The great ones
of the earth, however, those on whom the Prince had relied; those to whom
he had given his heart; dukes, princes, and electors, in this fatal
change of his fortunes fell away like water.

Still his spirit was unbroken. His letters showed a perfect appreciation
of his situation, and of that to which his country was reduced; but they
never exhibited a trace of weakness or despair. A modest, but lofty
courage; a pious, but unaffected resignation, breathed through--every
document, public or private, which fell from his pen during this epoch.
He wrote to his brother John that he was quite willing to go, to
Frankfort, in order to give himself up as a hostage to his troops for the
payment of their arrears. At the same time he begged his brother to move
heaven and earth to raise at least one hundred thousand thalers. If he
could only furnish them with a month's pay, the soldiers would perhaps be
for a time contented. He gave directions also concerning the disposition
of what remained of his plate and furniture, the greater part of it
having been already sold and expended in the cause. He thought it would,
on the whole, be better to have the remainder sold, piece by piece, at
the fair. More money would be raised by that course than by a more
wholesale arrangement.

He was now obliged to attend personally to the most minute matters of
domestic economy. The man who been the mate of emperors, who was himself
a sovereign, had lived his life long in pomp and luxury, surrounded by
countless nobles, pages, men-at-arms, and menials, now calmly accepted
the position of an outlaw and an exile. He cheerfully fulfilled tasks
which had formerly devolved upon his grooms and valets. There was an
almost pathetic simplicity in the homely details of an existence which,
for the moment, had become so obscure and so desperate. "Send by the
bearer," he wrote, "the little hackney given me by the Admiral; send also
my two pair of trunk hose; one pair is at the tailor's to be mended, the
other, pair you will please order to be taken from the things which I
wore lately at Dillenburg. They lie on the table with my accoutrements.
If the little hackney be not in condition, please send the grey horse
with the cropped ears and tail."

He was always mindful, however, not only of the great cause to which he
had devoted himself, but of the wants experienced by individuals who had
done him service. He never forgot his friends. In the depth of his own
misery he remembered favors received from humble persons. "Send a little
cup, worth at least a hundred florins, to Hartmann Wolf," he wrote to his
brother; "you can take as much silver out of the coffer, in which there
is still some of my chapel service remaining."--"You will observe that
Affenstein is wanting a horse," he wrote on another occasion; "please
look him out one, and send it to me with the price. I will send you the
money. Since he has shown himself so willing in the cause, one ought to
do something for him."

The contest between the Duke and the estates, on the subject of the tenth
and twentieth penny had been for a season adjusted. The two years' term,
however, during which it had been arranged that the tax should be
commuted, was to expire in the autumn of 1571. Early therefore in this
year the disputes were renewed with greater acrimony than ever. The
estates felt satisfied that the King was less eager than the Viceroy.
Viglius was satisfied that the power of Alva was upon the wane. While the
King was not likely openly to rebuke his recent measures, it seemed not
improbable that the Governor's reiterated requests to be recalled might
be granted. Fortified by these considerations, the President, who had so
long been the supple tool of the tyrant, suddenly assumed the character
of a popular tribune. The wranglings, the contradictions, the
vituperations, the threatenings, now became incessant in the council. The
Duke found that he had exulted prematurely, when he announced to the King
the triumphant establishment, in perpetuity, of the lucrative tax. So far
from all the estates having given their consent, as he had maintained,
and as he had written to Philip, it now appeared that not one of those
bodies considered itself bound beyond its quota for the two years. This
was formally stated in the council by Berlaymont and other members. The
wrath of the Duke blazed forth at this announcement. He berated
Berlaymont for maintaining, or for allowing it to be maintained, that the
consent of the orders had ever been doubtful. He protested that they had
as unequivocally agreed to the perpetual imposition of the tag as he to
its commutation during two years. He declared, however, that he was sick
of quotas. The tax should now be collected forthwith, and Treasurer
Schetz was ordered to take his measures accordingly.

At a conference on the 29th May, the Duke asked Viglius for his opinion.
The President made a long reply, taking the ground that the consent of
the orders had been only conditional, and appealing to such members of
the finance council as were present to confirm his assertion. It was
confirmed by all. The Duke, in a passion, swore that those who dared
maintain such a statement should be chastised. Viglius replied that it
had always been the custom for councillors to declare their opinion, and
that they had never before been threatened with such consequences. If
such, however, were his Excellency's sentiments, councillors had better
stay at home, hold their tongues, and so avoid chastisement. The Duke,
controlling himself a little, apologized for this allusion to
chastisement, a menace which he disclaimed having intended with reference
to councillors whom he had always commended to the King, and of whom his
Majesty had so high an opinion. At a subsequent meeting the Duke took
Viglius aside, and assured him that he was quite of his own way of
thinking. For certain reasons, however, he expressed himself as unwilling
that the rest of the council should be aware of the change in his views.
He wished, he said, to dissemble. The astute President, for a moment,
could not imagine the Governor's drift. He afterwards perceived that the
object of this little piece of deception had been to close his mouth. The
Duke obviously conjectured that the President, lulled into security, by
this secret assurance, would be silent; that the other councillors,
believing the President to have adopted the Governor's views, would alter
their opinions; and that the opposition of the estates, thus losing its
support in the council, would likewise very soon be abandoned. The
President, however, was not to be entrapped by this falsehood. He
resolutely maintained his hostility to the tax, depending for his
security on the royal opinion, the popular feeling, and the judgment of
his colleagues.

The daily meetings of the board were almost entirely occupied by this
single subject. Although since the arrival of Alva the Council of Blood
had usurped nearly all the functions of the state and finance-councils,
yet there now seemed a disposition on the part of Alva to seek the
countenance, even while he spurned the authority, of other functionaries.
He found, however, neither sympathy nor obedience. The President stoutly
told him that he was endeavouring to swim against the stream, that the
tax was offensive to the people, and that the voice of the people was the
voice of God. On the last day of July, however, the Duke issued an edict,
by which summary collection of the tenth and twentieth pence was ordered.
The whole country was immediately in uproar. The estates of every
province, the assemblies of every city, met and remonstrated. The
merchants suspended all business, the petty dealers shut up their shops.
The people congregated together in masses, vowing resistance to the
illegal and cruel impost. Not a farthing was collected. The "seven stiver
people", spies of government, who for that paltry daily stipend were
employed to listen for treason in every tavern, in every huckster's
booth, in every alley of every city, were now quite unable to report all
the curses which were hourly heard uttered against the tyranny of the
Viceroy. Evidently, his power was declining. The councillors resisted
him, the common people almost defied him. A mercer to whom he was
indebted for thirty thousand florins' worth of goods, refused to open his
shop, lest the tax should be collected on his merchandize. The Duke
confiscated his debt, as the mercer had foreseen, but this being a
pecuniary sacrifice, seemed preferable to acquiescence in a measure so
vague and so boundless that it might easily absorb the whole property of
the country.

No man saluted the governor as he passed through the streets. Hardly an
attempt was made by the people to disguise their abhorrence of his
person: Alva, on his side, gave daily exhibitions of ungovernable fury.
At a council held on 25th September, 1571, he stated that the King had
ordered the immediate enforcement of the edict. Viglius observed that
there were many objections to its form. He also stoutly denied that the
estates had ever given their consent. Alva fiercely asked the President
if he had not himself once maintained that the consent had been granted!
Viglius replied that he had never made such an assertion. He had
mentioned the conditions and the implied promises on the part of
government, by which a partial consent had been extorted. He never could
have said that the consent had been accorded, for he had never believed
that it could be obtained. He had not proceeded far in his argument when
he was interrupted by the Duke--"But you said so, you said so, you said
so," cried the exasperated Governor, in a towering passion, repeating
many times this flat contradiction to the President's statements. Viglius
firmly stood his ground. Alva loudly denounced him for the little respect
he had manifested for his authority. He had hitherto done the President
good offices, he said, with his Majesty, but certainly should not feel
justified in concealing his recent and very unhandsome conduct.

Viglius replied that he had always reverently cherished the Governor, and
had endeavoured to merit his favor by diligent obsequiousness. He was
bound by his oath, however; to utter in council that which comported with
his own sentiments and his Majesty's interests. He had done this
heretofore in presence of Emperors, Kings, Queens, and Regents, and they
had not taken offence. He did not, at this hour, tremble for his grey
head, and hoped his Majesty would grant him a hearing before
condemnation. The firm attitude of the President increased the irritation
of the Viceroy. Observing that he knew the proper means of enforcing his
authority he dismissed the meeting.

Immediately afterwards, he received the visits of his son, Don Frederic
of Vargas, and other familiars. To these he recounted the scene which had
taken place, raving the while so ferociously against Viglius as to induce
the supposition that something serious was intended against him. The
report flew from mouth to mouth. The affair became the town talk, so
that, in the words of the President, it was soon discussed by every
barber and old woman in Brussels. His friends became alarmed for his
safety, while, at the same time, the citizens rejoiced that their cause
had found so powerful an advocate. Nothing, however, came of these
threats and these explosions. On the contrary, shortly afterwards the
Duke gave orders that the tenth penny should be remitted upon four great
articles-corn, meat, wine, and beer. It was also not to be levied upon
raw materials used in manufactures. Certainly, these were very important
concessions. Still the constitutional objections remained. Alva could not
be made to understand why the alcabala, which was raised without
difficulty in the little town of Alva, should encounter such fierce
opposition in the Netherlands. The estates, he informed the King, made a
great deal of trouble. They withheld their consent at command of their
satrap. The motive which influenced the leading men was not the interest
of factories or fisheries, but the fear that for the future they might
not be able to dictate the law to their sovereign. The people of that
country, he observed, had still the same character which had been
described by Julius Caesar.

The Duke, however, did not find much sympathy at Madrid. Courtiers and
councillors had long derided his schemes. As for the King, his mind was
occupied with more interesting matters. Philip lived but to enforce what
he chose to consider the will of God. While the duke was fighting this
battle with the Netherland constitutionalists, his master had engaged at
home in a secret but most comprehensive scheme. This was a plot to
assassinate Queen Elizabeth of England, and to liberate Mary Queen of
Scots, who was to be placed on the throne in her stead. This project, in
which was of course involved the reduction of England under the dominion
of the ancient Church, could not but prove attractive to Philip. It
included a conspiracy against a friendly sovereign, immense service to
the Church, and a murder. His passion for intrigue, his love of God, and
his hatred of man, would all be gratified at once. Thus, although the
Moorish revolt within the heart of his kingdom had hardly been
terminated--although his legions and his navies were at that instant
engaged in a contest of no ordinary importance with the Turkish
empire--although the Netherlands, still maintaining their hostility and
their hatred, required the flower of the Spanish army to compel their
submission, he did not hesitate to accept the dark adventure which was
offered to him by ignoble hands.

One Ridolfi, a Florentine, long resident in England, had been sent to the
Netherlands as secret agent of the Duke of Norfolk. Alva read his
character immediately, and denounced him to Philip as a loose, prating
creature, utterly unfit to be entrusted with affairs of importance.
Philip, however, thinking more of the plot than of his fellow-actors,
welcomed the agent of the conspiracy to Madrid, listened to his
disclosures attentively, and, without absolutely committing himself by
direct promises, dismissed him with many expressions of encouragement.

On the 12th of July, 1571, Philip wrote to the Duke of Alva, giving an
account of his interview with Roberto Ridolfi. The envoy, after relating
the sufferings of the Queen of Scotland, had laid before him a plan for
her liberation. If the Spanish monarch were willing to assist the Duke of
Norfolk and his friends, it would be easy to put upon Mary's head the
crown of England. She was then to intermarry with Norfolk. The kingdom of
England was again to acknowledge the authority of Rome, and the Catholic
religion to be everywhere restored. The most favorable moment for the
execution of the plan would be in August or September. As Queen Elizabeth
would at that season quit London for the country, an opportunity would be
easily found for seizing and murdering her. Pius V., to whom Ridolfi had
opened the whole matter, highly approved the scheme, and warmly urged
Philip's cooperation. Poor and ruined as he was himself; the Pope
protested that he was ready to sell his chalices, and even his own
vestments, to provide funds for the cause. Philip had replied that few
words were necessary to persuade him. His desire to see the enterprize
succeed was extreme, notwithstanding the difficulties by which it was
surrounded. He would reflect earnestly upon the subject, in the hope that
God, whose cause it was, would enlighten and assist him. Thus much he had
stated to Ridolfi, but he had informed his council afterwards that he was
determined to carry out the scheme by certain means of which the Duke
would soon be informed. The end proposed was to kill or to capture
Elizabeth, to set at liberty the Queen of Scotland, and to put upon her
head the crown of England. In this enterprize he instructed the Duke of
Alva secretly to assist, without however resorting to open hostilities in
his own name or in that of his sovereign. He desired to be informed how
many Spaniards the Duke could put at the disposition of the conspirators.
They had asked for six thousand arquebusiers for England, two thousand
for Scotland, two thousand for Ireland. Besides these troops, the Viceroy
was directed to provide immediately four thousand arquebuses and two
thousand corslets. For the expenses of the enterprize Philip would
immediately remit two hundred thousand crowns. Alva was instructed to
keep the affair a profound secret from his councillors. Even Hopper at
Madrid knew nothing of the matter, while the King had only expressed
himself in general terms to the nuncio and to Ridolfi, then already on
his way to the Netherlands. The King concluded his letter by saying, that
from what he had now written with his own hand, the Duke could infer how
much he had this affair at heart. It was unnecessary for him to say more,
persuaded as he was that the Duke would take as profound an interest in
it as himself.

Alva perceived all the rashness of the scheme, and felt how impossible it
would be for him to comply with Philip's orders. To send an army from the
Netherlands into England for the purpose of dethroning and killing a most
popular sovereign, and at the same time to preserve the most amicable
relations with the country, was rather a desperate undertaking. A force
of ten thousand Spaniards, under Chiappin Vitelli, and other favorite
officers of the Duke, would hardly prove a trifle to be overlooked, nor
would their operations be susceptible of very friendly explanations. The
Governor therefore, assured Philip that he "highly applauded his master
for his plot. He could not help rendering infinite thanks to God for
having made him vassal to such a Prince." He praised exceedingly the
resolution which his Majesty had taken. After this preamble, however, he
proceeded to pour cold water upon his sovereign's ardor. He decidedly
expressed the opinion that Philip should not proceed in such an
undertaking until at any rate the party of the Duke of Norfolk had
obtained possession of Elizabeth's person. Should the King declare
himself prematurely, he might be sure that the Venetians, breaking off
their alliance with him, would make their peace with the Turk; and that
Elizabeth would, perhaps, conclude that marriage with the Duke of Alencon
which now seemed but a pleasantry. Moreover, he expressed his want of
confidence in the Duke of Norfolk, whom he considered as a poor creature
with but little courage. He also expressed his doubts concerning the
prudence and capacity of Don Gueran de Espes, his Majesty's ambassador at
London.

It was not long before these machinations became known in England. The
Queen of Scots was guarded more closely than ever, the Duke of Norfolk
was arrested; yet Philip, whose share in the conspiracy had remained a
secret, was not discouraged by the absolute explosion of the whole
affair. He still held to an impossible purpose with a tenacity which
resembled fatuity. He avowed that his obligations in the sight of God
were so strict that he was still determined to proceed in the sacred
cause. He remitted, therefore, the promised funds to the Duke of Alva,
and urged him to act with proper secrecy and promptness.

The Viceroy was not a little perplexed by these remarkable instructions.
None but lunatics could continue to conspire, after the conspiracy had
been exposed and the conspirators arrested. Yet this was what his
Catholic Majesty expected of his Governor-General. Alva complained, not
unreasonably, of the contradictory demands to which he was subjected.

He was to cause no rupture with England, yet he was to send succor to an
imprisoned traitor; he was to keep all his operations secret from his
council, yet he was to send all his army out of the country, and to
organize an expensive campaign. He sneered: at the flippancy of Ridolfi,
who imagined that it was the work of a moment to seize the Queen of
England, to liberate the Queen of Scotland, to take possession of the
Tower of London, and to burn the fleet in the Thames. "Were your Majesty
and the Queen of England acting together," he observed, "it would be
impossible to execute the plan proposed by Ridolfi." The chief danger to
be apprehended was from France and Germany. Were those countries not to
interfere, he would undertake to make Philip sovereign of England before
the winter. Their opposition, however, was sufficient to make the
enterprise not only difficult, but impossible. He begged his, master not
to be precipitate in the most important affair which had been negotiated
by man since Christ came upon earth. Nothing less, he said, than the
existence of the Christian faith was at stake, for, should his Majesty
fail in this undertaking, not one stone of the ancient religion would be
left upon another. He again warned the King of the contemptible
character, of Ridolfi, who had spoken of the affair so freely that it was
a common subject of discussion on the Bourse, at Antwerp, and he
reiterated, in all his letters his distrust of the parties prominently
engaged in the transaction.

Such was the general, tenor of the long despatches exchanged between the
King and the Duke of Alva upon this iniquitous scheme. The Duke showed
himself reluctant throughout the whole affair, although he certainly
never opposed his master's project by any arguments founded upon good
faith, Christian charity, or the sense of honor. To kill the Queen of
England, subvert the laws of her realm, burn her fleets, and butcher her
subjects, while the mask of amity and entire consideration was sedulously
preserved--all these projects were admitted to be strictly meritorious in
themselves, although objections were taken as to the time and mode of
execution.

Alva never positively refused to accept his share in the enterprise, but
he took care not to lift his finger till the catastrophe in England had
made all attempts futile. Philip, on the other hand, never positively
withdrew from the conspiracy, but, after an infinite deal of writing and
intriguing, concluded by leaving the whole affair in the hands of Alva.
The only sufferer for Philip's participation in the plot was the Spanish
envoy at London, Don Gueran de Espes. This gentleman was formally
dismissed by Queen Elizabeth, for having given treacherous and hostile
advice to the Duke of Alva and to Philip; but her Majesty at the same
time expressed the most profound consideration for her brother of Spain.

Towards the close of the same year, however (December, 1571); Alva sent
two other Italian assassins to England, bribed by the promise of vast
rewards, to attempt the life of Elizabeth, quietly, by poison or
otherwise. The envoy, Mondoucet, in apprizing the French monarch of this
scheme, added that the Duke was so ulcerated and annoyed by the discovery
of the previous enterprise, that nothing could exceed his rage. These
ruffians were not destined to success, but the attempts of the Duke upon
the Queen's life were renewed from time to time. Eighteen months later
(August, 1573), two Scotchmen, pensioners of Philip, came from Spain,
with secret orders to consult with Alva. They had accordingly much
negotiation with the Duke and his secretary, Albornoz. They boasted that
they could easily capture Elizabeth, but said that the King's purpose was
to kill her. The plan, wrote Mondoucet, was the same as it had been
before, namely, to murder the Queen of England, and to give her crown to
Mary of Scotland, who would thus be in their power, and whose son was to
be seized, and bestowed in marriage in such a way as to make them
perpetual masters of both kingdoms.

It does not belong to this history to discuss the merits, nor to narrate
the fortunes, of that bickering and fruitless alliance which had been
entered into at this period by Philip with Venice and the Holy See
against the Turk. The revolt of Granada had at last, after a two years'
struggle, been subdued, and the remnants of the romantic race which had
once swayed the Peninsula been swept into slavery. The Moors had
sustained the unequal conflict with a constancy not to have been expected
of so gentle a people. "If a nation meek as lambs could resist so
bravely," said the Prince of Orange, "what ought not to be expected of a
hardy people like the Netherlanders?" Don John of Austria having
concluded a series of somewhat inglorious forays against women, children,
and bed-ridden old men in Andalusia and Granada; had arrived, in August
of this year, at Naples, to take command of the combined fleet in the
Levant. The battle of Lepanto had been fought, but the quarrelsome and
contradictory conduct of the allies had rendered the splendid victory as
barren as the waves: upon which it had been won. It was no less true,
however, that the blunders of the infidels had previously enabled Philip
to extricate himself with better success from the dangers of the Moorish
revolt than might have been his fortune. Had the rebels succeeded in
holding Granada and the mountains of Andalusia, and had they been
supported, as they had a right to expect, by the forces of the Sultan, a
different aspect might have been given to the conflict, and one far less
triumphant for Spain. Had a prince of vigorous ambition and comprehensive
policy governed at that moment the Turkish empire; it would have cost
Philip a serious struggle to maintain himself in his hereditary
dominions. While he was plotting against the life and throne of
Elizabeth, he might have had cause to tremble for his own. Fortunately,
however, for his Catholic Majesty, Selim was satisfied to secure himself
in the possession of the Isle of Venus, with its fruitful vineyards. "To
shed the blood" of Cyprian vines, in which he was so enthusiastic a
connoisseur, was to him a more exhilarating occupation than to pursue,
amid carnage and hardships, the splendid dream of a re-established
Eastern caliphate.

On the 25th Sept. 1571, a commission of Governor-General of the
Netherlands was at last issued to John de la Cerda, Duke of Medina Coeli.
Philip, in compliance with the Duke's repeated requests, and perhaps not
entirely satisfied with the recent course of events in the provinces, had
at last, after great hesitation, consented to Alva's resignation. His
successor; however, was not immediately to take his departure, and in the
meantime the Duke was instructed to persevere in his faithful services.
These services had, for the present, reduced themselves to a perpetual
and not very triumphant altercation with his council, with the estates,
and with the people, on the subject of his abominable tax. He was
entirely alone. They who had stood unflinchingly at his side when the
only business of the administration was to burn heretics, turned their
backs upon him now that he had engaged in this desperate conflict with.
the whole money power of the country. The King was far from cordial in
his support, the councillors much too crafty to retain their hold upon
the wheel, to which they had only attached themselves in its ascent.
Viglius and Berlaymont; Noircarmes and Aerschot, opposed and almost
defied the man they now thought sinking, and kept the King constantly
informed of the vast distress which the financial measures of the Duke
were causing.

Quite, at the close of the year, an elaborate petition from the estates
of Brabant was read before the State Council. It contained a strong
remonstrance against the tenth penny. Its repeal was strongly urged, upon
the ground that its collection would involve the country in universal
ruin. Upon this, Alva burst forth in one of the violent explosions of
rage to which he was subject. The prosperity of the Netherlands, he
protested, was not dearer to the inhabitants than to himself. He swore by
the cross, and by the most holy of holies, preserved in the church of
Saint Gudule, that had he been but a private individual, living in Spain,
he would, out of the love he bore the provinces, have rushed to their
defence had their safety been endangered. He felt therefore deeply
wounded that malevolent persons should thus insinuate that he had even
wished to injure the country, or to exercise tyranny over its citizens.
The tenth penny, he continued, was necessary to the defence of the land,
and was much preferable to quotas. It was highly improper that every man
in the rabble should know how much was contributed, because each
individual, learning the gross amount, would imagine that he, had paid it
all himself. In conclusion, he observed that, broken in health and
stricken in years as he felt himself, he was now most anxious to return,
and was daily looking with eagerness for the arrival of the Duke of
Medina Coeli.

During the course of this same year, the Prince of Orange had been
continuing his preparations. He had sent his agents to every place where
a hope was held out to him of obtaining support. Money was what he was
naturally most anxious to obtain from individuals; open and warlike
assistance what he demanded from governments. His funds, little by
little, were increasing, owing to the generosity of many obscure persons,
and to the daring exploits of the beggars of the sea. His mission,
however, to the northern courts had failed. His envoys had been received
in Sweden and Denmark with barren courtesy. The Duke of Alva, on the
other hand, never alluded to the Prince but with contempt; knowing not
that the ruined outlaw was slowly undermining the very ground beneath the
monarch's feet; dreaming not that the feeble strokes which he despised
were the opening blows of a century's conflict; foreseeing not that long
before its close the chastised province was to expand into a great
republic, and that the name of the outlaw was to become almost divine.

Granvelle had already recommended that the young Count de Buren should be
endowed with certain lands in Spain, in exchange for his hereditary
estates, in order that the name and fame of the rebel William should be
forever extinguished in the Netherlands. With the same view, a new
sentence against the Prince of Orange was now proposed by the Viceroy.
This was, to execute him solemnly in effigy, to drag his escutcheon
through the streets at the tails of horses, and after having broken it in
pieces, and thus cancelled his armorial bearings, to declare him and his
descendants, ignoble, infamous, and incapable of holding property or
estates. Could a leaf or two of future history have been unrolled to
King, Cardinal, and Governor, they might have found the destined fortune
of the illustrious rebel's house not exactly in accordance with the plan
of summary extinction thus laid down.

Not discouraged, the Prince continued to send his emissaries in every
direction. Diedrich Sonoy, his most trustworthy agent, who had been chief
of the legation to the Northern Courts, was now actively canvassing the
governments and peoples of, Germany with the same object. Several
remarkable papers from the hand of Orange were used upon this service. A
letter, drawn up and signed by his own hand, recited; in brief and
striking language, the history of his campaign in 1568, and of his
subsequent efforts in the sacred cause. It was now necessary, he said,
that others besides himself should partake of his sacrifices. This he
stated plainly and eloquently. The document was in truth a letter asking
arms for liberty. "For although all things," said the Prince, "are in the
hand of God, and although he has created all things out of nought, yet
hath he granted to different men different means, whereby, as with
various instruments, he accomplishes his, almighty purposes. Thereto hath
he endowed some with strength of body, others with worldly wealth, others
with still different gifts, all of which are to be used by their
possessors to His honor and glory, if they wish not to incur the curse of
the unworthy steward, who buried his talent in the earth. . . . . Now ye
may easily see," he continued, "that the Prince cannot carry out this
great work alone, having lost land, people, and goods, and having already
employed in the cause all which had remained to him, besides incurring
heavy obligations in addition."

Similar instructions were given to other agents, and a paper called the
Harangue, drawn up according to his suggestions, was also extensively
circulated. This document is important to all who are interested in his
history and character. He had not before issued a missive so stamped with
the warm, religious impress of the reforming party. Sadly, but without
despondency, the Harangue recalled the misfortunes of the past; and
depicted the gloom of the present. Earnestly, but not fanatically, it
stimulated hope and solicited aid for the future. "Although the appeals
made to the Prince," so ran a part of the document, "be of diverse
natures, and various in their recommendations, yet do they all tend to
the advancement of God's glory, and to the liberation of the fatherland.
This it is which enables him and those who think with him to endure
hunger; thirst, cold, heat, and all the misfortunes which Heaven may
send. . . . . . Our enemies spare neither their money nor their labor;
will ye be colder and duller than your foes? Let, then, each church
congregation set an example to the others. We read that King Saul, when
he would liberate the men of Jabez from the hands of Nahad, the Ammonite,
hewed a yoke of oxen in pieces, and sent them as tokens over all Israel,
saying, 'Ye who will not follow Saul and Samuel, with them shall be dealt
even as with these oxen. And the fear of the Lord came upon the people,
they came forth, and the men of Jabez were delivered.' Ye have here the
same warning, look to it, watch well ye that despise it, lest the wrath
of God, which the men of Israel by their speedy obedience escaped,
descend upon your heads. Ye may say that ye are banished men. 'Tis true:
but thereby are ye not stripped of all faculty of rendering service;
moreover, your assistance is asked for one who will restore ye to your
homes. Ye may say that ye have been robbed of all your goods; yet many of
you have still something remaining, and of that little ye should
contribute, each his mite. Ye say that you have given much already. 'Tis
true, but the enemy is again in the field; fierce for your subjugation,
sustained by the largess of his supporters. Will ye be less courageous,
less generous, than your foes."

These urgent appeals did not remain fruitless. The strength of the
Prince was slowly but steadily increasing. Meantime the abhorrence
 with which Alva was universally regarded had nearly reached to frenzy.
In the beginning of the year 1572, Don Francis de Alava, Philip's
ambassador in France, visited Brussels. He had already been enlightened
as to the consequences of the Duke's course by the immense immigration of
Netherland refugees to France, which he had witnessed with his own eyes.
On his journey towards Brussels he had been met near Cambray by
Noircarmes. Even that "cruel animal," as Hoogstraaten had called him,
the butcher of Tournay and Valenciennes, had at last been roused to
alarm, if not to pity, by the sufferings of the country. "The Duke will
never disabuse his mind of this filthy tenth penny," said he to Alava.
He sprang from his chair with great emotion as the ambassador alluded to
the flight of merchants and artisans from the provinces. "Senor Don
Francis," cried he, "there are ten thousand more who are on the point of
leaving the country, if the Governor does not pause in his career. God
grant that no disaster arise beyond human power to remedy."

The ambassador arrived in Brussels, and took up his lodgings in the
palace. Here he found the Duke just recovering from a fit of the gout, in
a state of mind sufficiently savage.  He became much excited as Don
Francis began to speak of the emigration, and he assured him that there
was gross deception on the subject. The envoy replied that he could not
be mistaken, for it was a matter which, so to speak, he had touched with
his own fingers, and seen with his own eyes. The Duke, persisting that
Don Francis had been abused and misinformed, turned the conversation to
other topics. Next day the ambassador received visits from Berlaymont and
his son, the Seigneur de Hierges. He was taken aside by each of them,
separately. "Thank God, you have come hither," said they, in nearly the
same words, "that you may fully comprehend the condition of the
provinces, and without delay admonish his Majesty of the impending
danger." All his visitors expressed the same sentiments. Don Frederic of
Toledo furnished the only exception, assuring the envoy that his father's
financial measures were opposed by Noircarmes and others, only because it
deprived them of their occupation and their influence. This dutiful
language, however, was to be expected in one of whom Secretary Albornoz
had written, that he was the greatest comfort to his father, and the most
divine genius ever known. It was unfortunately corroborated by no other
inhabitant of the country.

On the third day, Don Francis went to take his leave. The Duke begged him
to inform his Majesty of the impatience with which he was expecting the
arrival of his successor. He then informed his guest that they had
already begun to collect the tenth penny in Brabant, the most obstinate
of all the provinces. "What do you say to that, Don Francis?" he cried,
with exultation. Alava replied that he thought, none the less, that the
tax would encounter many obstacles, and begged him earnestly to reflect.
He assured him, moreover, that he should, without reserve, express his
opinions fully to the King. The Duke used the same language which Don
Frederic had held, concerning the motives of those who opposed the tax.
"It may be so," said Don Francis, "but at any rate, all have agreed to
sing to the same tune." A little startled, the Duke rejoined, "Do you
doubt that the cities will keep their promises? Depend upon it, I shall
find the means to compel them." "God grant it may be so," said Alava,
"but in my poor judgment you will have need of all your prudence and of
all your authority."

The ambassador did not wait till he could communicate with his sovereign
by word of mouth. He forwarded to Spain an ample account of his
observations and deductions. He painted to Philip in lively colors the
hatred entertained by all men for the Duke. The whole nation, he assured
his Majesty, united in one cry, "Let him begone, let him begone, let him
begone!" As for the imposition of the tenth penny, that, in the opinion
of Don Francis, was utterly impossible. He moreover warned his Majesty
that Alva was busy in forming secret alliances with the Catholic princes
of Europe, which would necessarily lead to defensive leagues among the
Protestants.

While thus, during the earlier part of the year 1572, the Prince of
Orange, discouraged by no defeats, was indefatigable in his exertions to
maintain the cause of liberty, and while at the same time the most stanch
supporters of arbitrary power were unanimous in denouncing to Philip the
insane conduct of his Viceroy, the letters of Alva himself were naturally
full of complaints and expostulations. It was in vain, he said, for him
to look for a confidential councillor, now that matters which he had
wished to be kept so profoundly secret that the very earth should not
hear of them, had been proclaimed aloud above the tiles of every
housetop. Nevertheless, he would be cut into little pieces but his
Majesty should be obeyed, while he remained alive to enforce the royal
commands. There were none who had been ever faithful but Berlaymont, he
said, and even he had been neutral in the affair of the tax. He had
rendered therein neither good nor bad offices, but, as his Majesty was
aware, Berlaymont was entirely ignorant of business, and "knew nothing
more than to be a good fellow." That being the case, he recommended
Hierges, son of the "good fellow," as a proper person to be governor of
Friesland.

The deputations appointed by the different provinces to confer personally
with the King received a reprimand upon their arrival, for having dared
to come to Spain without permission. Farther punishment, however, than
this rebuke was not inflicted. They were assured that the King was highly
displeased with their venturing to bring remonstrances against the tax,
but they were comforted with the assurance that his Majesty would take
the subject of their petition into consideration. Thus, the expectations
of Alva were disappointed, for the tenth penny was not formally
confirmed; and the hopes of the provinces frustrated, because it was not
distinctly disavowed.

Matters had reached another crisis in the provinces. "Had we money now,"
wrote the Prince of Orange, "we should, with the help of God, hope to
effect something. This is a time when, with even small sums, more can be
effected than at other seasons with ampler funds." The citizens were in
open revolt against the tax. In order that the tenth penny should not be
levied upon every sale of goods, the natural but desperate remedy was
adopted--no goods were sold at all.

Not only the wholesale commerce oh the provinces was suspended, but the
minute and indispensable traffic of daily life was entirely at a stand.
The shops were all shut. "The brewers," says a contemporary, "refused to
brew, the bakers to bake, the tapsters to tap." Multitudes, thrown
entirely out of employment, and wholly dependent upon charity, swarmed in
every city. The soldiery, furious for their pay, which Alva had for many
months neglected to furnish, grew daily more insolent; the citizens,
maddened by outrage and hardened by despair, became more and more
obstinate in their resistance; while the Duke, rendered inflexible by
opposition and insane by wrath, regarded the ruin which he had caused
with a malignant spirit which had long ceased to be human. "The disease
is gnawing at our vitals," wrote Viglius; "everybody is suffering for the
want of the necessaries of life. Multitudes are in extreme and hopeless
poverty. My interest in the welfare of the commonwealth," he continued,
"induces me to send these accounts to Spain. For myself, I fear nothing.
Broken by sickness and acute physical suffering, I should leave life
without regret."

The aspect of the capital was that of a city stricken with the plague.
Articles of the most absolute necessity could not be obtained. It was
impossible to buy bread, or meat, or beer. The tyrant, beside himself
with rage at being thus braved in his very lair, privately sent for
Master Carl, the executioner. In order to exhibit an unexpected and
salutary example, he had determined to hang eighteen of the leading
tradesmen of the city in the doors of their own shops, with the least
possible delay and without the slightest form of trial.

Master Carl was ordered, on the very night of his interview with the
Duke, to prepare eighteen strong cords, and eighteen ladders twelve feet
in length. By this simple arrangement, Alva was disposed to make manifest
on the morrow, to the burghers of Brussels, that justice was thenceforth
to be carried to every man's door. He supposed that the spectacle of a
dozen and a half of butchers and bakers suspended in front of the shops
which they had refused to open, would give a more effective stimulus to
trade than any to be expected from argument or proclamation. The hangman
was making ready his cords and ladders; Don Frederic of Toledo was
closeted with President Viglius, who, somewhat against his will, was
aroused at midnight to draw the warrants for these impromptu executions;
Alva was waiting with grim impatience for the dawn upon which the show
was to be exhibited, when an unforeseen event suddenly arrested the
homely tragedy. In the night arrived the intelligence that the town of
Brill had been captured. The Duke, feeling the full gravity of the
situation, postponed the chastisement which he had thus secretly planned
to a more convenient season, in order without an instant's hesitation to
avert the consequences of this new movement on the part of the rebels.
The seizure of Brill was the Deus ex machina which unexpectedly solved
both the inextricable knot of the situation and the hangman's noose.

Allusion has more than once been made to those formidable partisans of
the patriot cause, the marine outlaws. Cheated of half their birthright
by nature, and now driven forth from their narrow isthmus by tyranny, the
exiled Hollanders took to the ocean. Its boundless fields, long arable to
their industry, became fatally fruitful now that oppression was
transforming a peaceful seafaring people into a nation of corsairs.
Driven to outlawry and poverty, no doubt many Netherlanders plunged into
crime. The patriot party had long sine laid aside the respectful
deportment which had provoked the sarcasms of the loyalists. The beggars
of the sea asked their alms through the mouths of their cannon.
Unfortunately, they but too often made their demands upon both friend and
foe. Every ruined merchant, every banished lord, every reckless mariner,
who was willing to lay the commercial world under contribution to repair
his damaged fortunes, could, without much difficulty, be supplied with a
vessel and crew at some northern port, under color of cruising against
the Viceroy's government. Nor was the ostensible motive simply a pretext.
To make war upon Alva was the leading object of all these freebooters,
and they were usually furnished by the Prince of Orange, in his capacity
of sovereign, with letters of marque for that purpose. The Prince,
indeed, did his utmost to control and direct an evil which had inevitably
grown out of the horrors of the time. His Admiral, William de la Marck,
was however, incapable of comprehending the lofty purposes of his
superior. A wild, sanguinary, licentious noble, wearing his hair and
beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom, until the death of
his relative, Egmont, should have been expiated, a worthy descendant of
the Wild Boar of Ardennes, this hirsute and savage corsair seemed an
embodiment of vengeance. He had sworn to wreak upon Alva and upon popery
the deep revenge owed to them by the Netherland nobility, and in the
cruelties afterwards practised by him upon monks and priests, the Blood
Council learned that their example had made at least one ripe scholar
among the rebels. He was lying, at this epoch, with his fleet on the
southern coast of England, from which advantageous position he was now to
be ejected in a summary manner.

The negotiations between the Duke of Alva and Queen Elizabeth had already
assumed an amicable tone, and were fast ripening to an adjustment. It lay
by no means in that sovereign's disposition to involve herself at this
juncture in a war with Philip, and it was urged upon her government by
Alva's commissioners, that the continued countenance afforded by the
English people to the Netherland cruisers must inevitably lead to that
result. In the latter days of March, therefore, a sentence of virtual
excommunication was pronounced against De la Marck and his rovers. A
peremptory order of Elizabeth forbade any of her subjects to supply them
with meat, bread, or beer. The command being strictly complied with,
their farther stay was rendered impossible. Twenty-four vessels
accordingly, of various sizes, commanded by De la Marck, Treslong, Adam
van Harem, Brand, and Other distinguished seamen, set sail from Dover in
the very last days of March. Being almost in a state of starvation, these
adventurers were naturally anxious to supply themselves with food. They
determined to make a sudden foray upon the coasts of North Holland, and
accordingly steered for Enkbuizen, both because it was a rich sea-port
and because it contained many secret partisans of the Prince. On Palm
Sunday they captured two Spanish merchantmen. Soon afterwards, however,
the wind becoming contrary, they were unable to double the Helder or the
Texel, and on Tuesday, the 1st of April, having abandoned their original
intention, they dropped down towards Zealand, and entered the broad mouth
of the river Meuse. Between the town of Brill, upon the southern lip of
this estuary, and Naaslandsluis, about half a league distant, upon the
opposite aide, the squadron suddenly appeared at about two o'clock of an
April afternoon, to the great astonishment of the inhabitants of both
places. It seemed too large a fleet to be a mere collection of trading
vessels, nor did they appear to be Spanish ships. Peter Koppelstok, a
sagacious ferryman, informed the passengers whom he happened to be
conveying across the river, that the strangers were evidently the water
beggars. The dreaded name filled his hearers with consternation, and they
became eager to escape from so perilous a vicinity. Having duly landed
his customers, however, who hastened to spread the news of the impending
invasion, and to prepare for defence or flight, the stout ferryman, who
was secretly favorable to the cause of liberty, rowed boldly out to
inquire the destination and purposes of the fleet.

The vessel which he first hailed was that commanded by William de Blois,
Seigneur of Treslong. This adventurous noble, whose brother had been
executed by the Duke of Alva in 1568, had himself fought by the side of
Count Louis at Jemmingen, and although covered with wounds, had been one
of the few who escaped alive from that horrible carnage. During the
intervening period he had become one of the most famous rebels on the
ocean, and he had always been well known in Brill, where his father had
been governor for the King. He at once recognized Koppelstok, and
hastened with him on board the Admiral's ship, assuring De la Marck that
the ferryman was exactly the man for their purpose. It was absolutely
necessary that a landing should be effected, for the people were without
the necessaries of life. Captain Martin Brand had visited the ship of
Adam Van Haren, as soon as they had dropped anchor in the Meuse, begging
for food. "I gave him a cheese," said Adam, afterwards relating the
occurrence, "and assured him that it was the last article of food to be
found in the ship." The other vessels were equally destitute. Under the
circumstances, it was necessary to attempt a landing. Treslong,
therefore, who was really the hero of this memorable adventure, persuaded
De la Marck to send a message to the city of Brill, demanding its
surrender. This was a bold summons to be made by a handful of men, three
or four hundred at most, who were both metaphorically and literally
beggars. The city of Brill was not populous, but it was well walled and
fortified. It was moreover a most commodious port. Treslong gave his
signet ring to the fisherman, Koppelstok, and ordered him, thus
accredited as an envoy, to carry their summons to the magistracy.
Koppelstok, nothing loath, instantly rowed ashore, pushed through the
crowd of inhabitants, who overwhelmed him with questions, and made his
appearance in the town-house before the assembled magistrates. He
informed them that he had been sent by the Admiral of the fleet and by
Treslong, who was well known to them, to demand that two commissioners
should be sent out on the part of the city to confer with the patriots.
He was bidden, he said, to give assurance that the deputies would be
courteously treated. The only object of those who had sent him was to
free the land from the tenth penny, and to overthrow the tyranny of Alva
and his Spaniards. Hereupon he was asked by the magistrates, how large a
force De la Marck had under his command, To this question the ferryman
carelessly replied, that there might be some five thousand in all. This
enormous falsehood produced its effect upon the magistrates. There was
now no longer any inclination to resist the invader; the only question
discussed being whether to treat with them or to fly. On the whole, it
was decided to do both. With some difficulty, two deputies were found
sufficiently valiant to go forth to negotiate with the beggars, while in
their absence most of the leading burghers and functionaries made their
preparations for flight. The envoys were assured by De la Marck and
Treslong that no injury was intended to the citizens or to private
property, but that the overthrow of Alva's government was to be instantly
accomplished. Two hours were given to the magistrates in which to decide
whether or not they would surrender the town and accept the authority of
De la Marck as Admiral of the Prince of Orange. They employed the two
hours thus granted in making an ignominious escape. Their example was
followed by most of the townspeople. When the invaders, at the expiration
of the specified term, appeared under the walls of the city, they found a
few inhabitants of the lower class gazing at them from above, but
received no official communication from any source.

The whole rebel force was now divided into two parties, one of which
under Treslong made an attack upon the southern gate, while the other
commanded by the Admiral advanced upon the northern. Treslong after a
short struggle succeeded in forcing his entrance, and arrested, in doing
so, the governor of the city, just taking his departure. De la Marck and
his men made a bonfire at the northern gate, and then battered down the
half-burned portal with the end of an old mast. Thus rudely and rapidly
did the Netherland patriots conduct their first successful siege. The two
parties, not more perhaps than two hundred and fifty men in all, met
before sunset in the centre of the city, and the foundation of the Dutch
Republic was laid. The weary spirit of freedom, so long a fugitive over
earth and sea, had at last found a resting-place, which rude and even
ribald hands had prepared.

The panic created by the first appearance of the fleet had been so
extensive that hardly fifty citizens had remained in the town. The rest
had all escaped, with as much property as they could carry away. The
Admiral, in the name, of the Prince of Orange, as lawful stadholder of
Philip, took formal possession of an almost deserted city. No indignity
was offered to the inhabitants of either sex, but as soon, as the
conquerors were fairly established in the best houses of the place, the
inclination to plunder the churches could no longer be restrained. The
altars and images were all destroyed, the rich furniture and gorgeous
vestments appropriated to private use. Adam van Hare appeared on his
vessel's deck attired in a magnificent high mass chasuble. Treslong
thenceforth used no drinking cups in his cabin save the golden chalices
of the sacrament. Unfortunately, their hatred to popery was not confined
to such demonstrations. Thirteen unfortunate monks and priests, who had
been unable to effect their escape, were arrested and thrown into prison,
from whence they were taken a few days later, by order of the ferocious
Admiral, and executed under circumstances of great barbarity.

The news of this important exploit spread with great rapidity. Alva,
surprised at the very moment of venting his rage on the butchers and
grocers of Brussels, deferred this savage design in order to deal with
the new difficulty. He had certainly not expected such a result from the
ready compliance of queen Elizabeth with his request. His rage was
excessive; the triumph of the people, by whom he was cordially detested,
proportionably great. The punsters of Brussels were sure not to let such
an opportunity escape them, for the name of the captured town was
susceptible of a quibble, and the event had taken place upon All Fools'
Day.

          "On April's Fool's Day,
          Duke Alva's spectacles were stolen away,"

became a popular couplet. The word spectacles, in Flemish, as well as the
name of the suddenly surprised city, being Brill, this allusion to the
Duke's loss and implied purblindness was not destitute of ingenuity. A
caricature, too, was extensively circulated, representing De la Marck
stealing the Duke's spectacles from his nose, while the Governor was
supposed to be uttering his habitual expression whenever any intelligence
of importance was brought to him: 'No es nada, no es nada--'Tis nothing,
'tis nothing.

The Duke, however, lost not an instant in attempting to repair the
disaster. Count Bossu, who had acted as stadholder of Holland and
Zealand, under Alva's authority, since the Prince of Orange had resigned
that office, was ordered at once to recover the conquered sea-port, if
possible.

Hastily gathering a force of some ten companies from the garrison of
Utrecht, some of which very troops had recently and unluckily for
government, been removed from Brill to that city, the Count crossed the
Sluis to the island of Voorn upon Easter day, and sent a summons to the
rebel force to surrender Brill. The patriots being very few in number,
were at first afraid to venture outside the gates to attack the much
superior force of their invaders. A carpenter, however, who belonged to
the city, but had long been a partisan of Orange, dashed into the water
with his axe in his hand, and swimming to the Niewland sluice, hacked it
open with a few vigorous strokes. The sea poured in at once, making the
approach to the city upon the north side impossible: Bossu then led his
Spaniards along the Niewland dyke to the southern gate, where they were
received with a warm discharge of artillery, which completely staggered
them. Meantime Treslong and Robol had, in the most daring manner, rowed
out to the ships which had brought the enemy to the island, cut some
adrift, and set others on fire.

The Spaniards at the southern gate caught sight of their blazing vessels,
saw the sea rapidly rising over the dyke, became panic-struck at being
thus enclosed between fire and water, and dashed off in precipitate
retreat along the slippery causeway and through the slimy and turbid
waters, which were fast threatening to overwhelm them. Many were drowned
or smothered in their flight, but the greater portion of the force
effected their escape in the vessels which still remained within reach.
This danger averted, Admiral de la Marck summoned all the inhabitants, a
large number of whom had returned to the town after the capture had been
fairly established, and required them, as well as all the population of
the island, to take an oath of allegiance to the Prince of Orange as
stadholder for his Majesty.

The Prince had not been extremely satisfied with the enterprise of De la
Marck. He thought-it premature, and doubted whether it would be
practicable to hold the place, as he had not yet completed his
arrangements in Germany, nor assembled the force with which he intended
again to take the field. More than all, perhaps, he had little confidence
in the character of his Admiral. Orange was right in his estimate of De
la Marck. It had not been that rover's design either to take or to hold
the place; and after the descent had been made, the ships victualled, the
churches plundered, the booty secured, and a few monks murdered, he had
given orders for the burning of the town, and for the departure of the
fleet. The urgent solicitations of Treslong, however, prevailed, with
some difficulty, over De la Marck' original intentions. It is to that
bold and intelligent noble, therefore, more than to any other individual,
that the merit of laying this corner-stone of the Batavian commonwealth
belongs. The enterprise itself was an accident, but the quick eye of
Treslong saw the possibility of a permanent conquest, where his superior
dreamed of nothing beyond a piratical foray.

Meantime Bossu, baffled in his attempt upon Brill, took his way towards
Rotterdam. It was important that he should at least secure such other
cities as the recent success of the rebels might cause to waver in their
allegiance. He found the gates of Rotterdam closed. The authorities
refused to comply with his demand to admit a garrison for the King.
Professing perfect loyalty, the inhabitants very naturally refused to
admit a band of sanguinary Spaniards to enforce their obedience.
Compelled to parley, Bossu resorted to a perfidious stratagem. He
requested permission for his troops to pass through the city without
halting. This was granted by the magistrates, on condition that only a
corporal's command should be admitted at a time. To these terms the Count
affixed his hand and seal. With the admission, however, of the first
detachment, a violent onset was made upon the gate by the whole Spanish
force. The townspeople, not suspecting treachery, were not prepared to
make effective resistance. A stout smith, confronting the invaders at the
gate, almost singly, with his sledge-hammer, was stabbed to the heart by
Bossu with his own hand. The soldiers having thus gained admittance,
rushed through the streets, putting every man to death who offered the
slightest resistance. Within a few minutes four hundred citizens were
murdered. The fate of the women, abandoned now to the outrage of a brutal
soldiery, was worse than death. The capture of Rotterdam is infamous for
the same crimes which blacken the record of every Spanish triumph in the
Netherlands.

The important town of Flushing, on the Isle of Walcheren, was first to
vibrate with the patriotic impulse given by the success at Brill. The
Seigneur de Herpt, a warm partisan of Orange, excited the burghers
assembled in the market-place to drive the small remnant of the Spanish
garrison from the city. A little later upon the same day a considerable
reinforcement arrived before the walls. The Duke had determined, although
too late, to complete the fortress which had been commenced long before
to control the possession of this important position at the mouth of the
western Scheld. The troops who were to resume this too long intermitted
work arrived just in time to witness the expulsion of their comrades. De
Herpt easily persuaded the burghers that the die was cast, and that their
only hope lay in a resolute resistance. The people warmly acquiesced,
while a half-drunken, half-wined fellow in the crowd valiantly proposed,
in consideration of a pot of beer, to ascend the ramparts and to
discharge a couple of pieces of artillery at the Spanish ships. The offer
was accepted, and the vagabond merrily mounting the height, discharged
the guns. Strange to relate, the shot thus fired by a lunatic's hand put
the invading ships to flight. A sudden panic seized the Spaniards, the
whole fleet stood away at once in the direction of Middelburg, and were
soon out of sight.

The next day, however, Antony of Bourgoyne, governor under Alva for the
Island of Walcheren, made his appearance in Flushing. Having a high
opinion of his own oratorical powers, he came with the intention of
winning back with his rhetoric a city which the Spaniards had thus far
been unable to recover with their cannon. The great bell was rung, the
whole population assembled in the marketplace, and Antony, from the steps
of the town-house, delivered a long oration, assuring the burghers, among
other asseverations, that the King, who was the best natured prince in
all Christendom, would forget and forgive their offences if they returned
honestly to their duties.

The effect of the Governor's eloquence was much diminished, however, by
the interlocutory remarks, of De Herpt and a group of his adherents. They
reminded the people of the King's good nature, of his readiness to forget
and to forgive, as exemplified by the fate of Horn and Egmont, of Berghen
and Montigny, and by the daily and almost hourly decrees of the Blood
Council. Each well-rounded period of the Governor was greeted with
ironical cheers. The oration was unsuccessful. "Oh, citizens, citizens!"
cried at last the discomfited Antony, "ye know not what ye do. Your blood
be upon your own heads; the responsibility be upon your own hearts for
the fires which are to consume your cities and the desolation which is to
sweep your land!" The orator at this impressive point was interrupted,
and most unceremoniously hustled out of the city. The government remained
in the hands of the patriots.

The party, however, was not so strong in soldiers as in spirit. No
sooner, therefore, had they established their rebellion to Alva as an
incontrovertible fact, than they sent off emissaries to the Prince of
Orange, and to Admiral De la Marek at Brill. Finding that the inhabitants
of Flushing were willing to provide arms and ammunition, De la Marck
readily consented to send a small number of men, bold and experienced in
partisan warfare, of whom he had now collected a larger number than he
could well arm or maintain in his present position.

The detachment, two hundred in number, in three small vessels, set sail
accordingly from Brill for Flushing; and a wild crew they were, of
reckless adventurers under command of the bold Treslong. The expedition
seemed a fierce but whimsical masquerade. Every man in the little fleet
was attired in the gorgeous vestments of the plundered churches, in
gold-embroidered cassocks, glittering mass-garments, or the more sombre
cowls, and robes of Capuchin friars. So sped the early standard bearers
of that ferocious liberty which had sprung from the fires in which all
else for which men cherish their fatherland had been consumed. So swept
that resolute but fantastic band along the placid estuaries of Zealand,
waking the stagnant waters with their wild beggar songs and cries of
vengeance.

That vengeance found soon a distinguished object. Pacheco, the chief
engineer of Alva, who had accompanied the Duke in his march from Italy,
who had since earned a world-wide reputation as the architect of the
Antwerp citadel, had been just despatched in haste to Flushing to
complete the fortress whose construction had been so long delayed. Too
late for his work, too soon for his safety, the ill-fated engineer had
arrived almost at the same moment with Treslong and his crew. He had
stepped on shore, entirely ignorant of all which had transpired,
expecting to be treated with the respect due to the chief commandant of
the place, and to an officer high in the confidence of the
Governor-General. He found himself surrounded by an indignant and
threatening mob. The unfortunate Italian understood not a word of the
opprobrious language addressed to him, but he easily comprehended that
the authority of the Duke was overthrown. Observing De Ryk, a
distinguished partisan officer and privateersman of Amsterdam, whose
reputation for bravery and generosity was known, to him, he approached
him, and drawing a seal ring from his finger, kissed it, and handed it to
the rebel chieftain. By this dumbshow he gave him to understand that he
relied upon his honor for the treatment due to a gentleman. De Ryk
understood the appeal, and would willingly have assured him, at least, a
soldier's death, but he was powerless to do so. He arrested him, that he
might be protected from the fury of the rabble, but Treslong, who now
commanded in Flushing, was especially incensed against the founder of the
Antwerp citadel, and felt a ferocious desire to avenge his brother's
murder upon the body of his destroyer's favourite. Pacheco was condemned
to be hanged upon the very day of his arrival. Having been brought forth
from his prison, he begged hard but not abjectly for his life. He offered
a heavy ransom, but his enemies were greedy for blood, not for money. It
was, however, difficult to find an executioner. The city hangman was
absent, and the prejudice of the country and the age against the vile
profession had assuredly not been diminished during the five horrible
years of Alva's administration. Even a condemned murderer, who lay in the
town-gaol, refused to accept his life in recompence for performing the
office. It should never be said, he observed, that his mother had given
birth to a hangman. When told, however, that the intended victim was a
Spanish officer, the malefactor consented to the task with alacrity, on
condition that he might afterwards kill any man who taunted him with the
deed.

Arrived at the foot of the gallows, Pacheco complained bitterly of the
disgraceful death designed for him. He protested loudly that he came of a
house as noble as that of Egmont or Horn, and was entitled to as
honorable an execution as theirs had been. "The sword! the sword!" he
frantically exclaimed, as he struggled with those who guarded him. His
language was not understood, but the names of Egmont and Horn inflamed
still more highly the rage of the rabble, while his cry for the sword was
falsely interpreted by a rude fellow who had happened to possess himself
of Pacheco's rapier, at his capture, and who now paraded himself with it
at the gallows' foot. "Never fear for your sword, Seilor," cried this
ruffian; "your sword is safe enough, and in good hands. Up the ladder
with you, Senor; you have no further use for your sword."

Pacheco, thus outraged, submitted to his fate. He mounted the ladder with
a steady step, and was hanged between two other Spanish officers. So
perished miserably a brave soldier, and one of the most distinguished
engineers of his time; a man whose character and accomplishments had
certainly merited for him a better fate. But while we stigmatize as it
deserves the atrocious conduct of a few Netherland partisans, we should
remember who first unchained the demon of international hatred in this
unhappy land, nor should it ever be forgotten that the great leader of
the revolt, by word, proclamation, example, by entreaties, threats, and
condign punishment, constantly rebuked, and to a certain extent,
restrained the sanguinary spirit by which some of his followers disgraced
the noble cause which they had espoused.

Treslong did not long remain in command at Flushing. An officer, high in
the confidence of the Prince, Jerome van 't Zeraerts, now arrived at
Flushing, with a commission to be Lieutenant-Governor over the whole isle
of Walcheren. He was attended by a small band of French infantry, while
at nearly the same time the garrison was further strengthened by the
arrival of a large number of volunteers from England.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
     Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
     Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 19.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1572 [CHAPTER VII.]

   Municipal revolution throughout Holland and Zealand--Characteristics
   of the movement in various places--Sonoy commissioned by Orange as
   governor of North Holland--Theory of the provisional government--
   Instructions of the Prince to his officers--Oath prescribed--Clause
   of toleration--Surprise of Mons by Count Louis--Exertions of Antony
   Oliver--Details of the capture--Assembly of the citizens--Speeches
   of Genlis and of Count Louis--Effect of the various movements upon
   Alva--Don Frederic ordered to invest Mons--The Duke's impatience to
   retire--Arrival of Medina Coeli--His narrow escape--Capture of the
   Lisbon fleet--Affectation of cordiality between Alva and Medina--
   Concessions by King and Viceroy on the subject of the tenth penny--
   Estates of Holland assembled, by summons of Orange, at Dort--Appeals
   from the Prince to this congress for funds to pay his newly levied
   army--Theory of the provisional States' assembly--Source and nature
   of its authority--Speech of St. Aldegonde--Liberality of the estates
   and the provinces--Pledges exchanged between the Prince's
   representative and the Congress--Commission to De la Marck ratified
   --Virtual dictatorship of Orange--Limitation of his power by his own
   act--Count Louis at Mons--Reinforcements led from France by Genlis--
   Rashness of that officer--His total defeat--Orange again in the
   field--Rocrmond taken--Excesses of the patriot army--Proclamation of
   Orange, commanding respect to all personal and religious rights--His
   reply to the Emperor's summons--His progress in the Netherlands--
   Hopes entertained from France--Reinforcements under Coligny promised
   to Orange by Charles IX.--The Massacre of St. Bartholomew--The
   event characterized--Effect in England, in Rome, and in other parts
   of Europe--Excessive hilarity of Philip--Extravagant encomium
   bestowed by him upon Charles IX.--Order sent by Philip to put all
   French prisoners in the Netherlands to Death--Secret correspondence
   of Charles IX. with his envoy in the Netherlands--Exultation of the
   Spaniards before Mons--Alva urged by the French envoy, according to
   his master's commands, to put all the Frenchmen in Mons, and those
   already captured, to death--Effect of the massacre upon the Prince
   of Orange--Alva and Medina in the camp before Mons--Hopelessness of
   the Prince's scheme to obtain battle from Alva--Romero's encamisada
   --Narrow escape of the prince--Mutiny and dissolution of his army--
   His return to Holland--His steadfastness--Desperate position of
   Count Louis in Mons--Sentiments of Alva--Capitulation of Mons--
   Courteous reception of Count Louis by the Spanish generals--
   Hypocrisy of these demonstrations--Nature of the Mons capitulation--
   Horrible violation of its terms--Noircarmes at Mons--Establishment
   of a Blood Council in the city--Wholesale executions--Cruelty and
   cupidity of Noircarmes--Late discovery of the archives of these
   crimes--Return of the revolted cities of Brabant and Flanders to
   obedience--Sack of Mechlin by the Spaniards--Details of that event.

The example thus set by Brill and Flushing was rapidly followed. The
first half of the year 1572 was distinguished by a series of triumphs
rendered still more remarkable by the reverses which followed at its
close. Of a sudden, almost as it were by accident, a small but important
sea-port, the object for which the Prince had so long been hoping, was
secured. Instantly afterward, half the island of Walcheren renounced the
yoke of Alva, Next, Enkbuizen, the key to the Zuyder Zee, the principal
arsenal, and one of the first commercial cities in the Netherlands, rose
against the Spanish Admiral, and hung out the banner of Orange on its
ramparts. The revolution effected here was purely the work of the
people--of the mariners and burghers of the city. Moreover, the
magistracy was set aside and the government of Alva repudiated without
shedding one drop of blood, without a single wrong to person or property.
By the same spontaneous movement, nearly all the important cities of
Holland and Zealand raised the standard of him in whom they recognized
their deliverer. The revolution was accomplished under nearly similar
circumstances everywhere. With one fierce bound of enthusiasm the nation
shook off its chain. Oudewater, Dort, Harlem, Leyden, Gorcum,
Loewenstein, Gouda, Medenblik, Horn, Alkmaar, Edam, Monnikendam,
Purmerende, as well as Flushing, Veer, and Enkbuizen, all ranged
themselves under the government of Orange, as lawful stadholder for the
King.

Nor was it in Holland and Zealand alone that the beacon fires of freedom
were lighted. City after city in Gelderland, Overyssel, and the See of
Utrecht; all the important towns of Friesland, some sooner, some later,
some without a struggle, some after a short siege, some with resistance
by the functionaries of government, some by amicable compromise, accepted
the garrisons of the Prince, and formally recognized his authority. Out
of the chaos which a long and preternatural tyranny had produced, the
first struggling elements of a new and a better world began to appear. It
were superfluous to narrate the details which marked the sudden
restoration of liberty in these various groups of cities. Traits of
generosity marked the change of government in some, circumstances of
ferocity, disfigured the revolution in others. The island of Walcheren,
equally divided as it was between the two parties, was the scene of much
truculent and diabolical warfare. It is difficult to say whether the
mutual hatred of race or the animosity of religious difference proved the
deadlier venom. The combats were perpetual and sanguinary, the prisoners
on both sides instantly executed. On more than one occasion; men were
seen assisting to hang with their own hands and in cold blood their own
brothers, who had been taken prisoners in the enemy's ranks. When the
captives were too many to be hanged, they were tied back to back, two and
two, and thus hurled into the sea. The islanders found a fierce pleasure
in these acts of cruelty. A Spaniard had ceased to be human in their
eyes. On one occasion, a surgeon at Veer cut the heart from a Spanish
prisoner, nailed it on a vessel's prow; and invited the townsmen to come
and fasten their teeth in it, which many did with savage satisfaction.

In other parts of the country the revolution was, on the whole,
accomplished with comparative calmness. Even traits of generosity were
not uncommon. The burgomaster of Gonda, long the supple slave of Alva and
the Blood Council, fled for his life as the revolt broke forth in that
city. He took refuge in the house of a certain widow, and begged for a
place of concealment. The widow led him to a secret closet which served
as a pantry. "Shall I be secure there?" asked the fugitive functionary.
"O yes, sir Burgomaster," replied the widow, "'t was in that very place
that my husband lay concealed when you, accompanied by the officers of
justice, were searching the house, that you might bring him to the
scaffold for his religion. Enter the pantry, your worship; I will be
responsible for your safety." Thus faithfully did the humble widow of a
hunted and murdered Calvinist protect the life of the magistrate who had
brought desolation to her hearth.

Not all the conquests thus rapidly achieved in the cause of liberty were
destined to endure, nor were any to be, retained without a struggle. The
little northern cluster of republics which had now restored its honor to
the ancient Batavian name was destined, however, for a long and vigorous
life. From that bleak isthmus the light of freedom was to stream through
many years upon struggling humanity in Europe; a guiding pharos across a
stormy sea; and Harlem, Leyden, Alkmaar--names hallowed by deeds of
heroism such as have not often illustrated human annals, still breathe as
trumpet-tongued and perpetual a defiance to despotism as Marathon,
Thermopylae, or Salamis.

A new board of magistrates had been chosen in all the redeemed cities, by
popular election. They were required to take an oath of fidelity to the
King of Spain, and to the Prince of Orange as his stadholder; to promise
resistance to the Duke of Alva, the tenth penny, and the inquisition; to
support every man's freedom and the welfare of the country; to protect
widows, orphans, and miserable persons, and to maintain justice and
truth.

Diedrich Sonoy arrived on the 2nd June at Enkbuizen. He was provided by
the Prince with a commission, appointing him Lieutenant-Governor of North
Holland or Waterland. Thus, to combat the authority of Alva was set up
the authority of the King. The stadholderate over Holland and Zealand, to
which the Prince had been appointed in 1559, he now reassumed. Upon this
fiction reposed the whole provisional polity of the revolted Netherlands.
The government, as it gradually unfolded itself, from this epoch forward
until the declaration of independence and the absolute renunciation of
the Spanish sovereign power, will be sketched in a future chapter. The
people at first claimed not an iota more of freedom than was secured by
Philip's coronation oath. There was no pretence that Philip was not
sovereign, but there was a pretence and a determination to worship God
according to conscience, and to reclaim the ancient political "liberties"
of the land. So long as Alva reigned, the Blood Council, the inquisition,
and martial law, were the only codes or courts, and every charter slept.
To recover this practical liberty and these historical rights, and to
shake from their shoulders a most sanguinary government, was the purpose
of William and of the people. No revolutionary standard was displayed.

The written instructions given by the Prince to his Lieutenant Sonoy were
to "see that the Word of God was preached, without, however, suffering
any hindrance to the Roman Church in the exercise of its religion; to
restore fugitives and the banished for conscience sake, and to require of
all magistrates and officers of guilds and brotherhoods an oath of
fidelity." The Prince likewise prescribed the form of that oath,
repeating therein, to his eternal honor, the same strict prohibition of
intolerance. "Likewise," said the formula, "shall those of 'the religion'
offer no let or hindrance to the Roman churches."

The Prince was still in Germany, engaged in raising troops and providing
funds. He directed; however, the affairs of the insurgent provinces in
their minutest details, by virtue of the dictatorship inevitably forced
upon him both by circumstances and by the people. In the meantime; Louis
of Nassau, the Bayard of the Netherlands, performed a most unexpected and
brilliant exploit. He had been long in France, negotiating with the
leaders of the Huguenots, and, more secretly, with the court. He was
supposed by all the world to be still in that kingdom, when the startling
intelligence arrived that he had surprised and captured the important
city of Mons. This town, the capital of Hainault, situate in a fertile,
undulating, and beautiful country, protected by lofty walls, a triple
moat, and a strong citadel, was one of the most flourishing and elegant
places in the Netherlands. It was, moreover, from its vicinity to the
frontiers of France; a most important acquisition to the insurgent party.
The capture was thus accomplished. A native of Mons, one Antony Oliver, a
geographical painter, had insinuated himself into the confidence of Alva,
for whom he had prepared at different times some remarkably well-executed
maps of the country. Having occasion to visit France, he was employed by
the Duke to keep a watch upon the movements of Louis of Nassau, and to
make a report as to the progress of his intrigues with the court of
France. The painter, however, was only a spy in disguise, being in
reality devoted to the cause of freedom, and a correspondent of Orange
and his family. His communications with Louis, in Paris, had therefore a
far different result from the one anticipated by Alva. A large number of
adherents within the city of Mons had already been secured, and a plan
was now arranged between Count Louis, Genlis, De la Noue, and other
distinguished Huguenot chiefs, to be carried out with the assistance of
the brave and energetic artist.

On the 23rd of May, Oliver appeared at the gates of Mons, accompanied by
three wagons, ostensibly containing merchandise, but in reality laden
with arquebusses. These were secretly distributed among his confederates
in the city. In the course of the day Count Louis arrived in the
neighbourhood, accompanied by five hundred horsemen and a thousand foot
soldiers. This force he stationed in close concealment within the thick
forests between Maubeuge and Mons. Towards evening he sent twelve of the
most trusty and daring of his followers, disguised as wine merchants,
into the city. These individuals proceeded boldly to a public house,
ordered their supper, and while conversing with the landlord, carelessly
inquired at what hour next morning the city gates would be opened. They
were informed that the usual hour was four in the morning, but that a
trifling present to the porter would ensure admission, if they desired
it, at an earlier hour. They explained their inquiries by a statement
that they had some casks of wine which they wished to introduce into the
city before sunrise. Having obtained all the information which they
needed, they soon afterwards left the tavern. The next day they presented
themselves very early at the gate, which the porter, on promise of a
handsome "drink-penny," agreed to unlock. No sooner were the bolts
withdrawn, however, than he was struck dead, while about fifty dragoons
rode through the gate. The Count and his followers now galloped over the
city in the morning twilight, shouting "France! liberty! the town is
ours!" "The Prince is coming!" "Down with the tenth penny; down with the
murderous Alva!" So soon as a burgher showed his wondering face at the
window, they shot at him with their carbines. They made as much noise,
and conducted themselves as boldly as if they had been at least a
thousand strong.

Meantime, however, the streets remained empty; not one of their secret
confederates showing himself. Fifty men could surprise, but were too few
to keep possession of the city. The Count began to suspect a trap. As
daylight approached the alarm spread; the position of the little band was
critical. In his impetuosity, Louis had far outstripped his army, but
they had been directed to follow hard upon his footsteps, and he was
astonished that their arrival was so long delayed. The suspense becoming
intolerable, he rode out of the city in quest of his adherents, and found
them wandering in the woods, where they had completely lost their way.
Ordering each horseman to take a foot soldier on the crupper behind him,
he led them rapidly back to Mons. On the way they were encountered by La
Noue, "with the iron arm," and Genlis, who, meantime, had made an
unsuccessful attack to recover Valenciennes, which within a few hours had
been won and lost again. As they reached the gates of Mons, they found
themselves within a hair's breadth of being too late; their adherents had
not come forth; the citizens had been aroused; the gates were all fast
but one--and there the porter was quarrelling with a French soldier about
an arquebuss. The drawbridge across the moat was at the moment rising;
the last entrance was closing, when Guitoy de Chaumont, a French officer,
mounted on a light Spanish barb, sprang upon the bridge as it rose. His
weight caused it to sink again, the gate was forced, and Louis with all
his men rode triumphantly into the town.

The citizens were forthwith assembled by sound of bell in the
market-place. The clergy, the magistracy, and the general council were
all present. Genlis made the first speech, in which he disclaimed all
intention of making conquests in the interest of France. This pledge
having been given, Louis of Nassau next addressed the assembly: "The
magistrates," said he, "have not understoood my intentions. I protest
that I am no rebel to the King; I prove it by asking no new oaths from
any man. Remain bound by your old oaths of allegiance; let the
magistrates continue to exercise their functions--to administer justice.
I imagine that no person will suspect a brother of the Prince of Orange
capable of any design against the liberties of the country. As to the
Catholic religion, I take it under my very particular protection. You
will ask why I am in Mons at the head of an armed force: are any of you
ignorant of Alva's cruelties? The overthrow of this tyrant is as much the
interest of the King as of the people, therefore there is nothing in my
present conduct inconsistent with fidelity to his Majesty. Against Alva
alone I have taken up arms; 'tis to protect you against his fury that I
am here. It is to prevent the continuance of a general rebellion that I
make war upon him. The only proposition which I have to make to you is
this--I demand that you declare Alva de Toledo a traitor to the King, the
executioner of the people, an enemy to the country, unworthy of the
government, and hereby deprived of his authority."

The magistracy did not dare to accept so bold a proposition; the general
council, composing the more popular branch of the municipal government,
were comparatively inclined to favor Nassau, and many of its members
voted for the downfall of the tyrant. Nevertheless the demands of Count
Louis were rejected. His position thus became critical. The civic
authorities refused to, pay for his troops, who were, moreover, too few,
in number to resist the inevitable siege. The patriotism of the citizens
was not to be repressed, however, by the authority, of the magistrates;
many rich proprietors of the great cloth and silk manufactories, for
which Mons was famous, raised, and armed companies at their own expense;
many volunteer troops were also speedily organized and drilled, and the
fortifications were put in order. No attempt was made to force the
reformed religion upon the inhabitants, and even Catholics who were
discovered in secret correspondence with the enemy were treated with such
extreme gentleness by Nassau as to bring upon him severe reproaches from
many of his own party.

A large collection of ecclesiastical plate, jewellery, money, and other
valuables, which had been sent to the city for safe keeping from the
churches and convents of the provinces, was seized, and thus, with little
bloodshed and no violence; was the important city secured for the
insurgents. Three days afterwards, two thousand infantry, chiefly French,
arrived in the place. In the early part of the following month Louis was
still further strengthened by the arrival of thirteen hundred foot and
twelve hundred horsemen, under command of Count Montgomery, the
celebrated officer, whose spear at the tournament had proved fatal to
Henry the Second. Thus the Duke of Alva suddenly found himself exposed to
a tempest of revolution. One thunderbolt after another seemed descending
around him in breathless succession. Brill and Flushing had been already
lost; Middelburg was so closely invested that its fall seemed imminent,
and with it would go the whole island of Walcheren, the key to all the
Netherlands. In one morning he had heard of the revolt of Enkbuizen and
of the whole Waterland; two hours later came the news of the Valenciennes
rebellion, and next day the astonishing capture of Mons. One disaster
followed hard upon another. He could have sworn that the detested Louis
of Nassau, who had dealt this last and most fatal stroke, was at that
moment in Paris, safely watched by government emissaries; and now he had,
as it were, suddenly started out of the earth, to deprive him of this
important city, and to lay bare the whole frontier to the treacherous
attacks of faithless France. He refused to believe the intelligence when
it was first announced to him, and swore that he had certain information
that Count Louis had been seen playing in the tennis-court at Paris,
within so short a period as to make his presence in Hainault at that
moment impossible. Forced, at last, to admit the truth of the disastrous
news, he dashed his hat upon the ground in a fury, uttering imprecations
upon the Queen Dowager of France, to whose perfidious intrigues he
ascribed the success of the enterprise, and pledging himself to send her
Spanish thistles, enough in return for the Florentine lilies which she
had thus bestowed upon him.

In the midst of the perplexities thus thickening around him, the Duke
preserved his courage, if not his temper. Blinded, for a brief season, by
the rapid attacks made upon him, he had been uncertain whither to direct
his vengeance. This last blow in so vital a quarter determined him at
once. He forthwith despatched Don Frederic to undertake the siege of
Mons, and earnestly set about raising large reinforcements to his army.
Don Frederic took possession, without much opposition, of the Bethlehem
cloister in the immediate vicinity of the city, and with four thousand
troops began the investment in due form.

Alva had, for a long time, been most impatient to retire from the
provinces. Even he was capable of human emotions. Through the sevenfold
panoply of his pride he had been pierced by the sharpness of a nation's
curse. He was wearied with the unceasing execrations which assailed his
ears. "The hatred which the people bear me," said he, in a letter to
Philip, "because of the chastisement which it has been necessary for me
to inflict, although with all the moderation in the world, make all my
efforts vain. A successor will meet more sympathy and prove more useful."
On the 10th June, the Duke of Medina Coeli; with a fleet of more than
forty sail, arrived off Blankenburg, intending to enter the Scheld.
Julian Romero, with two thousand Spaniards, was also on board the fleet.
Nothing, of course, was known to the new comers of the altered condition
of affairs in the Netherlands, nor of the unwelcome reception which they
were like to meet in Flushing. A few of the lighter craft having been
taken by the patriot cruisers, the alarm was spread through all the
fleet. Medina Coeli, with a few transports, was enabled to effect his
escape to Sluys, whence he hastened to Brussels in a much less
ceremonious manner than he had originally contemplated. Twelve Biscayan
ships stood out to sea, descried a large Lisbon fleet, by a singular
coincidence, suddenly heaving in sight, changed their course again, and
with a favoring breeze bore boldly up the Hond; passed Flushing in spite
of a severe cannonade from the forts, and eventually made good their
entrance into Rammekens, whence the soldiery, about one-half of whom had
thus been saved, were transferred at a very critical moment to
Middelburg.

The great Lisbon fleet followed in the wake of the Biscayans, with much
inferior success. Totally ignorant of the revolution which had occurred
in the Ise of Walclieren, it obeyed the summons of the rebel fort to come
to anchor, and, with the exception of three or four, the vessels were all
taken. It was the richest booty which the insurgents had yet acquired by
sea or land. The fleet was laden with spices, money, jewellery, and the
richest merchandize. Five hundred thousand crowns of gold were taken, and
it was calculated that the plunder altogether would suffice to maintain
the war for two years at least. One thousand Spanish soldiers, and a good
amount of ammunition, were also captured. The unexpected condition of
affairs made a pause natural and almost necessary, before the government
could be decorously transferred. Medina Coeli with Spanish
grandiloquence, avowed his willingness to serve as a soldier, under a
general whom he so much venerated, while Alva ordered that, in all
respects, the same outward marks of respect should be paid to his
appointed successor as to himself. Beneath all this external ceremony,
however, much mutual malice was concealed.

Meantime, the Duke, who was literally "without a single real," was forced
at last to smother his pride in the matter of the tenth penny. On the
24th June, he summoned the estates of Holland to assemble on the 15th of
the ensuing month. In the missive issued for this purpose, he formally
agreed to abolish the whole tax, on condition that the estates-general of
the Netherlands would furnish him with a yearly supply of two millions of
florins. Almost at the same moment the King had dismissed the deputies of
the estates from Madrid, with the public assurance that the tax was to be
suspended, and a private intimation that it was not abolished in terms,
only in order to save the dignity of the Duke.

These healing measures came entirely too late. The estates of Holland
met, indeed, on the appointed day of July; but they assembled not in
obedience to Alva, but in consequence of a summons from William of
Orange. They met, too, not at the Hague, but at Dort, to take formal
measures for renouncing the authority of the Duke. The first congress of
the Netherland commonwealth still professed loyalty to the Crown, but was
determined to accept the policy of Orange without a question.

The Prince had again assembled an army in Germany, consisting of fifteen
thousand foot and seven thousand horse, besides a number of
Netherlanders, mostly Walloons, amounting to nearly three thousand more.
Before taking the field, however, it was necessary that he should
guarantee at least three months' pay to his troops. This he could no
longer do, except by giving bonds endorsed by certain cities of Holland
as his securities. He had accordingly addressed letters in his own name
to all the principal cities, fervently adjuring them to remember, at
last, what was due to him, to the fatherland, and to their own character.
"Let not a sum of gold," said he in one of these letters, "be so dear to
you, that for its sake you will sacrifice your lives, your wives, your
children, and all your descendants, to the latest generations; that you
will bring sin and shame upon yourselves, and destruction upon us who
have so heartily striven to assist you. Think what scorn you will incur
from foreign nations, what a crime you will commit against the Lord God,
what a bloody yoke ye will impose forever upon yourselves and your
children, if you now seek for subterfuges; if you now prevent us from
taking the field with the troops which we have enlisted. On the other
hand, what inexpressible benefits you will confer on your country, if you
now help us to rescue that fatherland from the power of Spanish vultures
and wolves."

This and similar missives, circulated throughout the province of Holland,
produced a deep impression. In accordance with his suggestions, the
deputies from the nobility and from twelve cities of that province
assembled on the 15th July, at Dort. Strictly speaking, the estates or
government of Holland, the body which represented the whole people,
consisted of the nobler and six great cities. On this occasion, however,
Amsterdam being still in the power of the King, could send no deputies,
while, on the other hand, all the small towns were invited to send up
their representatives to the Congress. Eight accepted the proposal; the
rest declined to appoint delegates, partly from motives of economy,
partly from timidity.'

These estates were the legitimate representatives of the people, but they
had no legislative powers. The people had never pretended to sovereignty,
nor did they claim it now. The source from which the government of the
Netherlands was supposed to proceed was still the divine mandate. Even
now the estates silently conceded, as they had ever done, the supreme
legislative and executive functions to the land's master. Upon Philip of
Spain, as representative of Count Dirk the First of Holland, had
descended, through many tortuous channels, the divine effluence
originally supplied by Charles the Simple of France. That supernatural
power was not contested, but it was now ingeniously turned against the
sovereign. The King's authority was invoked against himself in the person
of the Prince of Orange, to whom, thirteen years before, a portion of
that divine right had been delegated. The estates of Holland met at Dort
on the 15th July, as representatives of the people; but they were
summoned by Orange, royally commissioned in 1559 as stadholder, and
therefore the supreme legislative and executive officer of certain
provinces. This was the theory of the provisional government. The Prince
represented the royal authority, the nobles represented both themselves
and the people of the open country, while the twelve cities represented
the whole body of burghers. Together, they were supposed to embody all
authority, both divine and human, which a congress could exercise. Thus
the whole movement was directed against Alva and against Count Bossu,
appointed stadholder by Alva in the place of Orange. Philip's name was
destined to figure for a long time, at the head of documents by which
monies were raised, troops levied, and taxes collected, all to be used in
deadly war against himself.

The estates were convened on the 15th July, when Paul Buys, pensionary of
Leyden, the tried and confidential friend of Orange, was elected Advocate
of Holland. The convention was then adjourned till the 18th, when Saint
Aldegonde made his appearance, with full powers to act provisionally in
behalf of his Highness.

The distinguished plenipotentiary delivered before the congress a long
and very effective harangue. He recalled the sacrifices and efforts of
the Prince during previous years. He adverted to the disastrous campaign
of 1568, in which the Prince had appeared full of high hope, at the head
of a gallant army, but had been obliged, after a short period, to retire,
because not a city had opened its gates nor a Netherlander lifted his
finger in the cause. Nevertheless, he had not lost courage nor closed his
heart; and now that, through the blessing of God, the eyes of men had
been opened, and so many cities had declared against the tyrant, the
Prince had found himself exposed to a bitter struggle. Although his own
fortunes had been ruined in the cause, he had been unable to resist the
daily flood of petitions which called upon him to come forward once more.
He had again importuned his relations and powerful friends; he had at
last set on foot a new and well-appointed army. The day of payment had
arrived. Over his own head impended perpetual shame, over the fatherland
perpetual woe, if the congress should now refuse the necessary supplies.
"Arouse ye, then," cried the orator, with fervor, "awaken your own zeal
and that of your sister cities. Seize Opportunity by the locks, who never
appeared fairer than she does to-day."

The impassioned eloquence of St. Aldegonde produced a profound
impression. The men who had obstinately refused the demands of Alva, now
unanimously resolved to pour forth their gold and their blood at the call
of Orange. "Truly," wrote the Duke, a little later, "it almost drives me
mad to see the difficulty with which your Majesty's supplies are
furnished, and the liberality with which the people place their lives and
fortunes at the disposal of this rebel." It seemed strange to the loyal
governor that men should support their liberator with greater alacrity
than that with which they served their destroyer! It was resolved that
the requisite amount should be at once raised, partly from the regular
imposts and current "requests," partly by loans from the rich, from the
clergy, from the guilds and brotherhoods, partly from superfluous church
ornaments and other costly luxuries. It was directed that subscriptions
should be immediately opened throughout the land, that gold and silver
plate, furniture, jewellery, and other expensive articles should be
received by voluntary contributions, for which inventories and receipts
should be given by the magistrates of each city, and that upon these
money should be raised, either by loan or sale. An enthusiastic and
liberal spirit prevailed. All seemed determined rather than pay the tenth
to Alva to pay the whole to the Prince.

The estates, furthermore, by unanimous resolution, declared that they
recognized the Prince as the King's lawful stadholder over Holland,
Zealand, Friesland, and Utrecht, and that they would use their influence
with the other provinces to procure his appointment as Protector of all
the Netherlands during the King's absence. His Highness was requested to
appoint an Admiral, on whom, with certain deputies from the Water-cities,
the conduct of the maritime war should devolve.

The conduct of the military operations by land was to be directed by
Dort, Leyden, and Enkbuizen, in conjunction with the Count de la Marck. A
pledge was likewise exchanged between the estates and the
pleni-potentiary, that neither party should enter into any treaty with
the King, except by full consent and co-operation of the other. With
regard to religion, it was firmly established, that the public exercises
of divine worship should be permitted not only to the Reformed Church,
but to the Roman Catholic--the clergy of both being protected from all
molestation.

After these proceedings, Count de la Marck made his appearance before the
assembly. His commission from Orange was read to the deputies, and by
them ratified. The Prince, in that document, authorized "his dear cousin"
to enlist troops, to accept the fealty of cities, to furnish them with
garrisons, to re-establish all the local laws, municipal rights, and
ancient privileges which had been suppressed. He was to maintain freedom
of religion, under penalty of death to those who infringed it; he was to
restore all confiscated property; he was, with advice of his council, to
continue in office such city magistrates as were favorable, and to remove
those adverse to the cause.

The Prince was, in reality, clothed with dictatorial and even regal
powers. This authority had been forced upon him by the prayers of the
people, but he manifested no eagerness as he partly accepted the onerous
station. He was provisionally the depositary of the whole sovereignty of
the northern provinces, but he cared much less for theories of government
than for ways and means. It was his object to release the country from
the tyrant who, five years long, had been burning and butchering the
people. It was his determination to drive out the foreign soldiery. To do
this, he must meet his enemy in the field. So little was he disposed to
strengthen his own individual power, that he voluntarily imposed limits
on himself, by an act, supplemental to the proceedings of the Congress of
Dort. In this important ordinance made by the Prince of Orange, as a
provisional form of government, he publicly announced "that he would do
and ordain nothing except by the advice of the estates, by reason that
they were best acquainted with the circumstances and the humours of the
inhabitants." He directed the estates to appoint receivers for all public
taxes, and ordained that all military officers should make oath of
fidelity to him, as stadholder, and to the estates of Holland, to be true
and obedient, in order to liberate the land from the Albanian and Spanish
tyranny, for the service of his royal Majesty as Count of Holland. The
provisional constitution, thus made by a sovereign prince and actual
dictator, was certainly as disinterested as it was sagacious.

Meanwhile the war had opened vigorously in Hainault. Louis of Nassau had
no sooner found himself in possession of Mons than he had despatched
Genlis to France, for those reinforcements which had been promised by
royal lips. On the other hand, Don Frederic held the city closely
beleaguered; sharp combats before the walls were of almost daily
occurrence, but it was obvious that Louis would be unable to maintain the
position into which he had so chivalrously thrown himself unless he
should soon receive important succor. The necessary reinforcements were
soon upon the way. Genlis had made good speed with his levy, and it was
soon announced that he was advancing into Hainault, with a force of
Huguenots, whose numbers report magnified to ten thousand veterans. Louis
despatched an earnest message to his confederate, to use extreme caution
in his approach. Above all things, he urged him, before attempting to
throw reinforcements into the city, to effect a junction with the Prince
of Orange, who had already crossed the Rhine with his new army.

Genlis, full of overweening confidence, and desirous of acquiring singly
the whole glory of relieving the city, disregarded this advice. His
rashness proved his ruin, and the temporary prostration of the cause of
freedom. Pushing rapidly forward across the French frontier, he arrived,
towards the middle of July, within two leagues of Mons. The Spaniards
were aware of his approach, and well prepared to frustrate his project.
On the 19th, he found himself upon a circular plain of about a league's
extent, surrounded with coppices and forests, and dotted with farm-houses
and kitchen gardens. Here he paused to send out a reconnoitring party.
The little detachment was, however, soon driven in, with the information
that Don Frederic of Toledo, with ten thousand men, was coming instantly
upon them. The Spanish force, in reality, numbered four thousand
infantry, and fifteen hundred cavalry; but three thousand half-armed
boors had been engaged by Don Frederic, to swell his apparent force. The
demonstration produced its effect, and no sooner had the first panic of
the intelligence been spread, than Noircarmes came charging upon them at
the head of his cavalry. The infantry arrived directly afterwards, and
the Huguenots were routed almost as soon as seen. It was a meeting rather
than a battle. The slaughter of the French was very great, while but an
insignificant number of the Spaniards fell. Chiappin Vitelli was the hero
of the day. It was to his masterly arrangements before the combat, and to
his animated exertions upon the field, that the victory was owing. Having
been severely wounded in the thigh but a few days previously, he caused
himself to be carried upon a litter in a recumbent position in front of
his troops, and was everywhere seen, encouraging their exertions, and
exposing himself, crippled as he was, to the whole brunt of the battle.
To him the victory nearly proved fatal; to Don Frederic it brought
increased renown. Vitelli's exertions, in his precarious condition,
brought on severe inflammation, under which he nearly succumbed, while
the son of Alva reaped extensive fame from the total overthrow of the
veteran Huguenots, due rather to his lieutenant and to Julian Romero.

The number of dead left by the French upon the plain amounted to at least
twelve hundred, but a much larger number was butchered in detail by the
peasantry, among whom they attempted to take refuge, and who had not yet
forgotten the barbarities inflicted by their countrymen in the previous
war. Many officers were taken prisoners, among whom was the
Commander-in-chief, Genlis.

That unfortunate gentleman was destined to atone for his rashness and
obstinacy with his life. He was carried to the castle of Antwerp, where,
sixteen months afterwards, he was secretly strangled by command of Alva,
who caused the report to be circulated that he had died a natural death.
About one hundred foot soldiers succeeded in making their entrance into
Mona, and this was all the succor which Count Louis was destined to
receive from France, upon which country he had built such lofty and such
reasonable hopes.

While this unfortunate event was occurring, the Prince had already put
his army in motion. On the 7th of July he had crossed the Rhine at
Duisburg, with fourteen thousand foot, seven thousand horse, enlisted in
Germany, besides a force of three thousand Walloons. On the 23rd of July,
he took the city of Roermond, after a sharp cannonade, at which place his
troops already began to disgrace the honorable cause in which they were
engaged, by imitating the cruelties and barbarities of their antagonists.
The persons and property of the burghers were, with a very few
exceptions, respected; but many priests and monks were put to death by
the soldiery under circumstances of great barbarity. The Prince, incensed
at such conduct, but being unable to exercise very stringent authority
over troops whose wages he was not yet able to pay in full, issued a
proclamation, denouncing such excesses, and commanding his followers,
upon pain of death, to respect the rights of all individuals, whether
Papist or Protestant, and to protect religious exercises both in Catholic
and Reformed churches.

It was hardly to be expected that the troops enlisted by the Prince in
the same great magazine of hireling soldiers, Germany, from whence the
Duke also derived his annual supplies, would be likely to differ very
much in their propensities from those enrolled under Spanish banners; yet
there was a vast contrast between the characters of the two commanders.
One leader inculcated the practice of robbery, rape, and murder, as a
duty, and issued distinct orders to butcher every mother's son in the
cities which he captured; the other restrained every excess to, the
utmost of his ability, protecting not only life and property, but even
the ancient religion.

The Emperor Maximilian had again issued his injunctions against the
military operations of Orange. Bound to the monarch of Spain by so many
family ties, being at once cousin, brother-in-law, and father-in-law of
Philip, it was difficult for him to maintain the attitude which became
him, as chief of that Empire to which the peace of Passau had assured
religious freedom. It had, however, been sufficiently proved that
remonstrances and intercessions addressed to Philip were but idle breath.
It had therefore become an insult to require pacific conduct from the
Prince on the ground of any past or future mediation. It was a still
grosser mockery to call upon him to discontinue hostilities because the
Netherlands were included in the Empire, and therefore protected by the
treaties of Passau and Augsburg. Well did the Prince reply to his
Imperial Majesty's summons in a temperate but cogent letter, in which he
addressed to him from his camp, that all intercessions had proved
fruitless, and that the only help for the Netherlands was the sword.

The Prince had been delayed for a month at Roermonde, because, as he
expressed it; "he had not a single sou," and because, in consequence, the
troops refused to advance into the Netherlands. Having at last been
furnished with the requisite guarantees from the Holland cities for three
months' pay, on the 27th of August, the day of the publication of his
letter to the Emperor, he crossed the Meuse and took his circuitous way
through Diest, Tirlemont, Sichem, Louvain, Mechlin, Termonde, Oudenarde,
Nivelles. Many cities and villages accepted his authority and admitted
his garrisons. Of these Mechlin was the most considerable, in which he
stationed a detachment of his troops. Its doom was sealed in that moment.
Alva could not forgive this act of patriotism on the part of a town which
had so recently excluded his own troops. "This is a direct permission of
God," he wrote, in the spirit of dire and revengeful prophecy, "for us to
punish her as she deserves, for the image-breaking and other misdeeds
done there in the time of Madame de Parma, which our Lord was not willing
to pass over without chastisement."

Meantime the Prince continued his advance. Louvain purchased its
neutrality for the time with sixteen thousand ducats; Brussels
obstinately refused to listen to him, and was too powerful to be forcibly
attacked at that juncture; other important cities, convinced by the
arguments and won by the eloquence of the various proclamations which he
scattered as he advanced, ranged themselves spontaneously and even
enthusiastically upon his side. How different world have been the result
of his campaign but for the unexpected earthquake which at that instant
was to appal Christendom, and to scatter all his well-matured plans and
legitimate hopes. His chief reliance, under Providence and his own strong
heart, had been upon French assistance. Although Genlis, by his
misconduct, had sacrificed his army and himself, yet the Prince as still
justly sanguine as to the policy of the French court. The papers which
had been found in the possession of Genlis by his conquerors all spoke
one language. "You would be struck with stupor," wrote Alva's secretary,
"could you see a letter which is now in my power, addressed by the King
of France to Louis of Nassau." In that letter the King had declared his
determination to employ all the forces which God had placed in his hands
to rescue the Netherlands from the oppression under which they were
groaning. In accordance with the whole spirit and language of the French
government, was the tone of Coligny in his correspondence with Orange.
The Admiral assured the Prince that there was no doubt as to the
earnestness of the royal intentions in behalf of the Netherlands, and
recommending extreme caution, announced his hope within a few days to
effect a junction with him at the head of twelve thousand French
arquebusiers, and at least three thousand cavalry. Well might the Prince
of Orange, strong, and soon to be strengthened, boast that the
Netherlands were free, and that Alva was in his power. He had a right to
be sanguine, for nothing less than a miracle could now destroy his
generous hopes--and, alas! the miracle took place; a miracle of perfidy
and bloodshed such as the world, familiar as it had ever been and was
still to be with massacre, had not yet witnessed. On the 11th of August,
Coligny had written thus hopefully of his movements towards the
Netherlands, sanctioned and aided by his King. A fortnight from that day
occurred the "Paris-wedding;" and the Admiral, with thousands of his
religious confederates, invited to confidence by superhuman treachery,
and lulled into security by the music of august marriage bells, was
suddenly butchered in the streets of Paris by royal and noble hands.

The Prince proceeded on his march, during which the heavy news had been
brought to him, but he felt convinced that, with the very arrival of the
awful tidings, the fate of that campaign was sealed, and the fall of Mons
inevitable. In his own language, he had been struck to the earth "with
the blow of a sledge-hammer,"--nor did the enemy draw a different augury
from the great event.

The crime was not committed with the connivance of the Spanish
government. On the contrary, the two courts were at the moment bitterly
hostile to each other. In the beginning of the summer, Charles IX. and
his advisers were as false to Philip, as at the end of it they were
treacherous to Coligny and Orange. The massacre of the Huguenots had not
even the merit of being a well-contrived and intelligently executed
scheme. We have seen how steadily, seven years before, Catharine de
Medici had rejected the advances of Alva towards the arrangement of a
general plan for the extermination of all heretics within France and the
Netherlands at the same moment. We have seen the disgust with which Alva
turned from the wretched young King at Bayonne, when he expressed the
opinion that to take arms against his own subjects was wholly out of the
question, and could only be followed by general ruin. "'Tis easy to see
that he has been tutored," wrote Alva to his master. Unfortunately, the
same mother; who had then instilled those lessons of hypocritical
benevolence, had now wrought upon her son's cowardly but ferocious nature
with a far different intent. The incomplete assassination of Coligny, the
dread of signal vengeance at the hands of the Huguenots, the necessity of
taking the lead in the internecine snuggle; were employed with Medicean
art, and with entire success. The King was lashed into a frenzy. Starting
to his feet, with a howl of rage and terror, "I agree to the scheme," he
cried, "provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France to reproach me
with the deed."

That night the slaughter commenced. The long premeditated crime was
executed in a panic, but the work was thoroughly done. The King, who a
few days before had written with his own hand to Louis of Nassau,
expressing his firm determination to sustain the Protestant cause both in
France and the Netherlands, who had employed the counsels of Coligny in
the arrangement, of his plans, and who had sent French troops, under
Genlis and La None, to assist their Calvinist brethren in Flanders, now
gave the signal for the general massacre of the Protestants, and with his
own hands, from his own palace windows, shot his subjects with his
arquebuss as if they had been wild beasts.

Between Sunday and Tuesday, according to one of the most moderate
calculations, five thousand Parisians of all ranks were murdered. Within
the whole kingdom, the number of victims was variously estimated at from
twenty-five thousand to one hundred thousand. The heart of Protestant
Europe, for an instant, stood still with horror. The Queen of England put
on mourning weeds, and spurned the apologies of the French envoy with
contempt. At Rome, on the contrary, the news of the massacre created a
joy beyond description. The Pope, accompanied by his cardinals, went
solemnly to the church of Saint Mark to render thanks to God for the
grace thus singularly vouchsafed to the Holy See and to all Christendom;
and a Te Deum was performed in presence of the same august assemblage.

But nothing could exceed the satisfaction which the event occasioned in
the mind of Philip the Second. There was an end now of all assistance
from the French government to the Netherland Protestants. "The news of
the events upon Saint Bartholomew's day," wrote the French envoy at
Madrid, Saint Goard, to Charles IX., "arrived on the 7th September. The
King, on receiving the intelligence, showed, contrary to his natural
custom, so much gaiety, that he seemed more delighted than with all the
good fortune or happy incidents which had ever before occurred to him. He
called all his familiars about him in order to assure them that your
Majesty was his good brother, and that no one else deserved the title of
Most Christian. He sent his secretary Cayas to me with his felicitations
upon the event, and with the information that he was just going to Saint
Jerome to render thanks to God, and to offer his prayers that your
Majesty might receive Divine support in this great affair. I went to see
him next morning, and as soon as I came into his presence he began to
laugh, and with demonstrations of extreme contentment, to praise your
Majesty as deserving your title of Most Christian, telling me there was
no King worthy to be your Majesty's companion, either for valor or
prudence. He praised the steadfast resolution and the long dissimulation
of so great an enterprise, which all the world would not be able to
comprehend."

"I thanked him," continued the embassador, "and I said that I thanked God
for enabling your Majesty to prove to his Master that his apprentice had
learned his trade, and deserved his title of most Christian King. I
added, that he ought to confess that he owed the preservation of the
Netherlands to your Majesty."

Nothing certainly could, in Philip's apprehension, be more delightful
than this most unexpected and most opportune intelligence. Charles IX.,
whose intrigues in the Netherlands he had long known, had now been
suddenly converted by this stupendous crime into his most powerful ally,
while at the same time the Protestants of Europe would learn that there
was still another crowned head in Christendom more deserving of
abhorrence than himself. He wrote immediately to Alva, expressing his
satisfaction that the King of France had disembarrassed himself of such
pernicious men, because he would now be obliged to cultivate the
friendship of Spain, neither the English Queen nor the German Protestants
being thenceforth capable of trusting him. He informed the Duke,
moreover, that the French envoy, Saint Goard, had been urging him to
command the immediate execution of Genlis and his companions, who had
been made prisoners, as well as all the Frenchmen who would be captured
in Mons; and that he fully concurred in the propriety of the measure.
"The sooner," said Philip, "these noxious plants are extirpated from the
earth, the less fear there is that a fresh crop will spring up." The
monarch therefore added, with his own hand, to the letter, "I desire that
if you have not already disembarrassed the world of them, you will do it
immediately, and inform me thereof, for I see no reason why it should be
deferred."

This is the demoniacal picture painted by the French ambassador, and by
Philip's own hand, of the Spanish monarch's joy that his "Most Christian"
brother had just murdered twenty-five thousand of his own subjects. In
this cold-blooded way, too, did his Catholic Majesty order the execution
of some thousand Huguenots additionally, in order more fully to carry out
his royal brother's plans; yet Philip could write of himself, "that all
the world recognized the gentleness of his nature and the mildness of his
intentions."

In truth, the advice thus given by Saint Goard on the subject of the
French prisoners in Alva's possessions, was a natural result of the Saint
Bartholomew. Here were officers and soldiers whom Charles IX. had himself
sent into the Netherlands to fight for the Protestant cause against
Philip and Alva. Already, the papers found upon them had placed him in
some embarrassment, and exposed his duplicity to the Spanish government,
before the great massacre had made such signal reparation for his
delinquency. He had ordered Mondoucet, his envoy in the Netherlands, to
use dissimulation to an unstinted amount, to continue his intrigues with
the Protestants, and to deny stoutly all proofs of such connivance. "I
see that the papers found upon Genlis;" he wrote twelve days before the
massacre, "have been put into the hands of Assonleville, and that they
know everything done by Genlis to have been committed with my consent."

   [These remarkable letters exchanged between Charles IX. and
   Mondoucet have recently been published by M. Emile Gachet (chef du
   bureau paleographique aux Archives de Belgique) from a manuscript
   discovered by him in the library at Rheims.--Compte Rendu de la Com.
   Roy. d'Hist., iv. 340, sqq.]

"Nevertheless, you will tell the Duke of Alva that these are lies
invented to excite suspicion against me. You will also give him
occasional information of the enemy's affairs, in order to make him
believe in your integrity. Even if he does not believe you, my purpose
will be answered, provided you do it dexterously. At the same time you
must keep up a constant communication with the Prince of Orange, taking
great care to prevent discovery of your intelligence with King."

Were not these masterstrokes of diplomacy worthy of a King whom his
mother, from boyhood upwards, had caused to study Macchiavelli's
"Prince," and who had thoroughly taken to heart the maxim, often repeated
in those days, that the "Science of reigning was the science of lying"?

The joy in the Spanish camp before Mons was unbounded. It was as if the
only bulwark between the Netherland rebels and total destruction had been
suddenly withdrawn. With anthems in Saint Gudule, with bonfires, festive
illuminations, roaring artillery, with trumpets also, and with shawms,
was the glorious holiday celebrated in court and camp, in honor of the
vast murder committed by the Most Christian King upon his Christian
subjects; nor was a moment lost in apprising the Huguenot soldiers shut
up with Louis of Nassau in the beleaguered city of the great catastrophe
which was to render all their valor fruitless. "'T was a punishment,"
said a Spanish soldier, who fought most courageously before Mons, and who
elaborately described the siege afterwards, "well worthy of a king whose
title is 'The Most Christian,' and it was still more honorable to inflict
it with his own hands as he did." Nor was the observation a pithy
sarcasm, but a frank expression of opinion, from a man celebrated alike
for the skill with which he handled both his sword and his pen.

The French envoy in the Netherlands was, of course, immediately informed
by his sovereign of the great event: Charles IX. gave a very pithy
account of the transaction. "To prevent the success of the enterprise
planned by the Admiral," wrote the King on the 26th of August, with hands
yet reeking, and while the havoc throughout France was at its height, "I
have been obliged to permit the said Guises to rush upon the said
Admiral,--which they have done, the said Admiral having been killed and
all his adherents. A very great number of those belonging to the new
religion have also been massacred and cut to pieces. It is probable that
the fire thus kindled will spread through all the cities of my kingdom,
and that all those of the said religion will be made sure of." Not often,
certainly, in history, has a Christian king spoken thus calmly of
butchering his subjects while the work was proceeding all around him. It
is to be observed, moreover, that the usual excuse for such enormities,
religious fanaticism, can not be even suggested on this occasion.
Catharine, in times past had favored Huguenots as much as Catholics,
while Charles had been, up to the very moment of the crime, in strict
alliance with the heretics of both France and Flanders, and furthering
the schemes of Orange and Nassau. Nay, even at this very moment, and in
this very letter in which he gave the news of the massacre, he charged
his envoy still to maintain the closest but most secret intelligence with
the Prince of Orange; taking great care that the Duke of Alva should not
discover these relations. His motives were, of course, to prevent the
Prince from abandoning his designs, and from coming to make a disturbance
in France. The King, now that the deed was done, was most anxious to reap
all the fruits of his crime. "Now, M. de Mondoucet, it is necessary in
such affairs," he continued, "to have an eye to every possible
contingency. I know that this news will be most agreeable to the Duke of
Alva, for it is most favorable to his designs. At the same time, I don't
desire that he alone should gather the fruit. I don't choose that he
should, according to his excellent custom, conduct his affairs in such
wise as to throw the Prince of Orange upon my hands, besides sending back
to France Genlis and the other prisoners, as well as the French now shut
up in Mons."

This was a sufficiently plain hint, which Mondoucet could not well
misunderstand. "Observe the Duke's countenance carefully when you give
him this message," added the King, "and let me know his reply." In order,
however, that there might be no mistake about the matter, Charles wrote
again to his ambassador, five days afterwards, distinctly stating the
regret which he should feel if Alva should not take the city of Mons, or
if he should take it by composition. "Tell the Duke," said he, "that it
is most important for the service of his master and of God that those
Frenchmen and others in Mons should be cut in pieces." He wrote another
letter upon the name day, such was his anxiety upon the subject,
instructing the envoy to urge upon Alva the necessity of chastising those
rebels to the French crown. "If he tells you," continued Charles, "that
this is tacitly requiring him to put to death all the French prisoners
now in hand as well to cut in pieces every man in Mons, you will say to
him that this is exactly what he ought to do, and that he will be guilty
of a great wrong to Christianity if he does otherwise." Certainly, the
Duke, having been thus distinctly ordered, both by his own master and by
his Christian Majesty, to put every one of these Frenchmen to death, had
a sufficiency of royal warrant. Nevertheless, he was not able to execute
entirely these ferocious instructions. The prisoners already in his power
were not destined to escape, but the city of Mons, in his own language,
"proved to have sharper teeth than he supposed."

Mondoucet lost no time in placing before Alva the urgent necessity of
accomplishing the extensive and cold-blooded massacre thus proposed. "The
Duke has replied," wrote the envoy to his sovereign, "that he is
executing his prisoners every day, and that he has but a few left.
Nevertheless, for some reason which he does not mention, he is reserving
the principal noblemen and chiefs." He afterwards informed his master
that Genlis, Jumelles, and the other leaders, had engaged, if Alva would
grant them a reasonable ransom, to induce the French in Mons to leave the
city, but that the Duke, although his language was growing less
confident, still hoped to take the town by assault. "I have urged him,"
he added, "to put them all to death, assuring him that he would be
responsible for the consequences of a contrary course."--"Why does not
your Most Christian master," asked Alva, "order these Frenchmen in Mons
to come to him under oath to make no disturbance? Then my prisoners will
be at my discretion and I shall get my city."--"Because," answered the
envoy, "they will not trust his Most Christian Majesty, and will prefer
to die in Mons."--[Mondoucet to Charles IX., 15th September, 1572.]

This certainly was a most sensible reply, but it is instructive to
witness the cynicism with which the envoy accepts this position for his
master, while coldly recording the results of all these sanguinary
conversations.

Such was the condition of affairs when the Prince of Orange arrived at
Peronne, between Binche and the Duke of Alva's entrenchments. The
besieging army was rich in notabilities of elevated rank. Don Frederic of
Toledo had hitherto commanded, but on the 27th of August, the Dukes of
Medina Coeli and of Alva had arrived in the camp. Directly afterwards
came the warlike Archbishop of Cologne, at the head of two thousand
cavalry. There was but one chance for the Prince of Orange, and
experience had taught him, four years before, its slenderness. He might
still provoke his adversary into a pitched battle, and he relied upon God
for the result. In his own words, "he trusted ever that the great God of
armies was with him, and would fight in the midst of his forces." If so
long as Alva remained in his impregnable camp, it was impossible to
attack him, or to throw reinforcements into Mons. The Prince soon found,
too, that Alva was far too wise to hazard his position by a superfluous
combat. The Duke knew that the cavalry of the Prince was superior to his
own. He expressed himself entirely unwilling to play into the Prince's
hands, instead of winning the game which was no longer doubtful. The
Huguenot soldiers within Mons were in despair and mutiny; Louis of Nassau
lay in his bed consuming with a dangerous fever; Genlis was a prisoner,
and his army cut to pieces; Coligny was murdered, and Protestant France
paralyzed; the troops of Orange, enlisted but for three months, were
already rebellious, and sure to break into open insubordination when the
consequences of the Paris massacre should become entirely clear to them;
and there were, therefore, even more cogent reasons than in 1568, why
Alva should remain perfectly still, and see his enemy's cause founder
before his eyes. The valiant Archbishop of Cologne was most eager for the
fray. He rode daily at the Duke's side, with harness on his back and
pistols in his holsters, armed and attired like one of his own troopers,
and urging the Duke, with vehemence, to a pitched battle with the Prince.
The Duke commended, but did not yield to, the prelate's enthusiasm. "'Tis
a fine figure of a man, with his corslet and pistols," he wrote to
Philip, "and he shows great affection for your Majesty's service."

The issue of the campaign was inevitable. On the 11th September, Don
Frederic, with a force of four thousand picked men, established himself
at Saint Florian, a village near the Havre gate of the city, while the
Prince had encamped at Hermigny, within half a league of the same place,
whence he attempted to introduce reinforcements into the town. On the
night of the 11th and 12th, Don Frederic hazarded an encamisada upon the
enemy's camp, which proved eminently successful, and had nearly resulted
in the capture of the Prince himself. A chosen band of six hundred
arquebussers, attired, as was customary in these nocturnal expeditions,
with their shirts outside their armor, that they might recognize each
other in the darkness, were led by Julian Romero, within the lines of the
enemy. The sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised, and for a
moment powerless, while, for two hours long, from one o'clock in the
morning until three, the Spaniards butchered their foes, hardly aroused
from their sleep, ignorant by how small a force they had been thus
suddenly surprised, and unable in the confusion to distinguish between
friend and foe. The boldest, led by Julian in person, made at once for
the Prince's tent. His guards and himself were in profound sleep, but a
small spaniel, who always passed the night upon his bed, was a more
faithful sentinel. The creature sprang forward, barking furiously at the
sound of hostile footsteps, and scratching his master's face with his
paws.--There was but just time for the Prince to mount a horse which was
ready saddled, and to effect his escape through the darkness, before his
enemies sprang into the tent. His servants were cut down, his master of
the horse and two of his secretaries, who gained their saddles a moment
later, all lost their lives, and but for the little dog's watchfulness,
William of Orange, upon whose shoulders the whole weight of his country's
fortunes depended, would have been led within a week to an ignominious
death. To his dying day, the Prince ever afterwards kept a spaniel of the
same race in his bed-chamber. The midnight slaughter still continued, but
the Spaniards in their fury, set fire to the tents. The glare of the
conflagration showed the Orangists by how paltry a force they had been
surprised. Before they could rally, however, Romero led off his
arquebusiers, every one of whom had at least killed his man. Six hundred
of the Prince's troops had been put to the sword, while many others were
burned in their beds, or drowned in the little rivulet which flowed
outside their camp. Only sixty Spaniards lost their lives.

This disaster did not alter the plans of the Prince, for those plans had
already been frustrated. The whole marrow of his enterprise had been
destroyed in an instant by the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. He
retreated to Wronne and Nivelles, an assassin, named Heist, a German, by
birth, but a French chevalier, following him secretly in his camp,
pledged to take his life for a large reward promised by Alva--an
enterprise not destined, however, to be successful. The soldiers flatly
refused to remain an hour longer in the field, or even to furnish an
escort for Count Louis, if, by chance, he could be brought out of the
town. The Prince was obliged to inform his brother of the desperate state
of his affairs, and to advise him to capitulate on the best terms which
he could make. With a heavy heart, he left the chivalrous Louis besieged
in the city which he had so gallantly captured, and took his way across
the Meuse towards the Rhine. A furious mutiny broke out among his troops.
His life was, with difficulty, saved from the brutal soldiery--infuriated
at his inability to pay them, except in the over-due securities of the
Holland cities--by the exertions of the officers who still regarded him
with veneration and affection. Crossing the Rhine at Orsoy, he disbanded
his army and betook himself, almost alone, to Holland.

Yet even in this hour of distress and defeat, the Prince seemed more
heroic than many a conqueror in his day of triumph. With all his hopes
blasted, with the whole fabric of his country's fortunes shattered by the
colossal crime of his royal ally, he never lost his confidence in himself
nor his unfaltering trust in God. All the cities which, but a few weeks
before, had so eagerly raised his standard, now fell off at once. He went
to Holland, the only province which remained true, and which still looked
up to him as its saviour, but he went thither expecting and prepared to
perish. "There I will make my sepulchre," was his simple and sublime
expression in a private letter to his brother.

He had advanced to the rescue of Louis, with city after city opening its
arms to receive him. He had expected to be joined on the march by
Coligny, at the head of a chosen army, and he was now obliged to leave
his brother to his fate, having the massacre of the Admiral and his
confederates substituted for their expected army of assistance, and with
every city and every province forsaking his cause as eagerly as they had
so lately embraced it. "It has pleased God," he said, "to take away every
hope which we could have founded upon man; the King has published that
the massacre was by his orders, and has forbidden all his subjects, upon
pain of death, to assist me; he has, moreover, sent succor to Alva. Had
it not been for this, we had been masters of the Duke, and should have
made him capitulate at our pleasure." Yet even then he was not cast down.

Nor was his political sagacity liable to impeachment by the extent to
which he had been thus deceived by the French court. "So far from being
reprehensible that I did not suspect such a crime," he said, "I should
rather be chargeable with malignity had I been capable of so sinister a
suspicion. 'Tis not an ordinary thing to conceal such enormous
deliberations under the plausible cover of a marriage festival."

Meanwhile, Count Louis lay confined to his couch with a burning fever.
His soldiers refused any longer to hold the city, now that the altered
intentions of Charles IX. were known and the forces of Orange withdrawn.
Alva offered the most honorable conditions, and it was therefore
impossible for the Count to make longer resistance. The city was so
important, and time was at that moment so valuable that the Duke was
willing to forego his vengeance upon the rebel whom he so cordially
detested, and to be satisfied with depriving, him of the prize which he
had seized with such audacity. "It would have afforded me sincere
pleasure," wrote the Duke, "over and above the benefit to God and your
Majesty, to have had the Count of Nassau in my power. I would overleap
every obstacle to seize him, such is the particular hatred which I bear
the man." Under, the circumstances, however, he acknowledged that the
result of the council of war could only be to grant liberal terms.

On the 19th September, accordingly, articles of capitulation were signed
between the distinguished De la None with three others on the one part,
and the Seigneur de Noircarmes and three others on the side of Spain. The
town was given over to Alva, but all the soldiers were to go out with
their weapons and property. Those of the townspeople who had borne arms
against his Majesty, and all who still held to the Reformed religion,
were to retire with the soldiery. The troops were to pledge themselves
not to serve in future against the Kings of France or Spain, but from
this provision Louis, with his English and German soldiers, was expressly
excepted, the Count indignantly repudiating the idea of such a pledge, or
of discontinuing his hostilities for an instant. It was also agreed that
convoys should be furnished, and hostages exchanged, for the due
observance of the terms of the treaty. The preliminaries having been thus
settled, the patriot forces abandoned the town.

Count Louis, rising from his sick bed, paid his respects in person to the
victorious generals, at their request. He was received in Alva's camp
with an extraordinary show of admiration and esteem. The Duke of Medina
Coeli overwhelmed him with courtesies and "basolomanos," while Don
Frederic assured him, in the high-flown language of Spanish compliment,
that there was nothing which he would not do to serve him, and that he
would take a greater pleasure in executing his slightest wish than if he
had been his next of kin.

As the Count next day, still suffering with fever, and attired in his
long dressing-gown, was taking his departure from the city, he ordered
his carriage to stop at the entrance to Don Frederic's quarters. That
general, who had been standing incognito near the door, gazing with
honest admiration at the hero of so many a hard-fought field, withdrew as
he approached, that he might not give the invalid the trouble of
alighting. Louis, however, recognising him, addressed him with the
Spanish salutation, "Perdone vuestra Senoria la pesedumbre," and paused
at the gate. Don Frederic, from politeness to his condition, did not
present himself, but sent an aid-de-camp to express his compliments and
good wishes. Having exchanged these courtesies, Louis left the city,
conveyed, as had been agreed upon, by a guard of Spanish troops. There
was a deep meaning in the respect with which the Spanish generals had
treated the rebel chieftain. Although the massacre of Saint Bartholomew
met with Alva's entire approbation, yet it was his cue to affect a holy
horror at the event, and he avowed that he would "rather cut off both his
hands than be guilty of such a deed"--as if those hangman's hands had the
right to protest against any murder, however wholesale. Count Louis
suspected at once, and soon afterwards thoroughly understood; the real
motives of the chivalrous treatment which he had received. He well knew
that these very men would have sent him to the scaffold; had he fallen
into their power, and he therefore estimated their courtesy at its proper
value.

It was distinctly stated, in the capitulation of the city, that all the
soldiers, as well as such of the inhabitants as had borne arms, should be
allowed to leave the city, with all their property. The rest of the
people, it was agreed, might remain without molestation to their persons
or estates. It has been the general opinion of historians that the
articles of this convention were maintained by the conquerors in good
faith. Never was a more signal error. The capitulation was made late at
night, on the 20th September, without the provision which Charles IX. had
hoped for: the massacre, namely, of De la None and his companions. As for
Genlis and those who had been taken prisoners at his defeat, their doom
had already been sealed. The city was evacuated on the 21st September:
Alva entered it upon the 24th. Most of the volunteers departed with the
garrison, but many who had, most unfortunately, prolonged their farewells
to their families, trusting to the word of the Spanish Captain Molinos,
were thrown into prison. Noircarmes the butcher of Valenciennes, now made
his appearance in Mons. As grand bailiff of Hainault, he came to the
place as one in authority, and his deeds were now to complete the infamy
which must for ever surround his name. In brutal violation of the terms
upon which the town had surrendered, he now set about the work of
massacre and pillage. A Commission of Troubles, in close imitation of the
famous Blood Council at Brussels, was established, the members of the
tribunal being appointed by Noircarmes, and all being inhabitants of the
town. The council commenced proceedings by condemning all the volunteers,
although expressly included in the capitulation. Their wives and
children were all banished; their property all confiscated. On the 15th
December, the executions commenced. The intrepid De Leste, silk
manufacturer, who had commanded a band of volunteers, and sustained
during the siege the assaults of Alva's troops with remarkable courage at
a very critical moment, was one of the earliest victims. In consideration
"that he was a gentleman, and not among the most malicious," he was
executed by sword. "In respect that he heard the mass, and made a sweet
and Catholic end," it was allowed that he should be "buried in
consecrated earth." Many others followed in quick succession. Some were
beheaded, some were hanged, some were burned alive. All who had borne
arms or worked at the fortifications were, of course, put to death. Such
as refused to confess and receive the Catholic sacraments perished by
fire. A poor wretch, accused of having ridiculed these mysteries, had his
tongue torn out before being beheaded. A cobbler, named Blaise Bouzet,
was hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday. He was also accused of
going to the Protestant preachings for the sake of participating in the
alms distributed an these occasions, a crime for which many other paupers
were executed. An old man of sixty-two was sent to the scaffold for
having permitted his son to bear arms among the volunteers. At last, when
all pretexts were wanting to justify executions; the council assigned as
motives for its decrees an adhesion of heart on the part of the victims
to the cause of the insurgents, or to the doctrines of the Reformed
Church. Ten, twelve, twenty persons, were often hanged, burned, or
beheaded in a single day. Gibbets laden with mutilated bodies lined the
public highways,--while Noircarmes, by frightful expressions of
approbation, excited without ceasing the fury of his satellites. This
monster would perhaps, be less worthy of execration had he been governed
in these foul proceedings by fanatical bigotry or by political hatred;
but his motives were of the most sordid description. It was mainly to
acquire gold for himself that he ordained all this carnage. With the same
pen which signed the death-sentences of the richest victims, he drew
orders to his own benefit on their confiscated property. The lion's share
of the plunder was appropriated by himself. He desired the estate; of
Francois de Glarges, Seigneur d'Eslesmes. The gentleman had committed no
offence of any kind, and, moreover, lived beyond the French frontier.
Nevertheless, in contempt of international law, the neighbouring
territory was invaded, and d'Eslesmes dragged before the blood tribunal
of Mons. Noircarmes had drawn up beforehand, in his own handwriting, both
the terms of the accusation and of the sentence. The victim was innocent
and a Catholic, but he was rich. He confessed to have been twice at the
preaching, from curiosity, and to have omitted taking the sacrament at
the previous Easter. For these offences he was beheaded, and his
confiscated estate adjudged at an almost nominal price to the secretary
of Noircarmes, bidding for his master. "You can do me no greater
pleasure," wrote Noircarmes to the council, "than to make quick work with
all these rebels, and to proceed with the confiscation of their estates,
real and personal. Don't fail to put all those to the torture out of whom
anything can be got."

Notwithstanding the unexampled docility of the commissioners, they found
it difficult to extract from their redoubted chief a reasonable share in
the wages of blood. They did not scruple, therefore, to display their
own infamy, and to enumerate their own crimes, in order to justify their
demand for higher salaries. "Consider," they said, in a petition to this
end, "consider closely, all that is odious in our office, and the great
number of banishments and of executions which we have pronounced among
all our own relations and friends."

It may be added, moreover, as a slight palliation for the enormous crimes
committed by these men, that, becoming at last weary of their business,
they urged Noircarmes to desist from the work of proscription. Longehaye,
one of the commissioners, even waited upon him personally, with a plea
for mercy in favor of "the poor people, even beggars, who, although
having borne arms during the siege, might then be pardoned." Noircarmes,
in a rage at the proposition, said that "if he did not know the
commissioners to be honest men, he should believe that their palms had
been oiled," and forbade any farther words on the subject. When Longehaye
still ventured to speak in favor of certain persons "who were very poor
and simple, not charged with duplicity, and good Catholics besides," he
fared no better. "Away with you!" cried Noircarmes in a great fury,
adding that he had already written to have execution done upon the whole
of them. "Whereupon," said poor blood-councillor Longehaye, in his letter
to his colleagues, "I retired, I leave you to guess how."

Thus the work went on day after day, month after month. Till the 27th
August of the following year (1573) the executioner never rested, and
when Requesens, successor to Alva, caused the prisons of Mons to be
opened, there were found still seventy-five individuals condemned to the
block, and awaiting their fate.

It is the most dreadful commentary upon the times in which these
transactions occurred, that they could sink so soon into oblivion. The
culprits took care to hide the records of their guilt, while succeeding
horrors, on a more extensive scale, at other places, effaced the memory
of all these comparatively obscure murders and spoliations. The
prosperity of Mons, one of the most flourishing and wealthy manufacturing
towns in the Netherlands, was annihilated, but there were so many cities
in the same condition that its misery was hardly remarkable.
Nevertheless, in our own days, the fall of a mouldering tower in the
ruined Chateau de Naast at last revealed the archives of all these
crimes. How the documents came to be placed there remains a mystery, but
they have at last been brought to light.

The Spaniards had thus recovered Mons, by which event the temporary
revolution throughout the whole Southern Netherlands was at an end. The
keys of that city unlocked the gates of every other in Brabant and
Flanders. The towns which had so lately embraced the authority of Orange
now hastened to disavow the Prince, and to return to their ancient,
hypocritical, and cowardly allegiance. The new oaths of fidelity were in
general accepted by Alva, but the beautiful archiepiscopal city of
Mechlin was selected for an example and a sacrifice.

There were heavy arrears due to the Spanish troops. To indemnify them,
and to make good his blasphemous prophecy of Divine chastisement for its
past misdeeds, Alva now abandoned this town to the licence of his
soldiery. By his command Don Frederic advanced to the gates and demanded
its surrender. He was answered by a few shots from the garrison. Those
cowardly troops, however, having thus plunged the city still more deeply
into the disgrace which, in Alva's eyes, they had incurred by receiving
rebels within their walls after having but just before refused admittance
to the Spanish forces, decamped during the night, and left the place
defenceless.

Early next morning there issued from the gates a solemn procession of
priests, with banner and crozier, followed by a long and suppliant throng
of citizens, who attempted by this demonstration to avert the wrath of
the victor. While the penitent psalms were resounding, the soldiers were
busily engaged in heaping dried branches and rubbish into the moat.
Before the religious exercises were concluded, thousands had forced the
gates or climbed the walls; and entered the city with a celerity which
only the hope of rapine could inspire. The sack instantly commenced. The
property of friend and foe, of Papist and Calvinist, was indiscriminately
rifled. Everything was dismantled and destroyed. "Hardly a nail," said a
Spaniard, writing soon afterwards from Brussels, "was left standing in
the walls." The troops seemed to imagine themselves in a Turkish town,
and wreaked the Divine vengeance which Alva had denounced upon the city
with an energy which met with his fervent applause.

Three days long the horrible scene continued, one day for the benefit of
the Spaniards, two more for that of the Walloons and Germans. All the
churches, monasteries, religious houses of every kind, were completely
sacked. Every valuable article which they contained, the ornaments of
altars, the reliquaries, chalices, embroidered curtains, and carpets of
velvet or damask, the golden robes of the priests, the repositories of
the host, the precious vessels of chrism and extreme unction, the rich
clothing and jewellery adorning the effigies of the Holy Virgin, all were
indiscriminately rifled by the Spanish soldiers. The holy wafers were
trampled underfoot, the sacramental wine was poured upon the ground, and,
in brief, all the horrors which had been committed by the iconoclasts in
their wildest moments, and for a thousandth part of which enormities
heretics had been burned in droves, were now repeated in Mechlin by the
especial soldiers of Christ, by Roman Catholics who had been sent to the
Netherlands to avenge the insults offered to the Roman Catholic faith.
The motive, too, which inspired the sacrilegious crew was not fanaticism,
but the desire of plunder. The property of Romanists was taken as freely
as that of Calvinists, of which sect there were; indeed, but few in the
archiepiscopal city. Cardinal Granvelle's house was rifled. The pauper
funds deposited in the convents were not respected. The beds were taken
from beneath sick and dying women, whether lady abbess or hospital
patient, that the sacking might be torn to pieces in search of hidden
treasure.

The iconoclasts of 1566 had destroyed millions of property for the sake
of an idea, but they had appropriated nothing. Moreover, they had
scarcely injured a human being; confining their wrath to graven images.
The Spaniards at Mechlin spared neither man nor woman. The murders and
outrages would be incredible, were they not attested by most respectable
Catholic witnesses. Men were butchered in their houses, in the streets,
at the altars. Women were violated by hundreds in churches and in
grave-yards. Moreover, the deed had been as deliberately arranged as it
was thoroughly performed. It was sanctioned by the highest authority. Don
Frederic, Son of Alva, and General Noircarmes were both present at the
scene, and applications were in vain made to them that the havoc might be
stayed. "They were seen whispering to each other in the ear on their
arrival," says an eye-witness and a Catholic, "and it is well known that
the affair had been resolved upon the preceding day. The two continued
together as long as they remained in the city." The work was, in truth,
fully accomplished. The ultra-Catholic, Jean Richardot, member of the
Grand Council, and nephew of the Bishop of Arras, informed the State
Council that the sack of Mechlin had been so horrible that the poor and
unfortunate mothers had not a single morsel of bread to put in the mouths
of their children, who were dying before their eyes--so insane and cruel
had been the avarice of the plunderers. "He could say more," he added,
"if his hair did not stand on end, not only at recounting, but even at
remembering the scene."

Three days long the city was abandoned to that trinity of furies which
ever wait upon War's footsteps--Murder, Lust, and Rapine--under whose
promptings human beings become so much more terrible than the most
ferocious beasts. In his letter to his master, the Duke congratulated him
upon these foul proceedings as upon a pious deed well accomplished. He
thought it necessary, however; to excuse himself before the public in a
document, which justified the sack of Mechlin by its refusal to accept
his garrison a few months before, and by the shots which had been
discharged at his troops as they approached the city. For these offences,
and by his express order, the deed was done. Upon his head must the guilt
for ever rest.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
     Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
     Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
     Saint Bartholomew's day
     Science of reigning was the science of lying




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 20.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855




1572-73 [CHAPTER VIII.]

   Affairs in Holland and Zealand--Siege of Tergoes by the patriots--
   Importance of the place--Difficulty of relieving it--Its position--
   Audacious plan for sending succor across the "Drowned Land"--
   Brilliant and successful expedition of Mondragon--The siege raised--
   Horrible sack of Zutphen--Base conduct of Count Van den Berg--
   Refusal of Naarden to surrender--Subsequent unsuccessful deputation
   to make terms with Don Frederic--Don Frederic before Naarden--
   Treachery of Romero--The Spaniards admitted--General massacre of the
   garrison and burghers--The city burned to the ground--Warm reception
   of Orange in Holland--Secret negotiations with the Estates--
   Desperate character of the struggle between Spain and the provinces
   --Don Frederic in Amsterdam--Plans for reducing Holland--Skirmish on
   the ice at Amsterdam--Preparation in Harlem for the expected siege--
   Description of the city--Early operations--Complete investment--
   Numbers of besiegers and besieged--Mutual barbarities--Determined
   repulse of the first assault--Failure of Batenburg's expedition--
   Cruelties in city and camp--Mining and countermining--Second assault
   victoriously repelled--Suffering and disease in Harlem--Disposition
   of Don Frederic to retire--Memorable rebuke by Alva--Efforts of
   Orange to relieve the place--Sonoy's expedition--Exploit of John
   Haring--Cruel execution of prisoners on both sides--Quiryn Dirkzoon
   and his family put to death in the city--Fleets upon the lake--
   Defeat of the patriot armada--Dreadful suffering and starvation in
   the city--Parley with the besiegers--Despair of the city--Appeal to
   Orange--Expedition under Batenburg to relieve the city--His defeat
   and death--Desperate condition of Harlem--Its surrender at
   discretion--Sanguinary executions--General massacre--Expense of the
   victory in blood and money--Joy of Philip at the news.

While thus Brabant and Flanders were scourged back to the chains which
they had so recently broken, the affairs of the Prince of Orange were not
improving in Zealand. Never was a twelvemonth so marked by contradictory
fortune, never were the promises of a spring followed by such blight and
disappointment in autumn than in the memorable year 1572. On the island
of Walcheren, Middelburg and Arnemuyde still held for the King--Campveer
and Flushing for the Prince of Orange. On the island of South Bevelaad,
the city of Goes or Tergoes was still stoutly defended by a small
garrison of Spanish troops. As long as the place held out, the city of
Middelburg could be maintained. Should that important city fall, the
Spaniards would lose all hold upon Walcheren and the province of Zealand.

Jerome de 't Zeraerts, a brave, faithful, but singularly unlucky officer,
commanded for the Prince in Walcheren. He had attempted by various
hastily planned expeditions to give employment to his turbulent soldiery,
but fortune had refused to smile upon his efforts. He had laid siege to
Middelburg and failed. He had attempted Tergoes and had been compelled
ingloriously to retreat. The citizens of Flushing, on his return, had
shut the gates of the town in his face, and far several days refused to
admit him or his troops. To retrieve this disgrace, which had sprung
rather from the insubordination of his followers and the dislike which
they bore his person than from any want of courage or conduct on his
part, he now assembled a force of seven thousand men, marched again to
Tergoes, and upon the 26th of August laid siege to the place in forma.
The garrison was very insufficient, and although they conducted
themselves with great bravery, it was soon evident that unless reinforced
they must yield. With their overthrow it was obvious that the Spaniards
would lose the important maritime province of Zealand, and the Duke
accordingly ordered D'Avila, who commanded in Antwerp, to throw succor
into Tergoes without delay. Attempts were made, by sea and by land, to
this effect, but were all unsuccessful. The Zealanders commanded the
waters with their fleet,--and were too much at home among those gulfs and
shallows not to be more than a match for their enemies. Baffled in their
attempt to relieve the town by water or by land, the Spaniards conceived
an amphibious scheme. Their plan led to one of the most brilliant feats
of arms which distinguishes the history of this war.

The Scheld, flowing past the city of Antwerp and separating the provinces
of Flanders and Brabant, opens wide its two arms in nearly opposite
directions, before it joins the sea. Between these two arms lie the isles
of Zealand, half floating upon, half submerged by the waves. The town of
Tergoes was the chief city of South Beveland, the most important part of
this archipelago, but South Beveland had not always been an island. Fifty
years before, a tempest, one of the most violent recorded in the stormy
annals of that exposed country, had overthrown all barriers, the waters
of the German Ocean, lashed by a succession of north winds, having been
driven upon the low coast of Zealand more rapidly than they could be
carried off through the narrow straits of Dover. The dykes of the island
had burst, the ocean had swept over the land, hundreds of villages had
been overwhelmed, and a tract of country torn from the province and
buried for ever beneath the sea. This "Drowned Land," as it is called,
now separated the island from the main. At low tide it was, however,
possible for experienced pilots to ford the estuary, which had usurped
the place of the land. The average depth was between four and five feet
at low water, while the tide rose and fell at least ten feet; the bottom
was muddy and treacherous, and it was moreover traversed by three living
streams or channels; always much too deep to be fordable.

Captain Plomaert, a Fleming of great experience and bravery, warmly
attached to the King's cause, conceived the plan of sending
reinforcements across this drowned district to the city of Tergoes.
Accompanied by two peasants of the country, well acquainted with the
track, he twice accomplished the dangerous and difficult passage; which,
from dry land to dry land, was nearly ten English miles in length. Having
thus satisfied himself as to the possibility of the enterprise, he laid
his plan before the Spanish colonel, Mondragon. That courageous veteran
eagerly embraced the proposal, examined the ground, and after
consultation with Sancho Avila, resolved in person to lead an expedition
along the path suggested by Plomaert. Three thousand picked men, a
thousand from each nation,--Spaniards, Walloons, and Germans, were
speedily and secretly assembled at Bergen op Zoom, from the neighbourhood
of which city, at a place called Aggier, it was necessary that the
expedition should set forth. A quantity of sacks were provided, in which
a supply of, biscuit and of powder was placed, one to be carried by each
soldier upon his head. Although it was already late in the autumn, the
weather was propitious; the troops, not yet informed: as to the secret
enterprise for which they had been selected, were all ready assembled at
the edge of the water, and Mondragon, who, notwithstanding his age, had
resolved upon heading the hazardous expedition, now briefly, on the
evening of the 20th October, explained to them the nature of the service.
His statement of the dangers which they were about to encounter, rather
inflamed than diminished their ardor. Their enthusiasm became unbounded,
as he described the importance of the city which they were about to save,
and alluded to the glory which would be won by those who thus
courageously came forward to its rescue. The time of about half ebb-tide
having arrived, the veteran,--preceded only by the guides and Plomaert,
plunged gaily into the waves, followed by his army, almost in single
file. The water was never lowed khan the breast, often higher than the
shoulder. The distance to the island, three and a half leagues at least,
was to be accomplished within at most, six hours, or the rising tide
would overwhelm them for ever. And thus, across the quaking and uncertain
slime, which often refused them a footing, that adventurous band, five
hours long, pursued their midnight march, sometimes swimming for their
lives, and always struggling with the waves which every instant
threatened to engulph them.

Before the tide had risen to more than half-flood, before the day had
dawned, the army set foot on dry land again, at the village of Irseken.
Of the whole three thousand, only nine unlucky individuals had been
drowned; so much had courage and discipline availed in that dark and
perilous passage through the very bottom of the sea. The Duke of Alva
might well pronounce it one of the most brilliant and original
achievements in the annals of war. The beacon fires were immediately
lighted upon the shore; as agreed upon, to inform Sancho d'Avila, who was
anxiously awaiting the result at Bergen op Zoom, of the safe arrival of
the troops. A brief repose was then allowed. At the approach of daylight,
they set forth from Irseken, which lay about four leagues from Tergoes.
The news that a Spanish army had thus arisen from the depths of the sea,
flew before them as they marched. The besieging force commanded the water
with their fleet, the land with their army; yet had these indomitable
Spaniards found a path which was neither land nor water, and had thus
stolen upon them in the silence of night. A panic preceded them as they
fell upon a foe much superior in number to their own force. It was
impossible for 't Zeraerts to induce his soldiers to offer resistance.
The patriot army fled precipitately and ignominiously to their ships,
hotly pursued by the Spaniards, who overtook and destroyed the whole of
their rearguard before they could embark. This done, the gallant little
garrison which had so successfully held the city, was reinforced with the
courageous veterans who had come to their relief his audacious project
thus brilliantly accomplished, the "good old Mondragon," as his soldiers
called him, returned to the province of Brabant.

After the capture of Mons and the sack of Mechlin, the Duke of Alva had
taken his way to Nimwegen, having despatched his son, Don Frederic, to
reduce the northern and eastern country, which was only too ready to
submit to the conqueror. Very little resistance was made by any of the
cities which had so recently, and--with such enthusiasm, embraced the
cause of Orange. Zutphen attempted a feeble opposition to the entrance of
the King's troops, and received a dreadful chastisement in consequence.
Alva sent orders to his son to leave not a single man alive in the city,
and to burn every house to the ground. The Duke's command was almost
literally obeyed. Don Frederic entered Zutphen, and without a moment's
warning put the whole garrison to the sword. The citizens next fell a
defenceless, prey; some being, stabbed in the streets, some hanged on the
trees which decorated the city, some stripped stark naked; and turned out
into the fields to freeze to death in the wintry night. As the work of
death became too fatiguing for the butchers, five hundred innocent
burghers were tied two and two, back to back, and drowned like dogs in
the river Yssel. A few stragglers who had contrived to elude pursuit at
first, were afterwards taken from their hiding places and hung upon the
gallows by the feet, some of which victims suffered four days and nights
of agony before death came to their relief. It is superfluous to add that
the outrages upon women were no less universal in Zutphen than they had
been in every city captured or occupied by the Spanish troops. These
horrors continued till scarcely chastity or life remained, throughout the
miserable city.

This attack and massacre had been so suddenly executed, that assistance
would hardly have been possible, even had there been disposition to
render it. There was; however, no such disposition. The whole country was
already cowering again, except the provinces of Holland and Zealand. No
one dared approach, even to learn what had occurred within the walls of
the town, for days after its doom had been accomplished. "A wail of agony
was heard above Zutphen last Sunday," wrote Count Nieuwenar, "a sound as
of a mighty massacre, but we know not what has taken place."

Count Van, den Bergh, another brother-in-law of Orange, proved himself
signally unworthy of the illustrious race to which he was allied. He had,
in the earlier part of the year, received the homage of the cities of
Gelderland and Overyssel, on behalf of the patriot Prince. He now basely
abandoned the field where he had endeavoured to gather laurels while the
sun of success had been shining. Having written from Kampen, whither he
had retired, that he meant to hold the city to the last gasp, he
immediately afterwards fled secretly and precipitately from the country.
In his flight he was plundered by his own people, while his wife, Mary of
Nassau, then far advanced in pregnancy, was left behind, disguised as a
peasant girl, in an obscure village.

With the flight of Van den Bergh, all the cities which, under his
guidance, had raised the standard of Orange, deserted the cause at once.
Friesland too, where Robles obtained a victory over six thousand
patriots, again submitted to the yoke. But if the ancient heart of the
free Frisians was beating thus feebly, there was still spirit left among
their brethren on the other side of the Zuyder Zee. It was not while
William of Orange was within her borders, nor while her sister provinces
had proved recreant to him, that Holland would follow their base example.
No rebellion being left, except in the north-western extremities of the
Netherlands, Don Frederic was ordered to proceed from Zutphen to
Amsterdam, thence to undertake the conquest of Holland. The little city
of Naarden, on the coast of the Zuyder Zee, lay in his path, and had not
yet formally submitted. On the 22nd of November a company of one hundred
troopers was sent to the city gates to demand its surrender. The small
garrison which had been left by the Prince was not disposed to resist,
but the spirit of the burghers was stouter than, their walls. They
answered the summons by a declaration that they had thus far held the
city for the King and the Prince of Orange, and, with God's help, would
continue so to do. As the horsemen departed with this reply, a lunatic,
called Adrian Krankhoeft, mounted the ramparts and, discharged a
culverine among them. No man was injured, but the words of defiance, and
the shot fired by a madman's hand, were destined to be fearfully
answered.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants of the place, which was at best far from
strong, and ill provided with arms, ammunition, or soldiers, despatched
importunate messages to Sonoy, and to ether patriot generals nearest to
them, soliciting reinforcements. Their messengers came back almost empty
handed. They brought a little powder and a great many promises, but not a
single man-at-arms, not a ducat, not a piece of artillery. The most
influential commanders, moreover, advised an honorable capitulation, if
it were still possible.

Thus baffled, the burghers of the little city found their proud position
quite untenable. They accordingly, on the 1st of December, despatched the
burgomaster and a senator to Amersfoort, to make terms, if possible, with
Don Frederic. When these envoys reached the place, they were refused
admission to the general's presence. The army had already been ordered to
move forward to Naarden, and they were directed to accompany the advance
guard, and to expect their reply at the gates of their own city. This
command was sufficiently ominous. The impression which it made upon them
was confirmed by the warning voices of their friends in Amersfoort, who
entreated them not to return to Naarden. The advice was not lost upon one
of the two envoys. After they had advanced a little distance on their
journey, the burgomaster Laurentszoon slid privately out of the sledge in
which they were travelling, leaving his cloak behind him. "Adieu; I think
I will not venture back to Naarden at present," said he, calmly, as he
abandoned his companion to his fate. The other, who could not so easily
desert his children, his wife, and his fellow-citizens, in the hour of
danger, went forward as calmly to share in their impending doom.

The army reached Bussem, half a league distant from Naarden, in the
evening. Here Don Frederic established his head quarters, and proceeded
to invest the city. Senator Gerrit was then directed to return to Naarden
and to bring out a more numerous deputation on the following morning,
duly empowered to surrender the place. The envoy accordingly returned
next day, accompanied by Lambert Hortensius, rector of a Latin academy,
together with four other citizens. Before this deputation had reached
Bussem, they were met by Julian Romero, who informed them that he was
commissioned to treat with them on the part of Don Frederic. He demanded
the keys of the city, and gave the deputation a solemn pledge that the
lives and property of all the inhabitants should be sacredly respected.
To attest this assurance Don Julian gave his hand three several times to
Lambert Hortensius. A soldier's word thus plighted, the commissioners,
without exchanging any written documents, surrendered the keys, and
immediately afterwards accompanied Romero into the city, who was soon
followed by five or six hundred musketeers.

To give these guests a hospitable reception, all the housewives of the
city at once set about preparations for a sumptuous feast, to which the
Spaniards did ample justice, while the colonel and his officers were
entertained by Senator Gerrit at his own house. As soon as this
conviviality had come to an end, Romero, accompanied by his host, walked
into the square. The great bell had been meantime ringing, and the
citizens had been summoned to assemble in the Gast Huis Church, then used
as a town hall. In the course of a few minutes five hundred had entered
the building, and stood quietly awaiting whatever measures might be
offered for their deliberation. Suddenly a priest, who had been pacing to
and fro before the church door, entered the building, and bade them all
prepare for death; but the announcement, the preparation, and the death,
were simultaneous. The door was flung open, and a band of armed Spaniards
rushed across the sacred threshold. They fired a single volley upon the
defenceless herd, and then sprang in upon them with sword and dagger. A
yell of despair arose as the miserable victims saw how hopelessly they
were engaged, and beheld the ferocious faces of their butchers. The
carnage within that narrow apace was compact and rapid. Within a few
minutes all were despatched, and among them Senator Gerrit, from whose
table the Spanish commander had but just risen. The church was then set
on fire, and the dead and dying were consumed to ashes together.

Inflamed but not satiated, the Spaniards then rushed into the streets,
thirsty for fresh horrors. The houses were all rifled of their contents,
and men were forced to carry the booty to the camp, who were then struck
dead as their reward. The town was then fired in every direction, that
the skulking citizens might be forced from their hiding-places. As fast
as they came forth they were put to death by their impatient foes. Some
were pierced with rapiers, some were chopped to pieces with axes, some
were surrounded in the blazing streets by troops of laughing soldiers,
intoxicated, not with wine but with blood, who tossed them to and fro
with their lances, and derived a wild amusement from their dying agonies.
Those who attempted resistance were crimped alive like fishes, and left
to gasp themselves to death in lingering torture. The soldiers becoming
more and more insane, as the foul work went on, opened the veins of some
of their victims, and drank their blood as if it were wine. Some of the
burghers were for a time spared, that they might witness the violation of
their wives and daughters, and were then butchered in company with these
still more unfortunate victims. Miracles of brutality were accomplished.
Neither church nor hearth was sacred: Men were slain, women outraged at
the altars, in the streets, in their blazing homes. The life of Lambert
Hortensius was spared, out of regard to his learning and genius, but he
hardly could thank his foes for the boon, for they struck his only son
dead, and tore his heart out before his father's eyes. Hardly any man or
woman survived, except by accident. A body of some hundred burghers made
their escape across the snow into the open country. They were, however,
overtaken, stripped stark naked, and hung upon the trees by the feet, to
freeze, or to perish by a more lingering death. Most of them soon died,
but twenty, who happened to be wealthy, succeeded, after enduring much
torture, in purchasing their lives of their inhuman persecutors. The
principal burgomaster, Heinrich Lambertszoon, was less fortunate. Known
to be affluent, he was tortured by exposing the soles of his feet to a
fire until they were almost consumed. On promise that his life should be
spared, he then agreed to pay a heavy ransom; but hardly had he furnished
the stipulated sum when, by express order of Don Frederic himself, he was
hanged in his own doorway, and his dissevered limbs afterwards nailed to
the gates of the city.

Nearly all the inhabitants of Naarden, soldiers and citizens, were thus
destroyed; and now Don Frederic issued peremptory orders that no one, on
pain of death, should give lodging or food to any fugitive. He likewise
forbade to the dead all that could now be forbidden them--a grave. Three
weeks long did these unburied bodies pollute the streets, nor could the
few wretched women who still cowered within such houses as had escaped
the flames ever wave from their lurking-places without treading upon the
festering remains of what had been their husbands, their fathers, or
their brethren. Such was the express command of him whom the flatterers
called the "most divine genius ever known." Shortly afterwards came an
order to dismantle the fortifications, which had certainly proved
sufficiently feeble in the hour of need, and to raze what was left of the
city from the surface of the earth. The work was faithfully accomplished,
and for a longtime Naarden ceased to exist.

Alva wrote, with his usual complacency in such cases, to his sovereign,
that "they had cut the throats of the burghers and all the garrison, and
that they had not left a mother's son alive." The statement was almost
literally correct, nor was the cant with which these bloodhounds
commented upon their crimes less odious than their guilt. "It was a
permission of God," said the Duke, "that these people should have
undertaken to defend a city, which was so weak that no other persons
would have attempted such a thing." Nor was the reflection of Mendoza
less pious. "The sack of Naarden," said that really brave and
accomplished cavalier, "was a chastisement which must be believed to have
taken place by express permission of a Divine Providence; a punishment
for having been the first of the Holland towns in which heresy built its
nest, whence it has taken flight to all the neighboring cities."

It is not without reluctance, but still with a stern determination, that
the historian--should faithfully record these transactions. To extenuate
would be base; to exaggerate impossible. It is good that the world should
not forget how much wrong has been endured by a single harmless nation at
the hands of despotism, and in the sacred name of God. There have been
tongues and pens enough to narrate the excesses of the people, bursting
from time to time out of slavery into madness. It is good, too, that
those crimes should be remembered, and freshly pondered; but it is
equally wholesome to study the opposite picture. Tyranny, ever young and
ever old, constantly reproducing herself with the same stony features,
with the same imposing mask which she has worn through all the ages, can
never be too minutely examined, especially when she paints her own
portrait, and when the secret history of her guilt is furnished by the
confessions of her lovers. The perusal of her traits will not make us
love popular liberty the less.

The history of Alva's administration in the Netherlands is one of those
pictures which strike us almost dumb with wonder. Why has the Almighty
suffered such crimes to be perpetrated in His sacred name? Was it
necessary that many generations should wade through this blood in order
to acquire for their descendants the blessings of civil and religious
freedom? Was it necessary that an Alva should ravage a peaceful nation
with sword and flame--that desolation should be spread over a happy land,
in order that the pure and heroic character of a William of Orange should
stand forth more conspicuously, like an antique statue of spotless marble
against a stormy sky?

After the army which the Prince had so unsuccessfully led to the relief
of Mons had been disbanded, he had himself repaired to Holland. He had
come to Kampen shortly before its defection from his cause. Thence he had
been escorted across the Zuyder Zee to Eukhuyzen. He came to that
province, the only one which through good and ill report remained
entirely faithful to him, not as a conqueror but as an unsuccessful,
proscribed man. But there were warm hearts beating within those cold
lagunes, and no conqueror returning from a brilliant series of victories
could have been received with more affectionate respect than William in
that darkest hour of the country's history. He had but seventy horsemen
at his back, all which remained of the twenty thousand troops which he
had a second time levied in Germany, and he felt that it would be at that
period hopeless for him to attempt the formation of a third army. He had
now come thither to share the fate of Holland, at least, if he could not
accomplish her liberation. He went from city to city, advising with the
magistracies and with the inhabitants, and arranging many matters
pertaining both to peace and war. At Harlem the States of the Provinces,
according to his request, had been assembled. The assembly begged him to
lay before them, if it were possible, any schemes and means which he
might have devised for further resistance to the Duke of Alva. Thus
solicited, the Prince, in a very secret session, unfolded his plans, and
satisfied them as to the future prospects of the cause. His speech has
nowhere been preserved. His strict injunctions as to secrecy, doubtless,
prevented or effaced any record of the session. It is probable, however,
that he entered more fully into the state of his negotiations with
England, and into the possibility of a resumption by Count Louis of his
private intercourse with the French court, than it was safe, publicly, to
divulge.

While the Prince had been thus occupied in preparing the stout-hearted
province for the last death-struggle with its foe, that mortal combat was
already fast approaching; for the aspect of the contest in the
Netherlands was not that of ordinary warfare. It was an encounter between
two principles, in their nature so hostile to each other that the
absolute destruction of one was the only, possible issue. As the fight
went on, each individual combatant seemed inspired by direct personal
malignity, and men found a pleasure in deeds of cruelty, from which
generations not educated to slaughter recoil with horror. To murder
defenceless prisoners; to drink, not metaphorically but literally, the
heart's blood of an enemy; to exercise a devilish ingenuity in inventions
of mutual torture, became not only a duty but a rapture. The Liberty of
the Netherlands had now been hunted to its lair. It had taken its last
refuge among the sands and thickets where its savage infancy had been
nurtured, and had now prepared itself to crush its tormentor in a last
embrace, or to die in the struggle.

After the conclusion of the sack and massacre of Naarden, Don Frederic
had hastened to Amsterdam, where the Duke was then quartered, that he
might receive the paternal benediction for his well-accomplished work.
The royal approbation was soon afterwards added to the applause of his
parent, and the Duke was warmly congratulated in a letter written by
Philip as soon as the murderous deed was known, that Don Frederic had so
plainly shown himself to be his father's son. There was now more work for
father and son. Amsterdam was the only point in Holland which held for
Alva, and from that point it was determined to recover the whole
province. The Prince of Orange was established in the southern district;
Diedrich Sonoy, his lieutenant, was stationed in North Holland. The
important city of Harlem lay between the two, at a spot where the whole
breadth of the territory, from sea to sea, was less than an hour's walk.
With the fall of that city the province would be cut in twain, the
rebellious forces utterly dissevered, and all further resistance, it was
thought, rendered impossible.

The inhabitants of Harlem felt their danger. Bossu, Alva's stadholder for
Holland, had formally announced the system hitherto pursued at Mechlin,
Zutphen, and Naarden, as the deliberate policy of the government. The
King's representative had formally proclaimed the extermination of man,
woman; and child in every city which opposed his authority, but the
promulgation and practice of such a system had an opposite effect to the
one intended. "The hearts of the Hollanders were rather steeled to
resistance than awed into submission by the fate of Naarden." A fortunate
event, too, was accepted as a lucky omen for the coming contest. A little
fleet of armed vessels, belonging to Holland, had been frozen up in the
neighbourhood of Amsterdam. Don Frederic on his arrival from Naarden,
despatched a body of picked men over the ice to attack the imprisoned
vessels. The crews had, however, fortified themselves by digging a wide
trench around the whole fleet, which thus became from the moment an
almost impregnable fortress. Out of this frozen citadel a strong band of
well-armed and skilful musketeers sallied forth upon skates as the
besieging force advanced. A rapid, brilliant, and slippery skirmish
succeeded, in which the Hollanders, so accustomed to such sports, easily
vanquished their antagonists, and drove them off the field, with the loss
of several hundred left dead upon the ice.

"'T was a thing never heard of before to-day," said Alva, "to see a body
of arquebusiers thus skirmishing upon a frozen sea." In the course of the
next four-and-twenty hours a flood and a rapid thaw released the vessels,
which all escaped to Enkhuyzen, while a frost, immediately and strangely
succeeding, made pursuit impossible.

The Spaniards were astonished at these novel manoeuvres upon the ice. It
is amusing to read their elaborate descriptions of the wonderful
appendages which had enabled the Hollanders to glide so glibly into
battle with a superior force, and so rapidly to glance away, after
achieving a signal triumph. Nevertheless, the Spaniards could never be
dismayed, and were always apt scholars, even if an enemy were the
teacher. Alva immediately ordered seven thousand pairs of skates, and his
soldiers soon learned to perform military evolutions with these new
accoutrements as audaciously, if not as adroitly, as the Hollanders.

A portion of the Harlem magistracy, notwithstanding the spirit which
pervaded the province, began to tremble as danger approached. They were
base enough to enter into secret negotiations with Alva, and to send
three of their own number to treat with the Duke at Amsterdam. One was
wise enough to remain with the enemy. The other two were arrested on
their return, and condemned, after an impartial trial, to death. For,
while these emissaries of a cowardly magistracy were absent, the stout
commandant of the little garrison, Ripperda, had assembled the citizens
and soldiers in the market-place. He warned them of the absolute
necessity to make a last effort for freedom. In startling colors he held
up to them the fate of Mechlin, of Zutphen, of Naarden, as a prophetic
mirror, in which they might read their own fate should they be base
enough to surrender the city. There was no composition possible, he
urged, with foes who were as false as they were sanguinary, and whose
foul passions were stimulated, not slaked, by the horrors with which they
had already feasted themselves.

Ripperda addressed men who could sympathize with his bold and lofty
sentiments. Soldiers and citizens cried out for defence instead of
surrender, as with one voice, for there were no abject spirits at Harlem,
save among the magistracy; and Saint Aldegonde, the faithful minister of
Orange, was soon sent to Harlem by the Prince to make a thorough change
in that body.

Harlem, over whose ruins the Spanish tyranny intended to make its
entrance into Holland, lay in the narrowest part of that narrow isthmus
which separates the Zuyder Zee from the German Ocean. The distance from
sea to sea is hardly five English miles across. Westerly from the city
extended a slender strip of land, once a morass, then a fruitful meadow;
maintained by unflagging fortitude in the very jaws of a stormy ocean.
Between the North Sea and the outer edge of this pasture surged those
wild and fantastic downs, heaped up by wind and wave in mimicry of
mountains; the long coils of that rope of sand, by which, plaited into
additional strength by the slenderest of bulrushes, the waves of the
North Sea were made to obey the command of man. On the opposite, or
eastern aide, Harlem looked towards Amsterdam. That already flourishing
city was distant but ten miles. The two cities were separated by an
expanse of inland water, and united by a slender causeway. The Harlem
Lake, formed less than a century before by the bursting of four lesser,
meres during a storm which had threatened to swallow the whole Peninsula,
extended itself on the south and east; a sea of limited dimensions, being
only fifteen feet in depth with seventy square miles of surface, but,
exposed as it lay to all the winds of heaven, often lashed into storms as
dangerous as those of the Atlantic. Beyond the lake, towards the north,
the waters of the Y nearly swept across the Peninsula. This inlet of the
Zuyder Zee was only separated from the Harlem mere by a slender thread of
land. Over this ran the causeway between the two sister cities, now so
unfortunately in arms against each other. Midway between the two, the
dyke was pierced and closed again with a system of sluice-works, which
when opened admitted the waters of the lake into those of the estuary,
and caused an inundation of the surrounding country.

The city was one of the largest and most beautiful in the Netherlands. It
was also one of the weakest.--The walls were of antique construction,
turreted, but not strong. The extent and feebleness of the defences made
a large garrison necessary, but unfortunately, the garrison was even
weaker than the walls. The city's main reliance was on the stout hearts
of the inhabitants. The streets were, for that day, spacious and regular;
the canals planted with limes and poplars. The ancient church of Saint
Bavon, a large imposing structure of brick, stood almost in the centre of
the place, the most prominent object, not only of the town but of the
province, visible over leagues of sea and of land more level than the
sea, and seeming to gather the whole quiet little city under its sacred
and protective wings. Its tall open-work leaden spire was surmounted by a
colossal crown, which an exalted imagination might have regarded as the
emblematic guerdon of martyrdom held aloft over the city, to reward its
heroism and its agony.

It was at once obvious that the watery expanse between Harlem and
Amsterdam would be the principal theatre of the operations about to
commence. The siege was soon begun. The fugitive burgomaster, De Fries,
had the effrontery, with the advice of Alva, to address a letter to the
citizens, urging them to surrender at discretion. The messenger was
hanged--a cruel but practical answer, which put an end to all further
traitorous communications. This was in the first week of December. On the
10th, Don Frederic, sent a strong detachment to capture the fort and
village of Sparendam, as an indispensable preliminary to the commencement
of the siege. A peasant having shown Zapata, the commander of the
expedition, a secret passage across the flooded and frozen meadows, the
Spaniards stormed the place gallantly, routed the whole garrison, killed
three hundred, and took possession of the works and village. Next day,
Don Frederic appeared before the walls of Harlem, and proceeded regularly
to invest the place. The misty weather favored his operations, nor did he
cease reinforcing himself; until at least thirty thousand men, including
fifteen hundred cavalry, had been encamped around the city. The Germans,
under Count Overstein, were stationed in a beautiful and extensive grove
of limes and beeches, which spread between the southern walls and the
shore of Harlem Lake. Don Frederic, with his Spaniards, took up a
position on the opposite side, at a place called the House of Kleef, the
ruins of which still remain. The Walloons, and other regiments were
distributed in different places, so as completely to encircle the town.

   [Pierre Sterlinckx: Eene come Waerachtige Beschryvinghe van alle
   Geschiedinissen, Anschlagen, Stormen, Schermutsingen oude Schieten
   voor de vroome Stadt Haerlem in Holland gheschicht, etc., etc.--
   Delft, 1574.--This is by far the best contemporary account of the
   famous siege. The author was a citizen of Antwerp, who kept a daily
   journal of the events as they occurred at Harlem. It is a dry, curt
   register of horrors, jotted down without passion or comment.--
   Compare Bor, vi. 422, 423; Meteren, iv. 79; Mendoza, viii. 174,
   175; Wagenaer, vad. Hist., vi. 413, 414.]

On the edge of the mere the Prince of Orange had already ordered a
cluster of forts to be erected, by which the command of its frozen
surface was at first secured for Harlem. In the course of the siege,
however, other forts were erected by Don Frederic, so that the aspect of
things suffered a change.

Against this immense force, nearly equal in number to that of the whole
population of the city, the garrison within the walls never amounted to
more than four thousand men. In the beginning it was much less numerous.
The same circumstances, however, which assisted the initiatory operations
of Don Frederic, were of advantage to the Harlemers. A dense frozen fog
hung continually over the surface of the lake. Covered by this curtain,
large supplies of men, provisions, and ammunition were daily introduced
into the city, notwithstanding all the efforts of the besieging force.
Sledges skimming over the ice, men, women, and even children, moving on
their skates as swiftly as the wind, all brought their contributions in
the course of the short dark days and long nights of December, in which
the wintry siege was opened.

The garrison at last numbered about one thousand pioneers or delvers,
three thousand fighting men, and about three hundred fighting women. The
last was a most efficient corps, all females of respectable character,
armed with sword, musket, and dagger. Their chief, Kenau Hasselaer, was a
widow of distinguished family and unblemished reputation, about
forty-seven years of age, who, at the head of her amazons, participated
in many of the most fiercely contested actions of the siege, both within
and without the walls. When such a spirit animated the maids and matrons
of the city, it might be expected that the men would hardly surrender the
place without a struggle. The Prince had assembled a force of three or
four thousand men at Leyden, which he sent before the middle of December
towards the city under the command of De la Marck. These troops were,
however, attacked on the way by a strong detachment under Bossu,
Noircarmes, and Romero. After a sharp, action in a heavy snow-storm, De
la Marek was completely routed. One thousand of his soldiers were cut to
pieces, and a large number carried off as prisoners to the gibbets, which
were already conspicuously erected in the Spanish camp, and which from
the commencement to the close of the siege were never bare of victims.
Among the captives was a gallant officer, Baptist van Trier, for whom De
la Marck in vain offered two thousand crowns and nineteen Spanish
prisoners. The proposition was refused with contempt. Van Trier was
hanged upon the gallows by one leg until he was dead, in return for which
barbarity the nineteen Spaniards were immediately gibbeted by De la
Marck. With this interchange of cruelties the siege may be said to have
opened.

Don Frederic had stationed himself in a position opposite to the gate of
the Cross, which was not very strong, but fortified by a ravelin.
Intending to make a very short siege of it, he established his batteries
immediately, and on the 18th, 19th, and 20th December directed a furious
cannonade against the Cross-gate, the St. John's-gate, and the curtain
between the two. Six hundred and eighty shots were discharged on the
first, and nearly as many on each of the two succeeding days. The walls
were much shattered, but men, women, and children worked night and day
within the city, repairing the breaches as fast as made. They brought
bags of sand; blocks of stone, cart-loads of earth from every quarter,
and they stripped the churches of all their statues, which they threw by
heaps into the gaps. If They sought thus a more practical advantage from
those sculptured saints than they could have gained by only imploring
their interposition. The fact, however, excited horror among the
besiegers. Men who were daily butchering their fellow-beings, and hanging
their prisoners in cold blood, affected to shudder at the enormity of the
offence thus exercised against graven images.

After three days' cannonade, the assault was ordered, Don Frederic only
intending a rapid massacre, to crown his achievements at--Zutphen and
Naarden. The place, he thought, would fall in a week, and after another
week of sacking, killing, and ravishing, he might sweep on to "pastures
new" until Holland was overwhelmed. Romero advanced to the breach,
followed by a numerous storming party, but met with a resistance which
astonished the Spaniards. The church bells rang the alarm throughout the
city, and the whole population swarmed to the walls. The besiegers were
encountered not only with sword and musket, but with every implement
which the burghers' hands could find. Heavy stones, boiling oil, live
coals, were hurled upon the heads of the soldiers; hoops, smeared with
pitch and set on fire, were dexterously thrown upon their necks. Even
Spanish courage and Spanish ferocity were obliged to shrink before the
steady determination of a whole population animated by a single spirit.
Romero lost an eye in the conflict, many officers were killed and
wounded, and three or four hundred soldiers left dead in the breach,
while only three or four of the townsmen lost their lives. The signal of
recal was reluctantly given, and the Spaniards abandoned the assault. Don
Frederic was now aware that Harlem would not fall at his feet at the
first sound of his trumpet. It was obvious that a siege must precede the
massacre. He gave orders therefore that the ravelin should be undermined,
and doubted not that, with a few days' delay, the place would be in his
hands.

Meantime, the Prince of Orange, from his head-quarters at Sassenheim, on
the southern extremity of the mere, made a fresh effort to throw succor
into the place. Two thousand men, with seven field-pieces, and many
wagon-loads of munitions, were sent forward under Batenburg. This officer
had replaced De la Marck, whom the Prince had at last deprived of his
commission. The reckless and unprincipled freebooter was no longer to
serve a cause which was more sullied by his barbarity than it could be
advanced by his desperate valor. Batenburg's expedition was, however, not
more successful than the one made by his predecessor. The troops, after
reaching the vicinity of the city, lost their way in the thick mists,
which almost perpetually enveloped the scene. Cannons were fired,
fog-bells were rung, and beacon fires were lighted on the ramparts, but
the party was irretrievably lost. The Spaniards fell upon them before
they could find their way to the city. Many were put to the sword, others
made their escape in different directions; a very few succeeded in
entering Harlem. Batenburg brought off a remnant of the forces, but all
the provisions so much needed were lost, and the little army entirely
destroyed.

De Koning, the second in command, was among the prisoners. The Spaniards
cut off his head and threw it over the walls into the city, with this
inscription: "This is the head of Captain de Koning, who is on his way
with reinforcements for the good city of Harlem." The citizens retorted
with a practical jest, which was still more barbarous. They cut off the
heads of eleven prisoners and put them into a barrel, which they threw
into the Spanish camp. A Label upon the barrel contained these words:
"Deliver these ten heads to Duke Alva in payment of his tenpenny tax,
with one additional head for interest." With such ghastly merriment did
besieged and besiegers vary the monotonous horror of that winter's siege.
As the sallies and skirmishes were of daily occurrence, there was a
constant supply of prisoners, upon whom both parties might exercise their
ingenuity, so that the gallows in camp or city was perpetually garnished.

Since the assault of the 21st December, Don Frederic had been making his
subterranean attack by regular approaches. As fast, however, as the
Spaniards mined, the citizens countermined. Spaniard and Netherlander met
daily in deadly combat within the bowels of the earth. Desperate and
frequent were the struggles within gangways so narrow that nothing but
daggers could be used, so obscure that the dim lanterns hardly lighted
the death-stroke. They seemed the conflicts, not of men but of evil
spirits. Nor were these hand-to-hand battles all. A shower of heads,
limbs, mutilated trunks, the mangled remains of hundreds of human beings,
often spouted from the earth as if from an invisible volcano. The mines
were sprung with unexampled frequency and determination. Still the
Spaniards toiled on with undiminished zeal, and still the besieged,
undismayed, delved below their works, and checked their advance by sword,
and spear, and horrible explosions.

The Prince of Orange, meanwhile, encouraged the citizens to persevere, by
frequent promises of assistance. His letters, written on extremely small
bits of paper; were sent into the town by carrier pigeons. On the 28th of
January he despatched a considerable supply of the two necessaries,
powder and bread, on one hundred and seventy sledges across the Harlem
Lake, together with four hundred veteran soldiers. The citizens continued
to contest the approaches to the ravelin before the Cross-gate, but it
had become obvious that they could not hold it long. Secretly,
steadfastly, and swiftly they had, therefore, during the long wintry
nights, been constructing a half moon of solid masonry on the inside of
the same portal. Old men, feeble women, tender children, united with the
able-bodied to accomplish this work, by which they hoped still to
maintain themselves after the ravelin had fallen:

On the 31st of January, after two or three days' cannonade against the
gates of the Cross and of Saint John, and the intervening curtains, Don
Frederic ordered a midnight assault. The walls had been much shattered,
part of the John's-gate was in ruins; the Spaniards mounted the breach in
great numbers; the city was almost taken by surprise; while the
Commander-in-chief, sure of victory, ordered the whole of his forces
under arms to cut off the population who were to stream panic-struck from
every issue. The attack was unexpected, but the forty or fifty sentinels
defended the walls while they sounded the alarm. The tocsin bells tolled,
and the citizens, whose sleep was not-apt to be heavy during that
perilous winter, soon manned the ramparts again. The daylight came upon
them while the fierce struggle was still at its height. The besieged, as
before, defended themselves with musket and rapier, with melted pitch,
with firebrands, with clubs and stones. Meantime, after morning prayers
in the Spanish camp, the trumpet for a general assault was sounded. A
tremendous onset was made upon the gate of the Cross, and the ravelin was
carried at last. The Spaniards poured into this fort, so long the object
of their attack, expecting instantly to sweep into the city with sword
and fire. As they mounted its wall they became for the first time aware
of the new and stronger fortification which had been secretly constructed
on the inner side. The reason why the ravelin had been at last conceded
was revealed. The half moon, whose existence they had not suspected, rose
before them bristling with cannon. A sharp fire was instantly opened upon
the besiegers, while at the same instant the ravelin, which the citizens
had undermined, blew up with a severe explosion, carrying into the air
all the soldiers who had just entered it so triumphantly. This was the
turning point. The retreat was sounded, and the Spaniards fled to their
camp, leaving at least three hundred dead beneath the walls. Thus was a
second assault, made by an overwhelming force and led by the most
accomplished generals of Spain, signally and gloriously repelled by the
plain burghers of Harlem.

It became now almost evident that the city could be taken neither by
regular approaches nor by sudden attack. It was therefore resolved that
it should be reduced by famine. Still, as the winter wore on, the immense
army without the walls were as great sufferers by that scourge as the
population within. The soldiers fell in heaps before the diseases
engendered by intense cold and insufficient food, for, as usual in such
sieges, these deaths far outnumbered those inflicted by the enemy's hand.
The sufferings inside the city necessarily increased day by day, the
whole population being put on a strict allowance of food. Their supplies
were daily diminishing, and with the approach of the spring and the
thawing of the ice on the lake, there was danger that they would be
entirely cut off. If the possession of the water were lost, they must
yield or starve; and they doubted whether the Prince would be able to
organize a fleet. The gaunt spectre of Famine already rose before them
with a menace which could not be misunderstood. In their misery they
longed for the assaults of the Spaniards, that they might look in the
face of a less formidable foe. They paraded the ramparts daily, with
drums beating, colors flying, taunting the besiegers to renewed attempts.
To inflame the religious animosity of their antagonists, they attired
themselves in the splendid, gold-embroidered vestments of the priests,
which they took from the churches, and moved about in mock procession,
bearing aloft images bedizened in ecclesiastical finery, relics, and
other symbols, sacred in Catholic eyes, which they afterwards hurled from
the ramparts, or broke, with derisive shouts, into a thousand fragments.

It was, however, at that season earnestly debated by the enemy whether or
not to raise the siege. Don Frederic was clearly of opinion that enough
had been done for the honor of the Spanish arms. He was wearied with
seeing his men perish helplessly around him, and considered the prize too
paltry for the lives it must cost. His father thought differently.
Perhaps he recalled the siege of Metz, and the unceasing regret with
which, as he believed, his imperial master had remembered the advice
received from him. At any rate the Duke now sent back Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, whom Don Frederic had despatched to Nimwegen, soliciting his
father's permission to raise the siege, with this reply: "Tell Don
Frederic," said Alva, "that if he be not decided to continue the siege
till the town be taken, I shall no longer consider him my son, whatever
my opinion may formerly have been. Should he fall in the siege, I will
myself take the field to maintain it, and when we have both perished, the
Duchess, my wife, shall come from Spain to do the same."

Such language was unequivocal, and hostilities were resumed as fiercely
as before. The besieged welcomed them with rapture, and, as usual, made
daily the most desperate sallies. In one outbreak the Harlemers, under
cover of a thick fog, marched up to the enemy's chief battery, and
attempted to spike the guns before his face. They were all slain at the
cannon's mouth, whither patriotism, not vainglory, had led them, and lay
dead around the battery, with their hammers and spikes in their hands.
The same spirit was daily manifested. As the spring advanced; the kine
went daily out of the gates to their peaceful pasture, notwithstanding,
all the turmoil within and around; nor was it possible for the Spaniards
to capture a single one of these creatures, without paying at least a
dozen soldiers as its price. "These citizens," wrote Don Frederic, "do as
much as the best soldiers in the world could do."

The frost broke up by the end of February. Count Bossu, who had been
building a fleet of small vessels in Amsterdam, soon afterwards succeeded
in entering the lake with a few gun-boats, through a breach which he had
made in the Overtoom, about half a league from that city. The possession
of the lake was already imperilled. The Prince, however, had not been
idle, and he, too, was soon ready to send his flotilla to the mere. At
the same time, the city of Amsterdam was in almost as hazardous a
position as Harlem. As the one on the lake, so did the other depend upon
its dyke for its supplies. Should that great artificial road which led to
Muyden and Utrecht be cut asunder, Amsterdam might be starved as soon as
Harlem. "Since I came into the world," wrote Alva, "I have never, been in
such anxiety. If they should succeed in cutting off the communication
along the dykes, we should have to raise the siege of Harlem, to
surrender, hands crossed, or to starve." Orange was fully aware of the
position of both places, but he was, as usual, sadly deficient in men and
means. He wrote imploringly to his friends in England, in France, in
Germany. He urged his brother Louis to bring a few soldiers, if it were
humanly possible. "The whole country longs for you," he wrote to Louis,
"as if you were the archangel Gabriel."

The Prince, however, did all that it was possible for man, so hampered,
to do. He was himself, while anxiously writing, hoping, and waiting for
supplies of troops from Germany or France, doing his best with such
volunteers as he could raise. He was still established at Sassenheim, on
the south of the city, while Sonoy with his slender forces was encamped
on the north. He now sent that general with as large a party as he could
muster to attack the Diemerdyk. His men entrenched themselves as strongly
as they could between the Diemer and the Y, at the same time opening the
sluices and breaking through the dyke. During the absence of their
commander, who had gone to Edam for reinforcements, they were attacked by
a large force from Amsterdam. A fierce amphibious contest took place,
partly in boats, partly on the slippery causeway, partly in the water,
resembling in character the frequent combats between the ancient
Batavians and Romans during the wars of Civilis. The patriots were
eventually overpowered.

Sonoy, who was on his way to their rescue, was frustrated in his design
by the unexpected faint-heartedness of the volunteers whom he had
enlisted at Edam. Braving a thousand perils, he advanced, almost
unattended, in his little vessel, but only to witness the overthrow and
expulsion of his band. It was too late for him singly to attempt to rally
the retreating troops. They had fought well, but had been forced to yield
before superior numbers, one individual of the little army having
performed prodigies of valor. John Haring, of Horn, had planted himself
entirely alone upon the dyke, where it was so narrow between the Y on the
one side and the Diemer Lake on the other, that two men could hardly
stand abreast. Here, armed with sword and shield, he had actually opposed
and held in check one thousand of the enemy, during a period long enough
to enable his own men, if they, had been willing, to rally, and
effectively to repel the attack. It was too late, the battle was too far
lost to be restored; but still the brave soldier held the post, till, by
his devotion, he had enabled all those of his compatriots who still
remained in the entrenchments to make good their retreat. He then plunged
into the sea, and, untouched by spear or bullet, effected his escape. Had
he been a Greek or a Roman, an Horatius or a Chabrias, his name would
have been famous in history--his statue erected in the market-place; for
the bold Dutchman on his dyke had manifested as much valor in a sacred
cause as the most classic heroes of antiquity.

This unsuccessful attempt to cut off the communication between Amsterdam
and the country strengthened the hopes of Alva. Several hundreds of the
patriots were killed or captured, and among the slain was Antony Oliver,
the painter, through whose agency Louis of Nassau had been introduced
into Mons. His head was cut off by two ensigns in Alva's service, who
received the price which had been set upon it of two thousand caroli. It
was then labelled with its owner's name, and thrown into the city of
Harlem. At the same time a new gibbet was erected in the Spanish camp
before the city, in a conspicuous situation, upon which all the prisoners
were hanged, some by the neck, some by the heels, in full view of their
countrymen. As usual, this especial act of cruelty excited the emulation
of the citizens. Two of the old board of magistrates, belonging to the
Spanish party, were still imprisoned at Harlem; together with seven other
persons, among whom was a priest and a boy of twelve years. They were now
condemned to the gallows. The wife of one of the ex-burgomasters and his
daughter, who was a beguin, went by his side as he was led to execution,
piously exhorting him to sustain with courage the execrations of the
populace and his ignominious doom. The rabble, irritated by such
boldness, were not satisfied with wreaking their vengeance on the
principal victims, but after the execution had taken place they hunted
the wife and daughter into the water, where they both perished. It is
right to record these instances of cruelty, sometimes perpetrated by the
patriots as well as by their oppressors--a cruelty rendered almost
inevitable by the incredible barbarity of the foreign invader. It was a
war of wolfish malignity. In the words of Mendoza, every man within and
without Harlem "seemed inspired by a spirit of special and personal
vengeance." The innocent blood poured out in Mechlin, Zutphen, Naarden,
and upon a thousand scaffolds, had been crying too long from the ground.
The Hollanders must have been more or less than men not to be sometimes
betrayed into acts which justice and reason must denounce. [No! It was as
evil for one side as the other. D.W.]

The singular mood which has been recorded of a high-spirited officer of
the garrison, Captain Corey, illustrated the horror with which such
scenes of carnage were regarded by noble natures. Of a gentle disposition
originally, but inflamed almost to insanity by a contemplation of Spanish
cruelty, he had taken up the profession of arms, to which he had a
natural repugnance. Brave to recklessness, he led his men on every daring
outbreak, on every perilous midnight adventure. Armed only with his
rapier, without defensive armor, he was ever found where the battle raged
most fiercely, and numerous were the victims who fell before his sword.
On returning, however, from such excursions, he invariably shut himself
in his quarters, took to his bed, and lay for days, sick with remorse,
and bitterly lamenting all that bloodshed in which he had so deeply
participated, and which a cruel fate seemed to render necessary. As the
gentle mood subsided, his frenzy would return, and again he would rush to
the field, to seek new havoc and fresh victims for his rage.

The combats before the walls were of almost daily occurrence. On the 25th
March, one thousand of the besieged made a brilliant sally, drove in all
the outposts of the enemy, burned three hundred tents, and captured seven
cannon, nine standards, and many wagon-loads of provisions, all which
they succeeded in bringing with them into the city.--Having thus
reinforced themselves, in a manner not often practised by the citizens of
a beleaguered town, in the very face of thirty thousand veterans--having
killed eight hundred of the enemy, which was nearly one for every man
engaged, while they lost but four of their own party--the Harlemers, on
their return, erected a trophy of funereal but exulting aspect. A mound
of earth was constructed upon the ramparts, in the form of a colossal
grave, in full view of the enemy's camp, and upon it were planted the
cannon and standards so gallantly won in the skirmish, with the taunting
inscription floating from the centre of the mound "Harlem is the
graveyard of the Spaniards."

Such were the characteristics of this famous siege during the winter and
early spring. Alva might well write to his sovereign, that "it was a war
such as never before was seen or heard of in any land on earth." Yet the
Duke had known near sixty years of warfare. He informed Philip that
"never was a place defended with such skill and bravery as Harlem, either
by rebels or by men fighting for their lawful Prince." Certainly his son
had discovered his mistake in asserting that the city would yield in a
week; while the father, after nearly six years' experience, had found
this "people of butter" less malleable than even those "iron people" whom
he boasted of having tamed. It was seen that neither the skies of Greece
or Italy, nor the sublime scenery of Switzerland, were necessary to
arouse the spirit of defiance to foreign oppression--a spirit which beat
as proudly among the wintry mists and the level meadows of Holland as it
had ever done under sunnier atmospheres and in more romantic lands.

Mendoza had accomplished his mission to Spain, and had returned with
supplies of money within six weeks from the date of his departure. Owing
to his representations and Alva's entreaties, Philip had, moreover,
ordered Requesens, governor of Milan, to send forward to the Netherlands
three veteran Spanish regiments, which were now more required at Harlem
than in Italy. While the land force had thus been strengthened, the fleet
upon the lake had also been largely increased. The Prince of Orange had,
on the other hand, provided more than a hundred sail of various
descriptions, so that the whole surface of the mere was now alive with
ships. Seafights and skirmishes took place almost daily, and it was
obvious that the life and death struggle was now to be fought upon the
water. So long as the Hollanders could hold or dispute the possession of
the lake, it was still possible to succor Harlem from time to time.
Should the Spaniards overcome the Prince's fleet, the city must
inevitably starve.

At last, on the 28th of May, a decisive engagement of the fleets took
place. The vessels grappled with each other, and there was a long,
fierce, hand-to-hand combat. Under Bossu were one hundred vessels; under
Martin Brand, admiral of the patriot fleet, nearly one hundred and fifty,
but of lesser dimensions. Batenhurg commanded the troops on board the
Dutch vessels. After a protracted conflict, in which several thousands
were killed, the victory was decided in favor of the Spaniards.
Twenty-two of the Prince's vessels being captured, and the rest totally
routed, Bossu swept across the lake in triumph. The forts belonging to
the patriots were immediately taken, and the Harlemers, with their
friends, entirely excluded from the lake.

This was the beginning of the end. Despair took possession of the city.
The whole population had been long subsisting upon an allowance of a
pound of bread to each man, and half-a-pound for each woman; but the
bread was now exhausted, the famine had already begun, and with the loss
of the lake starvation was close at their doors. They sent urgent
entreaties to, the Prince to attempt something in their behalf. Three
weeks more they assigned as the longest term during which they could
possibly hold out. He sent them word by carrier pigeons to endure yet a
little time, for he was assembling a force, and would still succeed in
furnishing them with supplies. Meantime, through the month of June the
sufferings of the inhabitants increased hourly. Ordinary food had long
since vanished. The population now subsisted on linseed and rape-seed; as
these supplies were exhausted they devoured cats, dogs, rats, and mice,
and when at last these unclean animals had been all consumed, they boiled
the hides of horses and oxen; they ate shoe-leather; they plucked the
nettles and grass from the graveyards, and the weeds which grew between
the stones of the pavement, that with such food they might still support
life a little longer, till the promised succor should arrive. Men, women,
and children fell dead by scores in the streets, perishing of pure
starvation, and the survivors had hardly the heart or the strength to
bury them out of their sight. They who yet lived seemed to flit like
shadows to and fro, envying those whose sufferings had already been
terminated by death.

Thus wore away the month of June. On the 1st of July the burghers
consented to a parley. Deputies were sent to confer with the besiegers,
but the negotiations were abruptly terminated, for no terms of compromise
were admitted by Don Frederic. On the 3rd a tremendous cannonade was
re-opened upon the city. One thousand and eight balls were
discharged--the most which had ever been thrown in one day, since the
commencement of the siege. The walls were severely shattered, but the
assault was not ordered, because the besiegers were assured that it was
physically impossible for the inhabitants to hold out many days longer. A
last letter, written in blood, was now despatched to the Prince of
Orange, stating the forlorn condition to which they were reduced. At the
same time, with the derision of despair, they flung into the hostile camp
the few loaves of bread which yet remained within the city walls. A day
or two later, a second and third parley were held, with no more
satisfactory result than had attended the first. A black flag was now
hoisted on the cathedral tower, the signal of despair to friend and foe,
but a pigeon soon afterwards flew into the town with a letter from the
Prince, begging them to maintain themselves two days longer, because
succor was approaching.

The Prince had indeed been doing all which, under the circumstances, was
possible. He assembled the citizens of Delft in the market-place, and
announced his intention of marching in person to the relief of the city,
in the face of the besieging army, if any troops could be obtained.
Soldiers there were none; but there was the deepest sympathy for Harlem
throughout its sister cities, Delft, Rotterdam, Gouda. A numerous mass of
burghers, many of them persons of station, all people of respectability,
volunteered to march to the rescue. The Prince highly disapproved of this
miscellaneous army, whose steadfastness he could not trust. As a soldier,
he knew that for such a momentous enterprise, enthusiasm could not supply
the place of experience. Nevertheless, as no regular troops could be had,
and as the emergency allowed no delay, he drew up a commission,
appointing Paulus Buys to be governor during his absence, and provisional
stadholder, should he fall in the expedition. Four thousand armed
volunteers, with six hundred mounted troopers, under Carlo de Noot, had
been assembled, and the Prince now placed himself at their head. There
was, however, a universal cry of remonstrance from the magistracies and
burghers of all the towns, and from the troops themselves, at this
project. They would not consent that a life so precious, so indispensable
to the existence of Holland, should be needlessly hazarded. It was
important to succor Harlem, but the Prince was of more value than many
cities. He at last reluctantly consented, therefore, to abandon the
command of the expedition to Baron Batenburg, the less willingly from the
want of confidence which he could not help feeling in the character of
the forces. On the 8th of July, at dusk, the expedition set forth from
Sassenheim. It numbered nearly five thousand men, who had with them four
hundred wagon-loads of provisions and seven field-pieces. Among the
volunteers, Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious in the history of
the Republic; marched in the ranks, with his musket on his shoulder. Such
was a sample of the spirit which pervaded the population of the province.

Batenburg came to a halt in the woods of Nordwyk, on the south aide of
the city, where he remained till midnight. All seemed still in the
enemy's camp. After prayers, he gave orders to push forward, hoping to
steal through the lines of his sleeping adversaries and accomplish the
relief by surprise. He was destined to be bitterly disappointed. His
plans and his numbers were thoroughly known to the Spaniards, two doves,
bearing letters which contained the details of the intended expedition,
having been shot and brought into Don Frederic's camp.

The citizens, it appeared, had broken through the curtain work on the
side where Batenburg was expected, in order that a sally might be made in
co-operation with the relieving force, as soon as it should appear.
Signal fires had been agreed upon, by which the besieged were to be made
aware of the approach of their friends. The Spanish Commander accordingly
ordered a mass of green branches, pitch, and straw, to be lighted
opposite to the gap in the city wall. Behind it he stationed five
thousand picked troops. Five thousand more, with a force of cavalry, were
placed in the neighbourhood of the downs, with orders to attack the
patriot army on the left. Six regiments, under Romero, were ordered to
move eastward, and assail their right. The dense mass of smoke concealed
the beacon lights displayed by Batenburg from the observation of the
townspeople, and hid the five thousand Spaniards from the advancing
Hollanders. As Batenburg emerged from the wood, he found himself attacked
by a force superior to his own, while a few minutes later he was entirely
enveloped by overwhelming numbers. The whole Spanish army was, indeed;
under arms, and had been expecting him for two days. The unfortunate
citizens alone were ignorant of his arrival. The noise of the conflict
they supposed to be a false alarm created by the Spaniards, to draw them
into their camp; and they declined a challenge which they were in no
condition to accept.

Batenburg was soon slain, and his troops utterly routed. The number
killed was variously estimated at from six hundred to two and even three
thousand. It is, at any rate, certain that the whole force was entirely
destroyed or dispersed, and the attempt to relieve the city completely
frustrated. The death of Batenburg was the less regretted, because he was
accused, probably with great injustice, of having been intoxicated at the
time of action, and therefore incapable of properly, conducting the
enterprise entrusted to him.

The Spaniards now cut off the nose and ears of a prisoner and sent him
into the city, to announce the news, while a few heads were also thrown
over the walls to confirm the intelligence. When this decisive overthrow
became known in Delft, there was even an outbreak of indignation against
Orange. According to a statement of Alva, which, however, is to be
received with great distrust, some of the populace wished to sack the
Prince's house, and offered him personal indignities. Certainly, if these
demonstrations were made, popular anger was never more senseless; but the
tale rests entirely, upon a vague assertion of the Duke, and is entirely,
at variance with every other contemporaneous account of these
transactions. It had now become absolutely, necessary, however, for the
heroic but wretched town to abandon itself to its fate. It was impossible
to attempt anything more in its behalf. The lake and its forts were in
the hands of the enemy, the best force which could be mustered to make
head against the besieging army had been cut to pieces, and the Prince of
Orange, with a heavy heart, now sent word that the burghers were to make
the best terms they could with the enemy.

The tidings of despair created a terrible commotion in the starving city.
There was no hope either in submission or resistance. Massacre or
starvation was the only alternative. But if there was no hope within the
walls, without there was still a soldier's death. For a moment the
garrison and the able-bodied citizens resolved to advance from the gates
in a solid column, to cut their way through the enemy's camp, or to
perish on the field. It was thought that the helpless and the infirm, who
would alone be left in the city, might be treated with indulgence after
the fighting men had all been slain. At any rate, by remaining the strong
could neither protect nor comfort them. As soon, however, as this resolve
was known, there was such wailing and outcry of women and children as
pierced the hearts of the soldiers and burghers, and caused them to
forego the project. They felt that it was cowardly not to die in their
presence. It was then determined to form all the females, the sick, the
aged, and the children, into a square, to surround them with all the
able-bodied men who still remained, and thus arrayed to fight their way
forth from the gates, and to conquer by the strength of despair, or at
least to perish all together.

These desperate projects, which the besieged were thought quite capable
of executing, were soon known in the Spanish camp. Don Frederic felt,
after what he had witnessed in the past seven months, that there was
nothing which the Harlemers could not do or dare. He feared lest they
should set fire to their city, and consume their houses, themselves, and
their children, to ashes together; and he was unwilling that the fruits
of his victory, purchased at such a vast expense, should be snatched from
his hand as he was about to gather them. A letter was accordingly, by his
order, sent to the magistracy and leading citizens, in the name of Count
Overstein, commander of the German forces in the besieging army. This
despatch invited a surrender at discretion, but contained the solemn
assurance that no punishment should be inflicted except upon those who,
in the judgment of the citizens themselves, had deserved it, and promised
ample forgiveness if the town should submit without further delay. At the
moment of sending this letter, Don Frederic was in possession of strict
orders from his father not to leave a man alive of the garrison,
excepting only the Germans, and to execute besides a large number of the
burghers. These commands he dared not disobey,--even if he had felt any
inclination to do so. In consequence of the semi-official letter of
Overstein, however, the city formally surrendered at discretion on the
12th July.

The great bell was tolled, and orders were issued that all arms in the
possession of the garrison or the inhabitants should be brought to the
town-house. The men were then ordered to assemble in the cloister of Zyl,
the women in the cathedral. On the same day, Don Frederic, accompanied by
Count Bossu and a numerous staff, rode into the city. The scene which met
his view might have moved a heart of stone. Everywhere was evidence of
the misery which had been so bravely endured during that seven months'
siege. The smouldering ruins of houses, which had been set on fire by
balls, the shattered fortifications, the felled trunks of trees, upturned
pavements, broken images and other materials for repairing gaps made by
the daily cannonade, strewn around in all directions, the skeletons of
unclean animals from which the flesh had been gnawed, the unburied bodies
of men and women who had fallen dead in the public thoroughfares--more
than all, the gaunt and emaciated forms of those who still survived, the
ghosts of their former, selves, all might have induced at least a doubt
whether the suffering inflicted already were not a sufficient punishment,
even for crimes so deep as heresy and schism. But this was far from being
the sentiment of Don Frederic. He seemed to read defiance as well as
despair in the sunken eyes which glared upon him as he entered the place,
and he took no thought of the pledge which he had informally but sacredly
given.

All the officers of the garrison were at once arrested. Some of them had
anticipated the sentence of their conqueror by a voluntary death. Captain
Bordet, a French officer of distinction, like Brutus, compelled his
servant to hold the sword upon which he fell, rather than yield himself
alive to the vengeance of the Spaniards. Traits of generosity were not
wanting. Instead of Peter Hasselaer, a young officer who had displayed
remarkable bravery throughout the siege, the Spaniards by. mistake
arrested his cousin Nicholas. The prisoner was suffering himself to be
led away to the inevitable scaffold without remonstrance, when Peter
Hasselaer pushed his way violently through the ranks of the captors. "If
you want Ensign Hasselaer, I am the man. Let this innocent person
depart," he cried. Before the sun set his head had fallen. All the
officers were taken to the House of Kleef, where they were immediately
executed.--Captain Ripperda, who had so heroically rebuked the craven
conduct of the magistracy, whose eloquence had inflamed the soldiers and
citizens to resistance, and whose skill and courage had sustained the
siege so long, was among the first to suffer. A natural son of Cardinal
Granvelle, who could have easily saved his life by proclaiming a
parentage which he loathed, and Lancelot Brederode, an illegitimate scion
of that ancient house, were also among these earliest victims.

The next day Alva came over to the camp. He rode about the place,
examining the condition of the fortifications from the outside, but
returned to Amsterdam without having entered the city. On the following
morning the massacre commenced. The plunder had been commuted for two
hundred and forty thousand guilders, which the citizens bound themselves
to pay in four instalments; but murder was an indispensable accompaniment
of victory, and admitted of no compromise. Moreover, Alva had already
expressed the determination to effect a general massacre upon this
occasion. The garrison, during the siege, had been reduced from four
thousand to eighteen hundred. Of these the Germans, six hundred in
number, were, by Alva's order, dismissed, on a pledge to serve no more
against the King. All the rest of the garrison were immediately
butchered, with at least as many citizens. Drummers went about the city
daily, proclaiming that all who harbored persons having, at any former
period, been fugitives, were immediately to give them up, on pain of
being instantly hanged themselves in their own doors. Upon these refugees
and upon the soldiery fell the brunt of the slaughter; although, from day
to day, reasons were perpetually discovered for putting to death every
individual at all distinguished by service, station, wealth, or liberal
principles; for the carnage could not be accomplished at once, but, with
all the industry and heartiness employed, was necessarily protracted
through several days. Five executioners, with their attendants, were kept
constantly at work; and when at last they were exhausted with fatigue, or
perhaps sickened with horror, three hundred wretches were tied two and
two, back to back, and drowned in the Harlem Lake.

At last, after twenty-three hundred human creatures had been murdered in
cold blood, within a city where so many thousands had previously perished
by violent or by lingering deaths; the blasphemous farce of a pardon was
enacted. Fifty-seven of the most prominent burghers of the place were,
however, excepted from the act of amnesty, and taken into custody as
security for the future good conduct of the other citizens. Of these
hostages some were soon executed, some died in prison, and all would have
been eventually sacrificed, had not the naval defeat of Bossu soon
afterwards enabled the Prince of Orange to rescue the remaining
prisoners. Ten thousand two hundred and fifty-six shots had been
discharged against the walls during the siege. Twelve thousand of the
besieging army had died of wounds or disease, during the seven months and
two days, between the investment and the surrender. In the earlier part
of August, after the executions had been satisfactorily accomplished, Don
Frederic made his triumphal entry, and the first chapter in the invasion
of Holland was closed. Such was the memorable siege of Harlem, an event
in which we are called upon to wonder equally at human capacity to
inflict and to endure misery.

The Spaniards celebrated a victory, while in Utrecht they made an effigy
of the Prince of Orange, which they carried about in procession, broke
upon the wheel, and burned. It was, however, obvious, that if the
reduction of Harlem were a triumph, it was one which the conquerors might
well exchange for a defeat. At any rate, it was certain that the Spanish
empire was not strong enough to sustain many more such victories. If it
had required thirty thousand choice troops, among which were three
regiments called by Alva respectively, the "Invincibles," the
"Immortals," and the "None-such," to conquer the weakest city of Holland
in seven months, and with the loss of twelve thousand men; how many men,
how long a time, and how many deaths would it require to reduce the rest
of that little province? For, as the sack of Naarden had produced the
contrary effect from the one intended, inflaming rather than subduing the
spirit of Dutch resistance, so the long and glorious defence of Harlem,
notwithstanding its tragical termination, had only served to strain to
the highest pitch the hatred and patriotism of the other cities in the
province. Even the treasures of the New World were inadequate to pay for
the conquest of that little sand-bank. Within five years, twenty-five
millions of florins had been sent from Spain for war expenses in the
Netherlands.--Yet, this amount, with the addition of large sums annually
derived from confiscations, of five millions, at which the proceeds of
the hundredth penny was estimated, and the two millions yearly, for which
the tenth and twentieth pence had been compounded, was insufficient to
save the treasury from beggary and the unpaid troops from mutiny.

Nevertheless, for the moment the joy created was intense. Philip was
lying dangerously ill at the wood of Segovia, when the happy tidings of
the reduction of Harlem, with its accompanying butchery, arrived. The
account of all this misery, minutely detailed to him by Alva, acted like
magic. The blood of twenty-three hundred of his fellow-creatures--coldly
murdered, by his orders, in a single city--proved for the sanguinary
monarch the elixir of life: he drank and was refreshed. "The principal
medicine which has cured his Majesty," wrote Secretary Cayas from Madrid
to Alva, "is the joy caused to him by the good news which you have
communicated of the surrender of Harlem." In the height of his
exultation, the King forgot how much dissatisfaction he had recently felt
with the progress of events in the Netherlands; how much treasure had
been annually expended with an insufficient result. "Knowing your
necessity," continued Cayas, "his Majesty instantly sent for Doctor
Velasco, and ordered him to provide you with funds, if he had to descend
into the earth to dig for it." While such was the exultation of the
Spaniards, the Prince of Orange was neither dismayed nor despondent. As
usual, he trusted to a higher power than man. "I had hoped to send you
better news," he wrote, to Count Louis, "nevertheless, since it has
otherwise pleased the good God, we must conform ourselves to His divine
will. I take the same God to witness that I have done everything
according to my means, which was possible, to succor the city." A few
days later, writing in the same spirit, he informed his brother that the
Zealanders had succeeded in capturing the castle of Rammekens, on the
isle of Walcheren. "I hope," he said, "that this will reduce the pride of
our enemies, who, after the surrender of Harlem, have thought that they
were about to swallow us alive. I assure myself, however, that they will
find a very different piece of work from the one which they expect."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
     Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
     Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
     Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
     Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
     Sent them word by carrier pigeons
     Three hundred fighting women
     Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
     Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 21.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1573 [CHAPTER IX.]

   Position of Alva--Hatred entertained for him by elevated personages
   --Quarrels between him and Medina Coeli--Departure of the latter--
   Complaints to the King by each of the other--Attempts at
   conciliation addressed by government to the people of the
   Netherlands--Grotesque character of the address--Mutinous
   demonstration of the Spanish troops--Secret overtures to Orange--
   Obedience, with difficulty, restored by Alva--Commencement of the
   siege of Alkmaar--Sanguinary menaces of the Duke--Encouraging and
   enthusiastic language of the Prince--Preparations in Alkmaar for
   defence--The first assault steadily repulsed--Refusal of the
   soldiers to storm a second time--Expedition of the Carpenter-envoy--
   Orders of the Prince to flood the country--The Carpenter's
   despatches in the enemy's hands--Effect produced upon the Spaniards
   --The siege raised--Negotiations of Count Louis with France--
   Uneasiness and secret correspondence of the Duke--Convention with
   the English government--Objects pursued by Orange--Cruelty of De la
   Marck--His dismissal from office and subsequent death--Negotiations
   with France--Altered tone of the French court with regard to the St.
   Bartholomew--Ill effects of the crime upon the royal projects--
   Hypocrisy of the Spanish government--Letter of Louis to Charles IX.
   --Complaints of Charles IX.--Secret aspirations of that monarch and
   of Philip--Intrigues concerning the Polish election--Renewed
   negotiations between Schomberg and Count Louis, with consent of
   Orange--Conditions prescribed by the Prince--Articles of secret
   alliance--Remarkable letter of Count Louis to Charles IX.--
   Responsible and isolated situation of Orange--The "Address" and the
   "Epistle"--Religious sentiments of the Prince--Naval action on the
   Zuyder Zee--Captivity of Bossu and of Saint Aldegonde--Odious
   position of Alva--His unceasing cruelty--Execution of Uitenhoove--
   Fraud practised by Alva upon his creditors--Arrival of Requesens,
   the new Governor-General--Departure of Alva--Concluding remarks upon
   his administration.

For the sake of continuity in the narrative, the siege of Harlem has been
related until its conclusion. This great event constituted, moreover, the
principal stuff in Netherland, history, up to the middle of the year
1573. A few loose threads must be now taken up before we can proceed
farther.

Alva had for some time felt himself in a false and uncomfortable
position. While he continued to be the object of a popular hatred as
intense as ever glowed, he had gradually lost his hold upon those who, at
the outset of his career, had been loudest and lowest in their
demonstrations of respect. "Believe me," wrote Secretary Albornoz to
Secretary Cayas, "this people abhor our nation worse than they abhor the
Devil. As for the Duke of Alva, they foam at the mouth when they hear his
name." Viglius, although still maintaining smooth relations with the
Governor, had been, in reality, long since estranged from him. Even
Aerschot, far whom the Duke had long maintained an intimacy half
affectionate, half contemptuous, now began to treat him with a contumely
which it was difficult for so proud a stomach to digest.

But the main source of discomfort was doubtless the presence of Medina
Coeli. This was the perpetual thorn in his side, which no cunning could
extract. A successor who would not and could not succeed him, yet who
attended him as his shadow and his evil genius--a confidential colleague
who betrayed his confidence, mocked his projects, derided his authority,
and yet complained of ill treatment--a rival who was neither compeer nor
subaltern, and who affected to be his censor--a functionary of a purely
anomalous character, sheltering himself under his abnegation of an
authority which he had not dared to assume, and criticising measures
which he was not competent to grasp;--such was the Duke of Medina Coeli
in Alva's estimation.

The bickering between the two Dukes became unceasing and disgraceful. Of
course, each complained to the King, and each, according to his own
account, was a martyr to the other's tyranny, but the meekness manifested
by Alva; in all his relations with the new comer, was wonderful, if we
are to believe the accounts furnished by himself and by his confidential
secretary. On the other hand, Medina Coeli wrote to the King, complaining
of Alva in most unmitigated strains, and asserting that he was himself
never allowed to see any despatches, nor to have the slightest
information as to the policy of the government. He reproached, the Duke
with shrinking from personal participation in military operations, and
begged the royal forgiveness if he withdrew from a scene where he felt
himself to be superfluous.

Accordingly, towards the end of November, he took his departure, without
paying his respects. The Governor complained to the King of this
unceremonious proceeding, and assured His Majesty that never were
courtesy and gentleness so ill requited as his had been by this ingrate
and cankered Duke. "He told me," said Alva, "that if I did not stay in
the field, he would not remain with me in peaceful cities, and he asked
me if I intended to march into Holland with the troops which were to
winter there. I answered, that I should go wherever it was necessary,
even should I be obliged to swim through all the canals of Holland."
After giving these details, the Duke added, with great appearance of
candor and meekness, that he was certain Medina Coeli had only been
influenced by extreme zeal for His Majesty's service, and that, finding,
so little for him to do in the Netherlands, he had become dissatisfied
with his position.

Immediately after the fall of Harlem, another attempt was made by Alva to
win back the allegiance of the other cities by proclamations. It had
become obvious to the Governor that so determined a resistance on the
part of the first place besieged augured many long campaigns before the
whole province could be subdued. A circular was accordingly issued upon
the 26th July from Utrecht, and published immediately afterwards in all
the cities of the Netherlands. It was a paper of singular character,
commingling an affectation of almost ludicrous clemency, with honest and
hearty brutality. There was consequently something very grotesque about
the document. Philip, in the outset, was made to sustain towards his
undutiful subjects the characters of the brooding hen and the prodigal's
father; a range of impersonation hardly to be allowed him, even by the
most abject flattery. "Ye are well aware," thus ran the address, "that
the King has, over and over again, manifested his willingness to receive
his children, in however forlorn a condition the prodigals might return.
His Majesty assures you once more that your sins, however black they may
have been, shall be forgiven and forgotten in the plenitude of royal
kindness, if you repent and return in season to his Majesty's embrace.
Notwithstanding your manifold crimes, his Majesty still seeks, like a hen
calling her chickens, to gather you all under the parental wing. The King
hereby warns you once more, therefore, to place yourselves in his royal
hands, and not to wait for his rage, cruelty, and fury, and the approach
of his army."

The affectionate character of the address, already fading towards the end
of the preamble, soon changes to bitterness. The domestic maternal fowl
dilates into the sanguinary dragon as the address proceeds. "But if,"
continues the monarch, "ye disregard these offers of mercy, receiving
them with closed ears, as heretofore, then we warn you that there is no
rigor, nor cruelty, however great, which you are not to expect by laying
waste, starvation, and the sword, in such manner that nowhere shall
remain a relic of that which at present exists, but his Majesty will
strip bare and utterly depopulate the land, and cause it to be inhabited
again by strangers; since otherwise his Majesty could not believe that
the will of God and of his Majesty had been accomplished."

It is almost superfluous to add that this circular remained fruitless.
The royal wrath, thus blasphemously identifying itself with divine
vengeance, inspired no terror, the royal blandishments no affection.

The next point of attack was the city of Alkmaar, situate quite at the
termination of the Peninsula, among the lagunes and redeemed prairies of
North Holland. The Prince of Orange had already provided it with a small
garrison. The city had been summoned to surrender by the middle of July,
and had returned a bold refusal.--Meantime, the Spaniards had retired
from before the walls, while the surrender and chastisement of Harlem
occupied them during the next succeeding weeks. The month of August,
moreover, was mainly consumed by Alva in quelling a dangerous and
protracted mutiny, which broke out among the Spanish soldiers at
Harlem--between three and four thousand of them having been quartered
upon the ill-fated population of that city.

Unceasing misery was endured by the inhabitants at the hands of the
ferocious Spaniards, flushed with victory, mutinous for long arrears of
pay, and greedy for the booty which had been denied. At times, however,
the fury of the soldiery was more violently directed against their own
commanders than against the enemy. A project was even formed by the
malcontent troops to deliver Harlem into the hands of Orange. A party of
them, disguised as Baltic merchants, waited upon the Prince at Delft, and
were secretly admitted to his bedside before he had risen. They declared
to him that they were Spanish soldiers, who had compassion on his cause,
were dissatisfied with their own government, and were ready, upon receipt
of forty thousand guilders, to deliver the city into his hands. The
Prince took the matter into consideration, and promised to accept the
offer if he could raise the required sum. This, however, he found himself
unable to do within the stipulated time, and thus, for want of so paltry
a sum, the offer was of necessity declined.

Various were the excesses committed by the insubordinate troops in every
province in the Netherlands upon the long-suffering inhabitants.
"Nothing," wrote Alva, "had given him so much pain during his forty years
of service." He avowed his determination to go to Amsterdam in order to
offer himself as a hostage to the soldiery, if by so doing he could quell
the mutiny. He went to Amsterdam accordingly, where by his exertions,
ably seconded by those of the Marquis Vitelli, and by the payment of
thirty crowns to each soldier--fourteen on account of arrearages and
sixteen as his share in the Harlem compensation money--the rebellion was
appeased, and obedience restored.

There was now leisure for the General to devote his whole energies
against the little city of Alkmaar. On that bank and shoal, the extreme
verge of habitable earth, the spirit of Holland's Freedom stood at bay.
The grey towers of Egmont Castle and of Egmont Abbey rose between the
city and the sea, and there the troops sent by the Prince of Orange were
quartered during the very brief period in which the citizens wavered as
to receiving them. The die was soon cast, however, and the Prince's
garrison admitted. The Spaniards advanced, burned the village of Egmont
to the ground as soon as the patriots had left it, and on the 21st of
August Don Frederic, appearing before the walls, proceeded formally to
invest Allanaar. In a few days this had been so thoroughly accomplished
that, in Alva's language, "it was impossible for a sparrow to enter or go
out of the city." The odds were somewhat unequal. Sixteen thousand
veteran troops constituted the besieging force. Within the city were a
garrison of eight hundred soldiers, together with thirteen hundred
burghers, capable of bearing arms. The rest of the population consisted
of a very few refugees, besides the women and children. Two thousand one
hundred able-bodied men, of whom only about one-third were soldiers, to
resist sixteen thousand regulars.

Nor was there any doubt as to the fate which was reserved for them,
should they succumb. The Duke was vociferous at the ingratitude with
which his clemency had hitherto been requited. He complained bitterly of
the ill success which had attended his monitory circulars; reproached
himself with incredible vehemence, for his previous mildness, and
protested that, after having executed only twenty-three hundred persons
at the surrender of Harlem, besides a few additional burghers since, he
had met with no correspondent demonstrations of affection. He promised
himself, however, an ample compensation for all this ingratitude, in the
wholesale vengeance which he purposed to wreak upon Alkmaar. Already he
gloated in anticipation over the havoc which would soon be let loose
within those walls. Such ravings, if invented by the pen of fiction,
would seem a puerile caricature; proceeding, authentically, from his
own,--they still appear almost too exaggerated for belief. "If I take
Alkmaar," he wrote to Philip, "I am resolved not to leave a single
creature alive; the knife shall be put to every throat. Since the example
of Harlem has proved of no use, perhaps an example of cruelty will bring
the other cities to their senses."

He took occasion also to read a lecture to the party of conciliation in
Madrid, whose counsels, as he believed, his sovereign was beginning to
heed. Nothing, he maintained, could be more senseless than the idea of
pardon and clemency. This had been sufficiently proved by recent events.
It was easy for people at a distance to talk about gentleness, but those
upon the spot knew better. Gentleness had produced nothing, so far;
violence alone could succeed in future. "Let your Majesty," he said, "be
disabused of the impression, that with kindness anything can be done with
these people. Already have matters reached such a point that many of
those born in the country, who have hitherto advocated clemency, are now
undeceived, and acknowledge--their mistake. They are of opinion that not
a living soul should be left in Alkmaar, but that every individual should
be put to the sword." At the same time he took occasion, even in these
ferocious letters, which seem dripping with blood, to commend his own
natural benignity of disposition. "Your Majesty may be certain," he said,
"that no man on earth desires the path of clemency more than I do,
notwithstanding my particular hatred for heretics and traitors." It was
therefore with regret that he saw himself obliged to take the opposite
course, and to stifle all his gentler sentiments.

Upon Diedrich Sonoy, Lieutenant-Governor for Orange in the province of
North Holland, devolved the immediate responsibility of defending this
part of the country. As the storm rolled slowly up from the south, even
that experienced officer became uneasy at the unequal conflict impending.
He despatched a letter to his chief, giving a gloomy picture of his
position. All looked instinctively towards the Prince, as to a God in
their time of danger; all felt as if upon his genius and fortitude
depended the whole welfare of the fatherland. It was hoped, too, that
some resource had been provided in a secret foreign alliance. "If your
princely grace," wrote Sonoy, "have made a contract for assistance with
any powerful potentate, it is of the highest importance that it should be
known to all the cities, in order to put an end to the emigration, and to
console the people in their affliction."

The answer, of the Prince was full of lofty enthusiasm. He reprimanded
with gentle but earnest eloquence the despondency and little faith of his
lieutenant and other adherents. He had not expected, he said, that they
would have so soon forgotten their manly courage. They seemed to consider
the whole fate of the country attached to the city of Harlem. He took God
to witness that--he had spared no pains, and would willingly have spared
no drop of his blood to save that devoted city. "But as, notwithstanding
our efforts," he continued, "it has pleased God Almighty to dispose of
Harlem according to His divine will, shall we, therefore, deny and deride
His holy word? Has the strong arm of the Lord thereby grown weaker? Has
his Church therefore come to caught? You ask if I have entered into a
firm treaty with any great king or potentate, to which I answer, that
before I ever took up the cause of the oppressed Christians in these
provinces, I had entered into a close alliance with the King of kings;
and I am firmly convinced that all who put their trust in Him shall be
saved by His almighty hand. The God of armies will raise up armies for us
to do battle with our enemies sad His own." In conclusion, he stated his
preparations for attacking the enemy by sea as well as by land, and
encouraged his lieutenant and the citizens of the northern quarter to
maintain a bold front before the advancing foe.

And now, with the dismantled and desolate Harlem before their eyes, a
prophetic phantom, perhaps, of their own imminent fate, did the handful
of people shut up within Alkmaar prepare for the worst. Their main hope
lay in the friendly sea. The vast sluices called the Zyp, through which
an inundation of the whole northern province could be very soon effected,
were but a few miles distant. By opening these gates, and by piercing a
few dykes, the ocean might be made to fight for them. To obtain this
result, however, the consent of the inhabitants was requisite, as the
destruction of all the standing crops would be inevitable. The city was
so closely invested, that it was a matter of life and death to venture
forth, and it was difficult, therefore, to find an envoy for this
hazardous mission. At last, a carpenter in the city, Peter Van der Mey by
name, undertook the adventure, and was entrusted with letters to Sonoy,
to the Prince of Orange, and to the leading personages, in several cities
of the province: These papers were enclosed in a hollow walking-staff,
carefully made fast at the top.

Affairs soon approached a crisis within the beleaguered city. Daily
skirmishes, without decisive result; had taken place outside the walls.
At last, on the 18th of September, after a steady cannonade of nearly
twelve hours, Don Frederic, at three in the afternoon, ordered an
assault. Notwithstanding his seven months' experience at Harlem, he still
believed it certain that he should carry Alkmaar by storm. The attack
took place at once upon the Frisian gate and upon the red tower on the
opposite side. Two choice regiments, recently arrived from Lombardy; led
the onset, rending the air with their shouts, and confident of an easy
victory. They were sustained by what seemed an overwhelming force of
disciplined troops. Yet never, even in the recent history of Harlem, had
an attack been received by more dauntless breasts. Every living man was
on the walls. The storming parties were assailed with cannon, with
musketry, with pistols. Boiling water, pitch and oil, molten lead, and
unslaked lime, were poured upon them every moment. Hundreds of tarred and
burning hoops were skilfully quoited around the necks of the soldiers,
who struggled in vain to extricate themselves from these fiery ruffs,
while as fast as any of the invaders planted foot upon the breach, they
were confronted face to face with sword and dagger by the burghers, who
hurled them headlong into the moat below.

Thrice was the attack renewed with ever-increasing rage--thrice repulsed
with unflinching fortitude. The storm continued four hours long. During
all that period, not one of the defenders left his post, till he dropped
from it dead or wounded. The women and children, unscared by the balls
flying in every direction, or by the hand-to-hand conflicts on the
ramparts; passed steadily to and fro from the arsenals to the
fortifications, constantly supplying their fathers, husbands, and
brothers with powder and ball. Thus, every human being in the city that
could walk had become a soldier. At last darkness fell upon the scene.
The trumpet of recal was sounded, and the Spaniards, utterly discomfited,
retired from the walls, leaving at least one thousand dead in the
trenches, while only thirteen burghers and twenty-four of the garrison
lost their lives. Thus was Alkmaar preserved for a little longer--thus a
large and well-appointed army signally defeated by a handful of men
fighting for their firesides and altars. Ensign Solis, who had mounted
the breach for an instant, and miraculously escaped with life, after
having been hurled from the battlements, reported that he had seen
"neither helmet nor harness," as he looked down into the city: only some
plain-looking people, generally dressed like fishermen. Yet these
plain-looking fishermen had defeated the veterans of Alva.

The citizens felt encouraged by the results of that day's work. Moreover,
they already possessed such information concerning the condition of
affairs in the camp of the enemy as gave them additional confidence. A
Spaniard, named Jeronimo, had been taken prisoner and brought into the
city. On receiving a promise of pardon, he had revealed many secrets
concerning the position and intentions of the besieging army. It is
painful to add that the prisoner, notwithstanding his disclosures and the
promise under which they had been made, was treacherously executed. He
begged hard for his life as he was led to the gallows, offering fresh
revelations, which, however, after the ample communications already made,
were esteemed superfluous. Finding this of no avail, he promised his
captors, with perfect simplicity, to go down on his knees and worship the
Devil precisely as they did, if by so doing he might obtain mercy. It may
be supposed that such a proposition was not likely to gain additional
favor for him in the eyes of these rigid Calvinists, and the poor wretch
was accordingly hanged.

The day following the assault, a fresh cannonade was opened upon the
city. Seven hundred shots having been discharged, the attack was ordered.
It was in vain: neither threats nor entreaties could induce the
Spaniards, hitherto so indomitable, to mount the breach. The place seemed
to their imagination protected by more than mortal powers; otherwise how
was it possible that a few half-starved fishermen could already have so
triumphantly overthrown the time-honored legions of Spain. It was
thought, no doubt, that the Devil, whom they worshipped, would continue
to protect his children. Neither the entreaties nor the menaces of Don
Frederic were of any avail. Several soldiers allowed themselves to be run
through the body by their own officers, rather than advance to the walls;
and the assault was accordingly postponed to an indefinite period.

Meantime, as Governor Sonoy had opened many of the dykes, the land in the
neighbourhood of the camp was becoming plashy, although as yet the
threatened inundation had not taken place. The soldiers were already very
uncomfortable and very refractory. The carpenter-envoy had not been idle,
having, upon the 26th September, arrived at Sonoy's quarters, bearing
letters from the Prince of Orange. These despatches gave distinct
directions to Sonoy to flood the countlv at all risks; rather than allow
Alkmaar to, fall into the enemy's hands. The dykes and sluices were to be
protected by a strong guard, lest the peasants, in order to save their
crops, should repair or close them in the night-time. The letters of
Orange were copied, and, together with fresh communications from Sonoy,
delivered to the carpenter. A note on the margin of the Prince's letter,
directed the citizens to kindle four beacon fires in specified places, as
soon as it should prove necessary to resort to extreme measures. When
that moment should arrive, it was solemnly promised that an inundation
should be created which should sweep the whole Spanish army into the sea.
The work had, in fact, been commenced. The Zyp and other sluices had
already been opened, and a vast body of water, driven by a strong
north-west wind, had rushed in from the ocean. It needed only that two
great dykes should be pierced to render the deluge and the desolation
complete. The harvests were doomed to destruction, and a frightful loss
of property rendered inevitable, but, at any rate, the Spaniards, if this
last measure were taken, must fly or perish to a man.

This decisive blow having been thus ordered and promised; the carpenter
set forth towards the city. He was, however, not so successful in
accomplishing his entrance unmolested, as he had been in effecting his
departure. He narrowly escaped with his life in passing through the
enemy's lines, and while occupied in saving himself was so unlucky, or,
as it proved, so fortunate, as to lose the stick in which his despatches
were enclosed. He made good his entrance into the city, where, byword of
mouth, he encouraged his fellow-burghers as to the intentions of the
Prince and Sonoy. In the meantime his letters were laid before the
general of the besieging army. The resolution taken by Orange, of which
Don Frederic was thus unintentionally made aware, to flood the country
far and near, rather than fail to protect Alkmaar, made a profound
impression upon his mind. It was obvious that he was dealing with a
determined leader and with desperate men. His attempt to carry the place
by storm had signally failed, and he could not deceive himself as to the
temper and disposition of his troops ever since that repulse. When it
should become known that they were threatened with submersion in the
ocean, in addition to all the other horrors of war, he had reason to
believe that they would retire ignominiously from that remote and
desolate sand hook, where, by remaining, they could only find a watery
grave. These views having been discussed in a council of officers, the
result was reached that sufficient had been already accomplished for the
glory of Spanish arms. Neither honor nor loyalty, it was thought,
required that sixteen thousand soldiers should be sacrificed in a
contest, not with man but with the ocean.

On the 8th of October, accordingly, the siege, which had lasted seven
weeks, was raised, and Don Frederic rejoined his father in Amsterdam.
Ready to die in the last ditch, and to overwhelm both themselves and
their foes in a common catastrophe the Hollanders had at last compelled
their haughty enemy to fly from a position which he had so insolently
assumed.

These public transactions and military operations were not the only
important events which affected the fate of Holland and its sister
provinces at this juncture. The secret relations which had already been
renewed between Louis of Nassau, as plenipotentiary of his brother and
the French court, had for some time excited great uneasiness in the mind
of Alva. Count Louis was known to be as skilful a negotiator as he was
valiant and accomplished as a soldier. His frankness and boldness created
confidence. The "brave spirit in the loyal breast" inspired all his
dealing; his experience and quick perception of character prevented his
becoming a dupe of even the most adroit politicians, while his truth of
purpose made him incapable either of overreaching an ally or of betraying
a trust. His career indicated that diplomacy might be sometimes
successful, even although founded upon sincerity.

Alva secretly expressed to his sovereign much suspicion of France. He
reminded him that Charles IX.; during the early part of the preceding
year, had given the assurance that he was secretly dealing with Louis of
Nassau, only that he might induce the Count to pass over to Philip's
service. At the same time Charles had been doing all he could to succor
Moos, and had written the memorable letter which had fallen into Alva's
hands on the capture of Genlis, and which expressed such a fixed
determination to inflict a deadly blow upon the King, whom the writer was
thus endeavouring to cajole. All this the Governor recalled to the
recollection of his sovereign. In view of this increasing repugnance of
the English court, Alva recommended that fair words should be employed;
hinting, however, that it would be by no means necessary for his master
to consider himself very strictly bound by any such pledges to Elizabeth,
if they should happen to become inconveniently pressing. "A monarch's
promises," he delicately suggested, "were not to be considered so sacred
as those of humbler mortals. Not that the King should directly violate
his word, but at the same time," continued the Duke, "I have thought all
my life, and I have learned it from the Emperor, your Majesty's father,
that the negotiations of kings depend upon different principles from
those of us private gentlemen who walk the world; and in this manner I
always observed that your Majesty's father, who was, so great a gentleman
and so powerful a prince, conducted his affairs." The Governor took
occasion, likewise, to express his regrets at the awkward manner in which
the Ridolfi scheme had been managed. Had he been consulted at an earlier
day, the affair could have been treated much more delicately; as it was,
there could be little doubt but that the discovery of the plot had
prejudiced the mind of Elizabeth against Spain. "From that dust,"
concluded the Duke, "has resulted all this dirt." It could hardly be
matter of surprise, either to Philip or his Viceroy, that the discovery
by Elizabeth of a plot upon their parts to take her life and place the
crown upon the head of her hated rival, should have engendered unamiable
feelings in her bosom towards them. For the moment, however, Alva's
negotiations were apparently successful.

On the first of May, 1573, the articles of convention between England and
Spain, with regard to the Netherland difficulty, had been formally
published in Brussels. The Duke, in communicating the termination of
these arrangements, quietly recommended his master thenceforth to take
the English ministry into his pay. In particular he advised his Majesty
to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh, "who held the kingdom in
his hand; for it has always been my opinion," he continued, "that it was
an excellent practice for princes to give pensions to the ministers of
other potentates, and to keep those at home who took bribes from nobody."

On the other hand, the negotiations of Orange with the English court were
not yet successful, and he still found it almost impossible to raise the
requisite funds for carrying on the war. Certainly, his private letters
showed that neither he nor his brothers were self-seekers in their
negotiations. "You know;" said he in a letter to his brothers, "that my
intention has never been to seek my private advantage. I have only
aspired for the liberty of the country, in conscience and in polity,
which foreigners have sought to oppress. I have no other articles to
propose, save that religion, reformed according to the Word of God,
should be permitted, that then the commonwealth should be restored to its
ancient liberty, and, to that end, that the Spaniards and other soldiery
should be compelled to retire."

The restoration of civil and religious liberty, the establishment of the
great principle of toleration in matters of conscience, constituted the
purpose to which his days and nights were devoted, his princely fortune
sacrificed, his life-blood risked. At the same time, his enforcement of
toleration to both religions excited calumny against him among the
bigoted adherents of both. By the Catholics he was accused of having
instigated the excesses which he had done everything in his power to
repress. The enormities of De la Marck, which had inspired the Prince's
indignation, were even laid at the door of him who had risked his life to
prevent and to chastise them. De la Marck had, indeed, more than
counterbalanced his great service in the taking of Brill, by his
subsequent cruelties. At last, Father Cornelius Musius, pastor of Saint
Agatha, at the age of seventy-two, a man highly esteemed by the Prince of
Orange, had been put to torture and death by this barbarian, under
circumstances of great atrocity. The horrid deed cost the Prince many
tears, aroused the indignation of the estates of Holland, and produced
the dismission of the perpetrator from their service. It was considered
expedient, however, in view of his past services, his powerful
connexions, and his troublesome character, that he should be induced
peaceably to leave the country.

It was long before the Prince and the estates could succeed in ridding
themselves of this encumbrance. He created several riots in different
parts of the province, and boasted, that he had many fine ships of war
and three thousand men devoted to him, by whose assistance he could make
the estates "dance after his pipe." At the beginning of the following
year (1574), he was at last compelled to leave the provinces, which he
never again troubled with his presence. Some years afterwards, he died of
the bite of a mad dog; an end not inappropriate to a man of so rabid a
disposition.

While the Prince was thus steadily striving for a lofty and generous
purpose, he was, of course, represented by his implacable enemies as a
man playing a game which, unfortunately for himself, was a losing one.
"That poor prince," said Granvelle, "has been ill advised. I doubt now
whether he will ever be able to make his peace, and I think we shall
rather try to get rid of him and his brother as if they were Turks. The
marriage with the daughter of Maurice, 'unde mala et quia ipse talis',
and his brothers have done him much harm. So have Schwendi and German
intimacies. I saw it all very plainly, but he did not choose to believe
me."

Ill-starred, worse counselled William of Orange! Had he but taken the
friendly Cardinal's advice, kept his hand from German marriages and his
feet from conventicles--had he assisted his sovereign in burning heretics
and hunting rebels, it would not then have become necessary "to treat him
like a Turk." This is unquestionable. It is equally so that there would
have been one great lamp the less in that strait and difficult pathway
which leads to the temple of true glory.

The main reliance of Orange was upon the secret negotiations which his
brother Louis was then renewing with the French government. The Prince
had felt an almost insurmountable repugnance towards entertaining any
relation with that blood-stained court, since the massacre of Saint
Bartholomew. But a new face had recently been put upon that transaction.
Instead of glorying, in their crime, the King and his mother now assumed
a tone of compunction, and averred that the deed had been unpremeditated;
that it had been the result of a panic or an ecstasy of fear inspired by
the suddenly discovered designs of the Huguenots; and that, in the
instinct of self-preservation, the King, with his family and immediate
friends, had plunged into a crime which they now bitterly lamented. The
French envoys at the different courts of Europe were directed to impress
this view upon the minds of the monarchs to whom they were accredited. It
was certainly a very different instruction from that which they had at
first received. Their cue had originally been to claim a full meed of
praise and thanksgiving in behalf of their sovereign for his meritorious
exploit. The salvos of artillery, the illuminations and rejoicings, the
solemn processions and masses by which the auspicious event had been
celebrated, mere yet fresh in the memory of men. The ambassadors were
sufficiently embarrassed by the distinct and determined approbation which
they had recently expressed. Although the King, by formal proclamation,
had assumed the whole responsibility, as he had notoriously been one of
the chief perpetrators of the deed, his agents were now to stultify
themselves and their monarch by representing, as a deplorable act of
frenzy, the massacre which they had already extolled to the echo as a
skilfully executed and entirely commendable achievement.

To humble the power of Spain, to obtain the hand of Queen Elizabeth for
the Duke d'Alencon, to establish an insidious kind of protectorate over
the Protestant princes of Germany, to obtain the throne of Poland for the
Duke of Anjou, and even to obtain the imperial crown for the house of
Valois--all these cherished projects seemed dashed to the ground by the
Paris massacre and the abhorrence which it had created. Charles and
Catharine were not slow to discover the false position in which they had
placed themselves, while the Spanish jocularity at the immense error
committed by France was visible enough through the assumed mask of holy
horror.

Philip and Alva listened with mischievous joy to the howl of execration
which swept through Christendom upon every wind. They rejoiced as
heartily in the humiliation of the malefactors as they did in the
perpetration of the crime. "Your Majesty," wrote Louis of Nassau, very
bluntly, to King Charles, "sees how the Spaniard, your mortal enemy,
feasts himself full with the desolation of your affairs; how he laughs,
to-split his sides, at your misfortunes. This massacre has enabled him to
weaken your Majesty more than he could have done by a war of thirty
years."

Before the year had revolved, Charles had become thoroughly convinced of
the fatal impression produced by the event. Bitter and almost abject were
his whinings at the Catholic King's desertion of his cause. "He knows
well," wrote Charles to Saint Goard, "that if he can terminate these
troubles and leave me alone in the dance, he will have leisure and means
to establish his authority, not only in the Netherlands but elsewhere;
and that he will render himself more grand and formidable than he has
ever been. This is the return they render for the good received from me,
which is such as every one knows."

Gaspar de Schomberg, the adroit and honorable agent of Charles in
Germany, had at a very early day warned his royal master of the ill
effect of the massacre upon all the schemes which he had been pursuing,
and especially upon those which referred to the crowns of the Empire and
of Poland. The first project was destined to be soon abandoned. It was
reserved neither for Charles nor Philip to divert the succession in
Germany from the numerous offspring of Maximilian; yet it is instructive
to observe the unprincipled avidity with which the prize was sought by
both. Each was willing to effect its purchase by abjuring what were
supposed his most cherished principles. Philip of Spain, whose mission
was to extirpate heresy throughout his realms, and who, in pursuance of
that mission, had already perpetrated more crimes, and waded more deeply
in the blood of his subjects, than monarch had often done before; Philip,
for whom his apologists have never found any defence, save that he
believed it his duty to God rather to depopulate his territories than to
permit a single heretic within their limits--now entered into secret
negotiations with the princes of the Empire. He pledged himself, if they
would confer the crown upon him, that he would withdraw the Spaniards
from the Netherlands; that he would tolerate in those provinces the
exercise of the Reformed religion; that he would recognize their union
with the rest of the German Empire, and their consequent claim to the
benefits of the Passau treaty; that he would restore the Prince of Orange
"and all his accomplices" to their former possessions, dignities, and
condition; and that he would cause to be observed, throughout every realm
incorporated with the Empire, all the edicts and ordinances which had
been constructed to secure religious freedom in Germany. In brief, Philip
was willing, in case the crown of Charlemagne should be promised him, to
undo the work of his life, to reinstate the arch-rebel whom he had hunted
and proscribed, and to bow before that Reformation whose disciples he had
so long burned, and butchered. So much extent and no more had that
religious, conviction by which he had for years had the effrontery to
excuse the enormities practised in the Netherlands. God would never
forgive him so long as one heretic remained unburned in the provinces;
yet give him the Imperial sceptre, and every heretic, without forswearing
his heresy, should be purged with hyssop and become whiter than snow.

Charles IX., too, although it was not possible for him to recal to life
the countless victims of the Parisian wedding, was yet ready to explain
those murders to the satisfaction of every unprejudiced mind. This had
become strictly necessary. Although the accession of either his Most
Christian or Most Catholic Majesty to the throne of the Caesars was a
most improbable event, yet the humbler elective, throne actually vacant
was indirectly in the gift of the same powers. It was possible that the
crown of Poland might be secured for the Duke of Anjou. That key unlocks
the complicated policy of this and the succeeding year. The Polish
election is the clue to the labyrinthian intrigues and royal
tergiversations during the period of the interregnum. Sigismund Augustus,
last of the Jagellons, had died on the 7th July; 1572. The prominent
candidates to succeed him were the Archduke Ernest, son of the Emperor,
and Henry of Anjou. The Prince of Orange was not forgotten. A strong
party were in favor of compassing his election, as the most signal
triumph which Protestantism could gain, but his ambition had not been
excited by the prospect of such a prize. His own work required all the
energies of all his life. His influence, however, was powerful, and
eagerly sought by the partisans of Anjou. The Lutherans and Moravians in
Poland were numerous, the Protestant party there and in Germany holding
the whole balance of the election in their hands.

It was difficult for the Prince to overcome his repugnance to the very
name of the man whose crime had at once made France desolate, and
blighted the fair prospects under which he and his brother had, the year
before, entered the Netherlands. Nevertheless; he was willing to listen
to the statements by which the King and his ministers endeavoured, not
entirely without success, to remove from their reputations, if not from
their souls; the guilt of deep design. It was something, that the
murderers now affected to expiate their offence in sackcloth and
ashes--it was something that, by favoring the pretensions of Anjou, and
by listening with indulgence to the repentance of Charles, the siege of
Rochelle could be terminated, the Huguenots restored to freedom of
conscience, and an alliance with a powerful nation established, by aid of
which the Netherlands might once more lift their heads. The French
government, deeply hostile to Spain, both from passion and policy, was
capable of rendering much assistance to the revolted provinces. "I
entreat you most humbly, my good master," wrote Schomberg to Charles IX.,
"to beware of allowing the electors to take into their heads that you are
favoring the affairs of the King of Spain in any manner whatsoever.
Commit against him no act of open hostility, if you think that imprudent;
but look sharp! if you do not wish to be thrown clean out of your saddle.
I should split with rage if I should see you, in consequence of the
wicked calumnies of your enemies, fail to secure the prize."

Orange was induced, therefore, to accept, however distrustfully, the
expression of a repentance which was to be accompanied with healing
measures. He allowed his brother Louis to resume negotiations with
Schomberg, in Germany. He drew up and transmitted to him the outlines of
a treaty which he was willing to make with Charles. The main conditions
of this arrangement illustrated the disinterested character of the man.
He stipulated that the King of France should immediately make peace with
his subjects, declaring expressly that he had been abused by those, who,
under pretext of his service, had sought their own profit at the price of
ruin to the crown and people. The King should make religion free. The
edict to that effect should be confirmed by all the parliaments and
estates of the kingdom, and such confirmations should be distributed
without reserve or deceit among all the princes of Germany. If his
Majesty were not inclined to make war for the liberation of the
Netherlands, he was to furnish the Prince of Orange with one hundred
thousand crowns at once, and every three months with another hundred
thousand. The Prince was to have liberty to raise one thousand cavalry
and seven thousand infantry in France. Every city or town in the
provinces which should be conquered by his arms, except in Holland or
Zealand, should be placed under the sceptre, and in the hands of the King
of France. The provinces of Holland and Zealand should also be placed
under his protection, but should be governed by their own gentlemen and
citizens. Perfect religious liberty and maintenance of the ancient
constitutions, privileges, and charters were to be guaranteed "without
any cavilling whatsoever." The Prince of Orange, or the estates of
Holland or Zealand, were to reimburse his Christian Majesty for the sums
which he was to advance. In this last clause was the only mention which
the Prince made of himself, excepting in the stipulation that he was to
be allowed a levy of troops in France. His only personal claims were to
enlist soldiers to fight the battles of freedom, and to pay their
expense, if it should not be provided for by the estates. At nearly the
same period, he furnished his secret envoys, Luinbres and Doctor
Taijaert, who were to proceed to Paris, with similar instructions.

The indefatigable exertions of Schomberg, and the almost passionate
explanations on the part of the court of France, at length produced their
effect. "You will constantly assure the princes," wrote the Duke of Anjou
to Schomberg, "that the things written, to you concerning that which had
happened in this kingdom are true; that the events occurred suddenly,
without having been in any manner premeditated; that neither the King nor
myself have ever had any intelligence with, the King of Spain, against
those of the religion, and that all is utter imposture which is daily
said on this subject to the princes."

Count Louis required peremptorily, however, that the royal repentance
should bring forth the fruit of salvation for the remaining victims. Out
of the nettles of these dangerous intrigues his fearless hand plucked the
"flower of safety" for his down-trodden cause. He demanded not words, but
deeds, or at least pledges. He maintained with the agents of Charles and
with the monarch himself the same hardy scepticism which was manifested
by the Huguenot deputies in their conferences with Catharine de Medicis.
"Is the word of a king," said the dowager to the commissioners, who were
insisting upon guarantees, "is the word of a king not sufficient?"--"No,
madam," replied one of them, "by Saint Bartholomew, no!" Count Louis told
Schomberg roundly, and repeated it many times, that he must have in a
very few days a categorical response, "not to consist in words alone, but
in deeds, and that he could not, and would not, risk for ever the honor
of his brother, nor the property; blood, and life of those poor people
who favored the cause."

On the 23rd March, 1573, Schomberg had an interview with Count Louis,
which lasted seven or eight hours. In that interview the enterprises of
the Count, "which," said Schomberg, "are assuredly grand and beautiful,"
were thoroughly discussed, and a series of conditions, drawn up partly in
the hand of one, partly in that of the other negotiator; definitely
agreed upon. These conditions were on the basis of a protectorate over
Holland and Zealand for the King of France, with sovereignty over the
other places to be acquired in the Netherlands. They were in strict
accordance with the articles furnished by the Prince of Orange. Liberty
of worship for those of both religions, sacred preservation of municipal
charters, and stipulation of certain annual subsidies on the part of
France, in case his Majesty should not take the field, were the principal
features.

Ten days later, Schomberg wrote to his master that the Count was willing
to use all the influence of his family to procure for Anjou the crown of
Poland, while Louis, having thus completed his negotiations with the
agent, addressed a long and earnest letter to the royal principal. This
remarkable despatch was stamped throughout with the impress of the
writer's frank and fearless character. "Thus diddest thou" has rarely
been addressed to anointed monarch in such unequivocal tones: The letter
painted the favorable position in which the king had been placed
previously to the fatal summer of 1572. The Queen of England was then
most amicably disposed towards him, and inclined to a yet closer
connexion with his family. The German princes were desirous to elect him
King of the Romans, a dignity for which his grandfather had so
fruitlessly contended. The Netherlanders, driven to despair by the
tyranny of their own sovereign, were eager to throw themselves into his
arms. All this had been owing to his edict of religious pacification. How
changed the picture now! Who now did reverence to a King so criminal and
so fallen? "Your Majesty to-day," said Louis, earnestly and plainly, "is
near to ruin. The State, crumbling on every side and almost abandoned, is
a prey to any one who wishes to seize upon it; the more so, because your
Majesty, having, by the late excess and by the wars previously made,
endeavoured to force men's consciences, is now so destitute, not only of
nobility and soldiery but of that which constitutes the strongest column
of the throne, the love and good wishes of the lieges, that your Majesty
resembles an ancient building propped up, day after, day, with piles, but
which it will be impossible long to prevent from falling to the earth."
Certainly, here were wholesome truths told in straightforward style.

The Count proceeded to remind the King of the joy which the "Spaniard,
his mortal enemy," had conceived from the desolation of his affairs,
being assured that he should, by the troubles in France, be enabled to
accomplish his own purposes without striking a blow. This, he observed,
had been the secret of the courtesy with which the writer himself had
been treated by the Duke of Alva at the surrender of Mons. Louis assured
the King, in continuation, that if he persevered in these oppressive
courses towards his subjects of the new religion, there was no hope for
him, and that his two brothers would, to no purpose, take their departure
for England, and, for Poland, leaving him with a difficult and dangerous
war upon his hands. So long as he maintained a hostile attitude towards
the Protestants in his own kingdom, his fair words would produce no
effect elsewhere. "We are beginning to be vexed," said the Count, "with
the manner of negotiation practised by France. Men do not proceed roundly
to business there, but angle with their dissimulation as with a hook."

He bluntly reminded the King of the deceit which he had practised towards
the Admiral--a sufficient reason why no reliance could in future be
placed upon his word. Signal vengeance on those concerned in the
attempted assassination of that great man had been promised, in the royal
letters to the Prince of Orange, just before St. Bartholomew. "Two days
afterwards," said Louis, "your Majesty took that vengeance, but in rather
ill fashion." It was certain that the King was surrounded by men who
desired to work his ruin, and who, for their own purposes, would cause
him to bathe still deeper than he had done before in the blood of his
subjects. This ruin his Majesty could still avert; by making peace in his
kingdom, and by ceasing to torment his poor subjects of the religion.

In conclusion, the Count, with a few simple but eloquent phrases, alluded
to the impossibility of chaining men's thoughts. The soul, being
immortal, was beyond the reach of kings. Conscience was not to be
conquered, nor the religious spirit imprisoned. This had been discovered
by the Emperor Charles, who had taken all the cities and great personages
of Germany captive, but who had nevertheless been unable to take religion
captive. "That is a sentiment," said Louis, "deeply rooted in the hearts
of men, which is not to be plucked out by force of arms. Let your
majesty, therefore not be deceived by the flattery of those who, like bad
physicians, keep their patients in ignorance of their disease, whence
comes their ruin."

It would be impossible, without insight into these private and most
important transactions, to penetrate the heart of the mystery which
enwrapped at this period the relations of the great powers with each
other. Enough has been seen to silence for ever the plea, often entered
in behalf of religious tyranny, that the tyrant acts in obedience to a
sincere conviction of duty; that, in performing his deeds of darkness, he
believes himself to be accomplishing the will of Heaven. Here we have
seen Philip, offering to restore the Prince of Orange, and to establish
freedom of religion in the Netherlands, if by such promises he can lay
hold of the Imperial diadem. Here also we have Charles IX. and his
mother--their hands reeking with the heretic-blood of St.
Bartholomew--making formal engagements with heretics to protect heresy
everywhere, if by such pledges the crown of the Jagellons and the hand of
Elizabeth can be secured.

While Louis was thus busily engaged in Germany, Orange was usually
established at Delft. He felt the want of his brother daily, for the
solitude of the Prince, in the midst of such fiery trials, amounted
almost to desolation. Not often have circumstances invested an individual
with so much responsibility and so little power. He was regarded as the
protector and father of the country, but from his own brains and his own
resources he was to furnish himself with the means of fulfilling those
high functions. He was anxious thoroughly to discharge the duties of a
dictatorship without grasping any more of its power than was
indispensable to his purpose. But he was alone on that little isthmus, in
single combat with the great Spanish monarchy. It was to him that all
eyes turned, during the infinite horrors of the Harlem sieges and in the
more prosperous leaguer of Alkmaar. What he could do he did. He devised
every possible means to succor Harlem, and was only restrained from going
personally to its rescue by the tears of the whole population of Holland.
By his decision and the spirit which he diffused through the country, the
people were lifted to a pitch of heroism by which Alkmaar was saved. Yet,
during all this harassing period, he had no one to lean upon but himself.
"Our affairs are in pretty good; condition in Holland and Zealand," he
wrote, "if I only had some aid. 'Tis impossible for me to support alone
so many labors, and the weight of such great affairs as come upon me
hourly--financial, military, political. I have no one to help me, not a
single man, wherefore I leave you to suppose in what trouble I find
myself."

For it was not alone the battles and sieges which furnished him with
occupation and filled him with anxiety. Alone, he directed in secret the
politics of the country, and, powerless and outlawed though he seemed,
was in daily correspondence not only with the estates of Holland and
Zealand, whose deliberations he guided, but with the principal
governments of Europe. The estates of the Netherlands, moreover, had been
formally assembled by Alva in September, at Brussels, to devise ways and
means for continuing the struggle. It seemed to the Prince a good
opportunity to make an appeal to the patriotism of the whole country. He
furnished the province of Holland, accordingly, with the outlines of an
address which was forthwith despatched in their own and his name, to the
general assembly of the Netherlands. The document was a nervous and rapid
review of the course of late events in the provinces, with a cogent
statement of the reasons which should influence them all to unite in the
common cause against the common enemy. It referred to the old affection
and true-heartedness with which they had formerly regarded each other,
and to the certainty that the inquisition would be for ever established
in the land, upon the ruins of all their ancient institutions, unless
they now united to overthrow it for ever. It demanded of the people, thus
assembled through their representatives, how they could endure the
tyranny, murders, and extortions of the Duke of Alva. The princes of
Flanders, Burgundy, Brabant, or Holland, had never made war or peace,
coined money, or exacted a stiver from the people without the consent of
the estates. How could the nation now consent to the daily impositions
which were practised? Had Amsterdam and Middelburg remained true; had
those important cities not allowed themselves to be seduced from the
cause of freedom, the northern provinces would have been impregnable.
"'Tis only by the Netherlands that the Netherlands are crushed," said the
appeal. "Whence has the Duke of Alva the power of which he boasts, but
from yourselves--from Netherland cities? Whence his ships, supplies,
money, weapons, soldiers? From the Netherland people. Why has poor
Netherland thus become degenerate and bastard? Whither has fled the noble
spirit of our brave forefathers, that never brooked the tyranny of
foreign nations, nor suffered a stranger even to hold office within our
borders? If the little province of Holland can thus hold at bay the power
of Spain, what could not all the Netherlands--Brabant, Flanders,
Friesland, and the rest united accomplish?" In conclusion, the
estates-general were earnestly adjured to come forward like brothers in
blood, and join hands with Holland, that together they might rescue the
fatherland and restore its ancient prosperity and bloom.

At almost the same time the Prince drew up and put in circulation one of
the most vigorous and impassioned productions which ever came from his
pen. It was entitled, an "Epistle, in form of supplication, to his royal
Majesty of Spain, from the Prince of Orange and the estates of Holland
and Zealand." The document produced a profound impression throughout
Christendom. It was a loyal appeal to the monarch's loyalty--a demand
that the land-privileges should be restored, and the Duke of Alva
removed. It contained a startling picture of his atrocities and the
nation's misery, and, with a few energetic strokes, demolished the
pretence that these sorrows had been caused by the people's guilt. In
this connexion the Prince alluded to those acts of condemnation which the
Governor-General had promulgated under the name of pardons, and treated
with scorn the hypothesis that any crimes had been committed for Alva to
forgive. "We take God and your Majesty to witness," said the epistle,
"that if we have done such misdeeds as are charged in the pardon, we
neither desire nor deserve the pardon. Like the most abject creatures
which crawl the earth, we will be content to atone for our misdeeds with
our lives. We will not murmur, O merciful King, if we be seized one after
another, and torn limb from limb, if it can be proved that we have
committed the crimes of which we have been accused."

After having thus set forth the tyranny of the government and the
innocence of the people, the Prince, in his own name and that of the
estates, announced the determination at which they had arrived. "The
tyrant," he continued, "would rather stain every river and brook with our
blood, and hang our bodies upon every tree in the country, than not feed
to the full his vengeance, and steep himself to the lips in our misery.
Therefore we have taken up arms against the Duke of Alva and his
adherents, to free ourselves, our wives and children, from his
blood-thirsty hands. If he prove too strong nor us, we will rather die an
honorable death and leave a praiseworthy fame, than bend our necks, and
reduce our dear fatherland to such slavery. Herein are all our cities
pledged to each other to stand every siege, to dare the utmost, to endure
every possible misery, yea, rather to set fire to all our homes, and be
consumed with them into ashes together, than ever submit to the decrees
of this cruel tyrant."

These were brave words, and destined to be bravely fulfilled, as the life
and death of the writer and the records of his country proved, from
generation unto generation. If we seek for the mainspring of the energy
which thus sustained the Prince in the unequal conflict to which he had
devoted his life, we shall find it in the one pervading principle of his
nature--confidence in God. He was the champion of the political rights of
his country, but before all he was the defender of its religion. Liberty
of conscience for his people was his first object. To establish Luther's
axiom, that thoughts are toll-free, was his determination. The Peace of
Passau, and far more than the Peace of Passau, was the goal for which he
was striving. Freedom of worship for all denominations, toleration for
all forms of faith, this was the great good in his philosophy. For
himself, he had now become a member of the Calvinist, or Reformed Church,
having delayed for a time his public adhesion to this communion, in order
not to give offence to the Lutherans and to the Emperor. He was never a
dogmatist, however, and he sought in Christianity for that which unites
rather than for that which separates Christians. In the course of October
he publicly joined the church at Dort.

The happy termination of the siege of Alkmaar was followed, three days
afterwards, by another signal success on the part of the patriots. Count
Bossu, who had constructed or collected a considerable fleet at
Amsterdam, had, early in October, sailed into the Zuyder Zee,
notwithstanding the sunken wrecks and other obstructions by which the
patriots had endeavored to render the passage of the Y impracticable. The
patriots of North Holland had, however, not been idle, and a fleet of
five-and-twenty vessels, under Admiral Dirkzoon, was soon cruising in the
same waters. A few skirmishes took place, but Bossu's ships, which were
larger, and provided with heavier cannon, were apparently not inclined
for the close quarters which the patriots sought. The Spanish Admiral,
Hollander as he was, knew the mettle of his countrymen in a close
encounter at sea, and preferred to trust to the calibre of his cannon. On
the 11th October, however, the whole patriot fleet, favored by a strong
easterly, breeze, bore down upon the Spanish armada, which, numbering now
thirty sail of all denominations, was lying off and on in the
neighbourhood of Horn and Enkhuyzen. After a short and general
engagement, nearly all the Spanish fleet retired with precipitation,
closely pursued by most of the patriot Dutch vessels. Five of the King's
ships were eventually taken, the rest effected their escape. Only the
Admiral remained, who scorned to yield, although his forces had thus
basely deserted him. His ship, the "Inquisition,"--for such was her
insolent appellation, was far the largest and best manned of both the
fleets. Most of the enemy had gone in pursuit of the fugitives, but four
vessels of inferior size had attacked the "Inquisition" at the
commencement of the action. Of these, one had soon been silenced, while
the other three had grappled themselves inextricably to her sides and
prow. The four drifted together, before wind and tide, a severe and
savage action going on incessantly, during which the navigation of the
ships was entirely abandoned. No scientific gunnery, no military or naval
tactics were displayed or required in such a conflict. It was a
life-and-death combat, such as always occurred when Spaniard and
Netherlander met, whether on land or water. Bossu and his men, armed in
bullet-proof coats of mail, stood with shield and sword on the deck of
the "Inquisition," ready to repel all attempts to board. The Hollander,
as usual, attacked with pitch hoops, boiling oil, and molten lead.
Repeatedly they effected their entrance to the Admiral's ship, and as
often they were repulsed and slain in heaps, or hurled into the sea. The
battle began at three in the afternoon, and continued without
intermission through the whole night. The vessels, drifting together,
struck on the shoal called the Nek, near Wydeness. In the heat of the
action the occurrence was hardly heeded. In the morning twilight, John
Haring, of Horn, the hero who had kept one thousand soldiers at bay upon
the Diemer dyke, clambered on board the "Inquisition" and hauled her
colors down. The gallant but premature achievement cost him his life. He
was shot through the body and died on the deck of the ship, which was not
quite ready to strike her flag. In the course of the forenoon, however,
it became obvious to Bossu that further resistance was idle. The ships
were aground near a hostile coast, his own fleet was hopelessly
dispersed, three quarters of his crew were dead or disabled, while the
vessels with which he was engaged were constantly recruited by boats from
the shore, which brought fresh men and ammunition, and removed their
killed and wounded. At eleven o'clock, Admiral Bossu surrendered, and
with three hundred prisoners was carried into Holland. Bossu was himself
imprisoned at Horn, in which city he was received, on his arrival, with
great demonstrations of popular hatred. The massacre of Rotterdam, due to
his cruelty and treachery, had not yet been forgotten or forgiven.

This victory, following so hard upon the triumph at Alkmaar, was as
gratifying to the patriots as it was galling to Alva. As his
administration drew to a close, it was marked by disaster and disgrace on
land and sea. The brilliant exploits by which he had struck terror into
the heart of the Netherlanders, at Jemmingen and in Brabant, had been
effaced by the valor of a handful of Hollanders, without discipline or
experience. To the patriots, the opportune capture of so considerable a
personage as the Admiral and Governor of the northern province was of
great advantage. Such of the hostages from Harlem as had not yet been
executed, now escaped with their lives. Moreover, Saint Aldegonde, the
eloquent patriot and confidential friend of Orange, who was taken
prisoner a few weeks later, in an action at Maeslands-luis, was preserved
from inevitable destruction by the same cause. The Prince hastened to
assure the Duke of Alva that the same measure would be dealt to Bossu as
should be meted to Saint Aldegonde. It was, therefore, impossible for the
Governor-General to execute his prisoner, and he was obliged to submit to
the vexation of seeing a leading rebel and heretic in his power, whom he
dared not strike. Both the distinguished prisoners eventually regained
their liberty.

The Duke was, doubtless, lower sunk in the estimation of all classes than
he had ever been before, during his long and generally successful life.
The reverses sustained by his army, the belief that his master had grown
cold towards him, the certainty that his career in the Netherlands was
closing without a satisfactory result, the natural weariness produced
upon men's minds by the contemplation of so monotonous and unmitigated a
tyranny during so many years, all contributed to diminish his reputation.
He felt himself odious alike to princes and to plebeians. With his
cabinet councillors he had long been upon unsatisfactory terms. President
Tisnacq had died early, in the summer, and Viglius, much against his
will, had been induced, provisionally, to supply his place. But there was
now hardly a pretence of friendship between the learned Frisian and the
Governor. Each cordially detested the other. Alva was weary of Flemish
and Frisian advisers, however subservient, and was anxious to fill the
whole council with Spaniards of the Vargas stamp. He had forced Viglius
once more into office, only that, by a little delay, he might expel him
and every Netherlander at the same moment. "Till this ancient set of
dogmatizers be removed," he wrote to Philip, "with Viglius, their chief,
who teaches them all their lessons, nothing will go right. 'Tis of no use
adding one or two Spaniards to fill vacancies; that is only pouring a
flask of good wine into a hogshead of vinegar; it changes to vinegar
likewise. Your Majesty will soon be able to reorganize the council at a
blow; so that Italians or Spaniards, as you choose, may entirely govern
the country."

Such being his private sentiments with regard to his confidential
advisers, it may be supposed that his intercourse with his council during
the year was not like to be amicable. Moreover, he had kept himself, for
the most part, at a distance from the seat of government. During the
military operations in Holland, his head-quarters had been at Amsterdam.
Here, as the year drew to its close, he had become as unpopular as in
Brussels. The time-serving and unpatriotic burghers, who, at the
beginning of the spring, set up his bust in their houses, and would give
large sums for his picture in little, now broke his images and tore his
portraits from their walls, for it was evident that the power of his name
was gone, both with prince and people. Yet, certainly, those fierce
demonstrations which had formerly surrounded his person with such an
atmosphere of terror had not slackened or become less frequent than
heretofore. He continued to prove that he could be barbarous, both on a
grand and a minute scale. Even as in preceding years, he could ordain
wholesale massacres with a breath, and superintend in person the
executions of individuals. This was illustrated, among other instances,
by the cruel fate of Uitenhoove. That unfortunate nobleman, who had been
taken prisoner in the course of the summer, was accused of having been
engaged in the capture of Brill, and was, therefore, condemned by the
Duke to be roasted to death before a slow fire. He was accordingly
fastened by a chain, a few feet in length, to a stake, around which the
fagots were lighted. Here he was kept in slow torture for a long time,
insulted by the gibes of the laughing Spaniards who surrounded him--until
the executioner and his assistants, more humane than their superior,
despatched the victim with their spears--a mitigation of punishment which
was ill received by Alva. The Governor had, however, no reason to remain
longer in Amsterdam. Harlem had fallen; Alkmaar was relieved; and
Leyden--destined in its second siege to furnish so signal a chapter to
the history of the war--was beleaguered, it was true, but, because known
to be imperfectly supplied, was to be reduced by blockade rather than by
active operations. Don Francis Valdez was accordingly left in command of
the siege, which, however, after no memorable occurrences, was raised, as
will soon be related.

The Duke had contracted in Amsterdam an enormous amount of debt, both
public and private. He accordingly, early in November, caused a
proclamation to be made throughout the city by sound of trumpet, that all
persons having demands upon him were to present their claims, in person,
upon a specified day. During the night preceding the day so appointed,
the Duke and his train very noiselessly took their departure, without
notice or beat of drum. By this masterly generalship his unhappy
creditors were foiled upon the very eve of their anticipated triumph; the
heavy accounts which had been contracted on the faith of the King and the
Governor, remained for the most part unpaid, and many opulent and
respectable families were reduced to beggary. Such was the consequence of
the unlimited confidence which they had reposed in the honor of their
tyrant.

On the 17th of November, Don Luis de Requesens y Cuniga, Grand Commander
of Saint Jago, the appointed successor of Alva, arrived in Brussels,
where he was received with great rejoicings. The Duke, on the same day,
wrote to the King, "kissing his feet" for thus relieving him of his
functions. There was, of course, a profuse interchange of courtesy
between the departing and the newly-arrived Governors. Alva was willing
to remain a little while, to assist his successor with his advice, but
preferred that the Grand Commander should immediately assume the reins of
office. To this Requesens, after much respectful reluctance, at length
consented. On the 29th of November he accordingly took the oaths, at
Brussels, as Lieutenant-Governor and Captain-General, in presence of the
Duke of Aerschot, Baron Berlaymont, the President of the Council, and
other functionaries.

On the 18th of December the Duke of Alva departed from the provinces for
ever. With his further career this history has no concern, and it is not
desirable to enlarge upon the personal biography of one whose name
certainly never excites pleasing emotions. He had kept his bed for the
greater part of the time during the last few weeks of his
government--partly on account of his gout, partly to avoid being seen in
his humiliation, but mainly, it was said, to escape the pressing demands
of his creditors. He expressed a fear of travelling homeward through
France, on the ground that he might very probably receive a shot out of a
window as he went by. He complained pathetically that, after all his
labors, he had not "gained the approbation of the King," while he had
incurred "the malevolence and universal hatred of every individual in the
country." Mondoucet, to whom he made the observation, was of the same
opinion; and informed his master that the Duke "had engendered such an
extraordinary hatred in the hearts of all persons in the land, that they
would have fireworks in honor of his departure if they dared."

On his journey from the Netherlands, he is said to have boasted that he
had caused eighteen thousand six hundred inhabitants of the provinces to
be executed during the period of his government. The number of those who
had perished by battle, siege, starvation, and massacre, defied
computation. The Duke was well received by his royal master, and remained
in favor until a new adventure of Don Frederic brought father and son
into disgrace. Having deceived and abandoned a maid of honor, he suddenly
espoused his cousins in order to avoid that reparation by marriage which
was demanded for his offence. In consequence, both the Duke and Don
Frederic were imprisoned and banished, nor was Alva released till a
general of experience was required for the conquest of Portugal. Thither,
as it were with fetters on his legs, he went. After having accomplished
the military enterprise entrusted to him, he fell into a lingering fever,
at the termination of which he was so much reduced that he was only kept
alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast. Such was the gentle
second childhood of the man who had almost literally been drinking blood
for seventy years. He died on the 12th December, 1582.

The preceding pages have been written in vain, if an elaborate estimate
be now required of his character. His picture has been painted, as far as
possible, by his own hand. His deeds, which are not disputed, and his
written words, illustrate his nature more fully than could be done by the
most eloquent pen. No attempt has been made to exaggerate his crimes, or
to extenuate his superior qualities. Virtues he had none, unless military
excellence be deemed, as by the Romans, a virtue. In war, both as a
science and a practical art, he excelled all the generals who were
opposed to him in the Netherlands, and he was inferior to no commander in
the world during the long and belligerent period to which his life
belonged. Louis of Nassau possessed high reputation throughout Europe as
a skilful and daring General. With raw volunteers he had overthrown an
army of Spanish regulars, led by a Netherland chieftain of fame and
experience; but when Alva took the field in person the scene was totally
changed. The Duke dealt him such a blow at Jemmingen as would have
disheartened for ever a less indomitable champion. Never had a defeat
been more absolute. The patriot army was dashed out of existence, almost
to a man, and its leader, naked and beggared, though not disheartened,
sent back into Germany to construct his force and his schemes anew.

Having thus flashed before the eyes of the country the full terrors of
his name, and vindicated the ancient military renown of his nation, the
Duke was at liberty to employ the consummate tactics, in which he could
have given instruction to all the world, against his most formidable
antagonist. The country, paralyzed with fear, looked anxiously but
supinely upon the scientific combat between the two great champions of
Despotism and Protestantism which succeeded. It was soon evident that the
conflict could terminate in but one way. The Prince had considerable
military abilities, and enthusiastic courage; he lost none of his
well-deserved reputation by the unfortunate issue of his campaign; he
measured himself in arms with the great commander of the age, and defied
him, day after day, in vain, to mortal combat; but it was equally certain
that the Duke's quiet game was, played in the most masterly manner. His
positions and his encampments were taken with faultless judgment, his
skirmishes wisely and coldly kept within the prescribed control, while
the inevitable dissolution of the opposing force took place exactly as he
had foreseen, and within the limits which he had predicted. Nor in the
disastrous commencement of the year 1572 did the Duke less signally
manifest his military genius. Assailed as he was at every point, with the
soil suddenly upheaving all around him, as by an earthquake, he did not
lose his firmness nor his perspicacity. Certainly, if he had not been so
soon assisted by that other earthquake, which on Saint Bartholomew's Day
caused all Christendom to tremble, and shattered the recent structure of
Protestant Freedom in the Netherlands, it might have been worse for his
reputation. With Mons safe, the Flemish frontier guarded; France
faithful, and thirty thousand men under the Prince of Orange in Brabant,
the heroic brothers might well believe that the Duke was "at their
mercy." The treason of Charles IX. "smote them as with a club," as the
Prince exclaimed in the bitterness of his spirit. Under the
circumstances, his second campaign was a predestined failure, and Alva
easily vanquished him by a renewed application of those dilatory arts
which he so well understood.

The Duke's military fame was unquestionable when he came to the
provinces, and both in stricken fields and in long campaigns, he showed
how thoroughly it had been deserved; yet he left the Netherlands a
baffled man. The Prince might be many times defeated, but he was not to
be conquered. As Alva penetrated into the heart of the ancient Batavian
land he found himself overmatched as he had never been before, even by
the most potent generals of his day. More audacious, more inventive, more
desperate than all the commanders of that or any other age, the spirit of
national freedom, now taught the oppressor that it was invincible; except
by annihilation. The same lesson had been read in the same thickets by
the Nervii to Julius Caesar, by the Batavians to the legions of
Vespasian; and now a loftier and a purer flame than that which inspired
the national struggles against Rome glowed within the breasts of the
descendants of the same people, and inspired them with the strength which
comes, from religious enthusiasm. More experienced, more subtle, more
politic than Hermann; more devoted, more patient, more magnanimous than
Civilis, and equal to either in valor and determination, William of
Orange was a worthy embodiment of the Christian, national resistance of
the German race to a foreign tyranny. Alva had entered the Netherlands to
deal with them as with conquered provinces. He found that the conquest
was still to be made, and he left the land without having accomplished
it. Through the sea of blood, the Hollanders felt that they were passing
to the promised land. More royal soldiers fell during the seven months'
siege of Harlem than the rebels had lost in the defeat of Jemmingen, and
in the famous campaign of Brabant. At Alkmaar the rolling waves of
insolent conquest were stayed, and the tide then ebbed for ever.

The accomplished soldier struggled hopelessly, with the wild and
passionate hatred which his tyranny had provoked. Neither his legions nor
his consummate strategy availed him against an entirely desperate people.
As a military commander, therefore, he gained, upon the whole, no
additional laurels during his long administration of the Netherlands. Of
all the other attributes to be expected in a man appointed to deal with a
free country, in a state of incipient rebellion, he manifested a signal
deficiency. As a financier, he exhibited a wonderful ignorance of the
first principles of political economy. No man before, ever gravely
proposed to establish confiscation as a permanent source of revenue to
the state; yet the annual product from the escheated property of
slaughtered heretics was regularly relied upon, during his
administration, to replenish the King's treasury, and to support the war
of extermination against the King's subjects. Nor did statesman ever
before expect a vast income from the commerce of a nation devoted to
almost universal massacre. During the daily decimation of the people's
lives, he thought a daily decimation of their industry possible. His
persecutions swept the land of those industrious classes which had made
it the rich and prosperous commonwealth it had been so lately; while, at
the same time, he found a "Peruvian mine," as he pretended, in the
imposition of a tenth penny upon every one of its commercial
transactions. He thought that a people, crippled as this had been by the
operations of the Blood Council; could pay ten per cent., not annually
but daily; not upon its income, but upon its capital; not once only, but
every time the value constituting the capital changed hands. He had
boasted that he should require no funds from Spain, but that, on the
contrary, he should make annual remittances to the royal treasury at
home, from the proceeds of his imposts and confiscations; yet,
notwithstanding these resources, and notwithstanding twenty-five millions
of gold in five years, sent by Philip from Madrid, the exchequer of the
provinces was barren and bankrupt when his successor arrived. Requesens
found neither a penny in the public treasury nor the means of raising
one.

As an administrator of the civil and judicial affairs of the country,
Alva at once reduced its institutions to a frightful simplicity. In the
place of the ancient laws of which the Netherlanders were so proud, he
substituted the Blood Council. This tribunal was even more arbitrary than
the Inquisition. Never was a simpler apparatus for tyranny devised, than
this great labor-saving machine. Never was so great a quantity of murder
and robbery achieved with such despatch and regularity. Sentences,
executions, and confiscations, to an incredible extent, were turned out
daily with appalling precision. For this invention, Alva is alone
responsible. The tribunal and its councillors were the work and the
creatures of his hand, and faithfully did they accomplish the dark
purpose of their existence. Nor can it be urged, in extenuation of the
Governor's crimes, that he was but the blind and fanatically loyal slave
of his sovereign. A noble nature could not have contaminated itself with
such slaughter-house work, but might have sought to mitigate the royal
policy, without forswearing allegiance. A nature less rigid than iron,
would at least have manifested compunction, as it found itself converted
into a fleshless instrument of massacre. More decided than his master,
however, he seemed, by his promptness, to rebuke the dilatory genius of
Philip. The King seemed, at times, to loiter over his work, teasing and
tantalising his appetite for vengeance, before it should be gratified:
Alva, rapid and brutal, scorned such epicureanism. He strode with
gigantic steps over haughty statutes and popular constitutions; crushing
alike the magnates who claimed a bench of monarchs for their jury, and
the ignoble artisans who could appeal only to the laws of their land.
From the pompous and theatrical scaffolds of Egmont and Horn, to the
nineteen halters prepared by Master Karl, to hang up the chief bakers and
brewers of Brussels on their own thresholds--from the beheading of the
twenty nobles on the Horse-market, in the opening of the Governor's
career, to the roasting alive of Uitenhoove at its close-from the block
on which fell the honored head of Antony Straalen, to the obscure chair
in which the ancient gentlewoman of Amsterdam suffered death for an act
of vicarious mercy--from one year's end to another's--from the most
signal to the most squalid scenes of sacrifice, the eye and hand of the
great master directed, without weariness, the task imposed by the
sovereign.

No doubt the work of almost indiscriminate massacre had been duly mapped
out. Not often in history has a governor arrived to administer the
affairs of a province, where the whole population, three millions strong,
had been formally sentenced to death. As time wore on, however, he even
surpassed the bloody instructions which he had received. He waved aside
the recommendations of the Blood Council to mercy; he dissuaded the
monarch from attempting the path of clemency, which, for secret reasons,
Philip was inclined at one period to attempt. The Governor had, as he
assured the King, been using gentleness in vain, and he was now
determined to try what a little wholesome severity could effect. These
words were written immediately after the massacres at Harlem.

With all the bloodshed at Mons, and Naarden, and Mechlin, and by the
Council of Tumults, daily, for six years long, still crying from the
ground, he taxed himself with a misplaced and foolish tenderness to the
people. He assured the King that when Alkmaar should be taken, he would,
not spare a "living soul among its whole population;" and, as his parting
advice, he recommended that every city in the Netherlands should be
burned to the ground, except a few which could be occupied permanently by
the royal troops. On the whole, so finished a picture of a perfect and
absolute tyranny has rarely been presented to mankind by history, as in
Alva's administration of the Netherlands.

The tens of thousands in those miserable provinces who fell victims to
the gallows, the sword, the stake, the living grave, or to living
banishment, have never been counted; for those statistics of barbarity
are often effaced from human record. Enough, however, is known, and
enough has been recited in the preceding pages. No mode in which human
beings have ever caused their fellow-creatures to suffer, was omitted
from daily practice. Men, women, and children, old and young, nobles and
paupers, opulent burghers, hospital patients, lunatics, dead bodies, all
were indiscriminately made to furnish food for-the scaffold and the
stake. Men were tortured, beheaded, hanged by the neck and by the legs,
burned before slow fires, pinched to death with red hot tongs, broken
upon the wheel, starved, and flayed alive. Their skins stripped from the
living body, were stretched upon drums, to be beaten in the march of
their brethren to the gallows. The bodies of many who had died a natural
death were exhumed, and their festering remains hanged upon the gibbet,
on pretext that they had died without receiving the sacrament, but in
reality that their property might become the legitimate prey of the
treasury. Marriages of long standing were dissolved by order of
government, that rich heiresses might be married against their will to
foreigners whom they abhorred. Women and children were executed for the
crime of assisting their fugitive husbands and parents with a penny in
their utmost need, and even for consoling them with a letter, in their
exile. Such was the regular course of affairs as administered by the
Blood Council. The additional barbarities committed amid the sack and
ruin of those blazing and starving cities, are almost beyond belief;
unborn infants were torn from the living bodies of their mothers; women
and children were violated by thousands; and whole populations burned and
hacked to pieces by soldiers in every mode which cruelty, in its wanton
ingenuity, could devise. Such was the administration, of which Vargas
affirmed, at its close, that too much mercy, "nimia misericordia," had
been its ruin.

Even Philip, inspired by secret views, became wearied of the Governor,
who, at an early period, had already given offence by his arrogance. To
commemorate his victories, the Viceroy had erected a colossal statue, not
to his monarch, but to himself. To proclaim the royal pardon, he had
seated himself upon a golden throne. Such insolent airs could be ill
forgiven by the absolute King. Too cautious to provoke an open rupture,
he allowed the Governor, after he had done all his work, and more than
all his work, to retire without disgrace, but without a triumph. For the
sins of that administration, master and servant are in equal measure
responsible.

The character of the Duke of Alva, so far as the Netherlands are
concerned, seems almost like a caricature. As a creation of fiction, it
would seem grotesque: yet even that hardy, historical scepticism, which
delights in reversing the judgment of centuries, and in re-establishing
reputations long since degraded to the dust, must find it difficult to
alter this man's position. No historical decision is final; an appeal to
a more remote posterity, founded upon more accurate evidence, is always
valid; but when the verdict has been pronounced upon facts which are
undisputed, and upon testimony from the criminal's lips, there is little
chance of a reversal of the sentence. It is an affectation of
philosophical candor to extenuate vices which are not only avowed, but
claimed as virtues.

   [The time is past when it could be said that the cruelty of Alva, or
   the enormities of his administration, have been exaggerated by party
   violence. Human invention is incapable of outstripping the truth
   upon this subject. To attempt the defence of either the man or his
   measures at the present day is to convict oneself of an amount of
   ignorance or of bigotry against which history and argument are alike
   powerless. The publication of the Duke's letters in the
   correspondence of Simancas and in the Besancon papers, together with
   that compact mass of horror, long before the world under the title
   of "Sententien van Alva," in which a portion only of the sentences
   of death and banishment pronounced by him during his reign, have
   been copied from the official records--these in themselves would be
   a sufficient justification of all the charges ever brought by the
   most bitter contemporary of Holland or Flanders. If the
   investigator should remain sceptical, however, let him examine the
   "Registre des Condamnes et Bannia a Cause des Troubles des Pays
   Bas," in three, together with the Records of the "Conseil des
   Troubles," in forty-three folio volumes, in the Royal Archives at
   Brussels. After going through all these chronicles of iniquity, the
   most determined historic, doubter will probably throw up the case.]

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
     Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
     Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
     Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
     Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
     So much responsibility and so little power
     Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
     We are beginning to be vexed




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 22.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
ADMINISTRATION OF THE GRAND COMMANDER




PART IV.
1573-74 [CHAPTER I.]

   Previous career of Requesens--Philip's passion for detail--Apparent
   and real purposes of government--Universal desire for peace--
   Correspondence of leading royalists with Orange--Bankruptcy of the
   exchequer at Alva's departures--Expensive nature of the war--
   Pretence of mildness on the part of the Commander--His private
   views--Distress of Mondragon at Middelburg--Crippled condition of
   Holland--Orange's secret negotiations with France--St. Aldegonde's
   views in captivity--Expedition to relieve Middelburg--Counter
   preparations of Orange--Defeat of the expedition--Capitulation of
   Mondragon--Plans of Orange and his brothers--An army under Count
   Louis crosses the Rhine--Measures taken by Requesens--Manoeuvres of
   Avila and of Louis--The two armies in face at Mook--Battle of Mook-
   heath--Overthrow and death of Count Louis--The phantom battle--
   Character of Louis of Nassau--Painful uncertainty as to his fate--
   Periodical mutinies of the Spanish troops characterized--Mutiny
   after the battle of Mook--Antwerp attacked and occupied,--Insolent
   and oppressive conduct of the mutineers--Offers of Requesens
   refused--Mutiny in the citadel--Exploits of Salvatierra--Terms of
   composition--Soldiers' feast on the mere--Successful expedition of
   Admiral Boisot

The horrors of Alva's administration had caused men to look back with
fondness upon the milder and more vacillating tyranny of the Duchess
Margaret. From the same cause the advent of the Grand Commander was
hailed with pleasure and with a momentary gleam of hope. At any rate, it
was a relief that the man in whom an almost impossible perfection of
cruelty seemed embodied was at last to be withdrawn it was certain that
his successor, however ambitious of following in Alva's footsteps, would
never be able to rival the intensity and the unswerving directness of
purpose which it had been permitted to the Duke's nature to attain. The
new Governor-General was, doubtless, human, and it had been long since
the Netherlanders imagined anything in common between themselves and the
late Viceroy.

Apart from this hope, however, there was little encouragement to be
derived from anything positively known of the new functionary, or the
policy which he was to represent. Don Luis de Requesens and Cuniga, Grand
Commander of Castile and late Governor of Milan, was a man of mediocre
abilities, who possessed a reputation for moderation and sagacity which
he hardly deserved. His military prowess had been chiefly displayed in
the bloody and barren battle of Lepanto, where his conduct and counsel
were supposed to have contributed, in some measure, to the victorious
result. His administration at Milan had been characterized as firm and
moderate. Nevertheless, his character was regarded with anything but
favorable eyes in the Netherlands. Men told each other of his broken
faith to the Moors in Granada, and of his unpopularity in Milan, where,
notwithstanding his boasted moderation, he had, in reality, so oppressed
the people as to gain their deadly hatred. They complained, too, that it
was an insult to send, as Governor-General of the provinces, not a prince
of the blood, as used to be the case, but a simple "gentleman of cloak
and sword."

Any person, however, who represented the royal authority in the provinces
was under historical disadvantage. He was literally no more than an
actor, hardly even that. It was Philip's policy and pride to direct all
the machinery of his extensive empire, and to pull every string himself.
His puppets, however magnificently attired, moved only in obedience to
his impulse, and spoke no syllable but with his voice. Upon the table in
his cabinet was arranged all the business of his various realms, even to
the most minute particulars.

Plans, petty or vast, affecting the interests of empires and ages, or
bounded within the narrow limits of trivial and evanescent detail,
encumbered his memory and consumed his time. His ambition to do all the
work of his kingdoms was aided by an inconceivable greediness for labor.
He loved the routine of business, as some monarchs have loved war, as
others have loved pleasure. The object, alike paltry and impossible, of
this ambition, bespoke the narrow mind. His estates were regarded by him
as private property; measures affecting the temporal and eternal
interests of millions were regarded as domestic affairs, and the eye of
the master was considered the only one which could duly superintend these
estates and those interests. Much incapacity to govern was revealed in
this inordinate passion to administer. His mind, constantly fatigued by
petty labors, was never enabled to survey his wide domains from the
height of majesty.

In Alva, certainly, he had employed an unquestionable reality; but Alva,
by a fortunate coincidence of character, had seemed his second self. He
was now gone, however, and although the royal purpose had not altered,
the royal circumstances were changed. The moment had arrived when it was
thought that the mask and cothurn might again be assumed with effect;
when a grave and conventional personage might decorously make his
appearance to perform an interlude of clemency and moderation with
satisfactory results. Accordingly, the Great Commander, heralded by
rumors of amnesty, was commissioned to assume the government which Alva
had been permitted to resign.

It had been industriously circulated that a change of policy was
intended. It was even supposed by the more sanguine that the Duke had
retired in disgrace. A show of coldness was manifested towards him on his
return by the King, while Vargas, who had accompanied the Governor, was
peremptorily forbidden to appear within five leagues of the court. The
more discerning, however, perceived much affectation in this apparent
displeasure. Saint Goard, the keen observer of Philip's moods and
measures, wrote to his sovereign that he had narrowly observed the
countenances of both Philip and Alva; that he had informed himself as
thoroughly as possible with regard to the course of policy intended; that
he had arrived at the conclusion that the royal chagrin was but
dissimulation, intended to dispose the Netherlanders to thoughts of an
impossible peace, and that he considered the present merely a breathing
time, in which still more active preparations might be made for crushing
the rebellion. It was now evident to the world that the revolt had
reached a stage in which it could be terminated only by absolute conquest
or concession.

To conquer the people of the provinces, except by extermination, seemed
difficult--to judge by the seven years of execution, sieges and
campaigns, which had now passed without a definite result. It was,
therefore, thought expedient to employ concession. The new Governor
accordingly, in case the Netherlanders would abandon every object for
which they had been so heroically contending, was empowered to concede a
pardon. It was expressly enjoined upon him, however, that no conciliatory
measures should be adopted in which the King's absolute supremacy, and
the total prohibition of every form of worship but the Roman Catholic,
were not assumed as a basis. Now, as the people had been contending at
least ten years long for constitutional rights against prerogative, and
at least seven for liberty of conscience against papistry, it was easy to
foretell how much effect any negotiations thus commenced were likely to
produce.

Yet, no doubt, in the Netherlands there was a most earnest longing for
peace. The Catholic portion of the population were desirous of a
reconciliation with their brethren of the new religion. The universal
vengeance which had descended upon heresy had not struck the heretics
only. It was difficult to find a fireside, Protestant or Catholic, which
had not been made desolate by execution, banishment, or confiscation. The
common people and the grand seigniors were alike weary of the war. Not
only Aerschot and Viglius, but Noircarmes and Berlaymont, were desirous
that peace should be at last compassed upon liberal terms, and the Prince
of Orange fully and unconditionally pardoned. Even the Spanish commanders
had become disgusted with the monotonous butchery which had stained their
swords. Julian Romero; the fierce and unscrupulous soldier upon whose
head rested the guilt of the Naarden massacre, addressed several letters
to William of Orange, full of courtesy, and good wishes for a speedy
termination of the war, and for an entire reconciliation of the Prince
with his sovereign. Noircarmes also opened a correspondence with the
great leader of the revolt; and offered to do all in his power to restore
peace and prosperity to the country. The Prince answered the courtesy of
the Spaniard with equal, but barren, courtesy; for it was obvious that no
definite result could be derived from such informal negotiations. To
Noircarmes he responded in terms of gentle but grave rebuke, expressing
deep regret that a Netherland noble of such eminence, with so many others
of rank and authority, should so long have supported the King in his
tyranny. He, however, expressed his satisfaction that their eyes, however
late, had opened to the enormous iniquity which had been practised in the
country, and he accepted the offers of friendship as frankly as they had
been made. Not long afterwards, the Prince furnished his correspondent
with a proof of his sincerity, by forwarding to him two letters which had
been intercepted; from certain agents of government to Alva, in which
Noircarmes and others who had so long supported the King against their
own country, were spoken of in terms of menace and distrust. The Prince
accordingly warned his new correspondent that, in spite of all the proofs
of uncompromising loyalty which he had exhibited, he was yet moving upon
a dark and slippery-pathway, and might, even like Egmont and Horn, find a
scaffold-as the end and the reward of his career. So profound was that
abyss of dissimulation which constituted the royal policy, towards the
Netherlands, that the most unscrupulous partisans of government could
only see doubt and danger with regard to their future destiny, and were
sometimes only saved by an opportune death from disgrace and the
hangman's hands.

Such, then, were the sentiments of many eminent personages, even among
the most devoted loyalists. All longed for peace; many even definitely
expected it, upon the arrival of the Great Commander. Moreover, that
functionary discovered, at his first glance into the disorderly state of
the exchequer, that at least a short respite was desirable before
proceeding with the interminable measures of hostility against the
rebellion. If any man had been ever disposed to give Alva credit for
administrative ability, such delusion must have vanished at the spectacle
of confusion and bankruptcy which presented, itself at the termination of
his government. He resolutely declined to give his successor any
information whatever as to his financial position. So far from furnishing
a detailed statement, such as might naturally be expected upon so
momentous an occasion, he informed the Grand Commander that even a sketch
was entirely out of the question, and would require more time and labor
than he could then afford. He took his departure, accordingly, leaving
Requesens in profound ignorance as to his past accounts; an ignorance in
which it is probable that the Duke himself shared to the fullest extent.
His enemies stoutly maintained that, however loosely his accounts had
been kept, he had been very careful to make no mistakes against himself,
and that he had retired full of wealth, if not of honor, from his long
and terrible administration. His own letters, on the contrary, accused
the King of ingratitude, in permitting an old soldier to ruin himself,
not only in health but in fortune, for want of proper recompense during
an arduous administration. At any rate it is very certain that the
rebellion had already been an expensive matter to the Crown. The army in
the Netherlands numbered more than sixty-two thousand men, eight thousand
being Spaniards, the rest Walloons and Germans. Forty millions of dollars
had already been sunk, and it seemed probable that it would require
nearly the whole annual produce of the American mines to sustain the war.
The transatlantic gold and silver, disinterred from the depths where they
had been buried for ages, were employed, not to expand the current of a
healthy, life-giving commerce, but to be melted into blood. The sweat and
the tortures of the King's pagan subjects in the primeval forests of the
New World, were made subsidiary to the extermination of his Netherland
people, and the destruction of an ancient civilization. To this end had
Columbus discovered a hemisphere for Castile and Aragon, and the new
Indies revealed their hidden treasures?

Forty millions of ducats had been spent. Six and a half millions of
arrearages were due to the army, while its current expenses were six
hundred thousand a month. The military expenses alone of the Netherlands
were accordingly more than seven millions of dollars yearly, and the
mines of the New World produced, during the half century of Philip's
reign, an average of only eleven. Against this constantly increasing
deficit, there was not a stiver in the exchequer, nor the means of
raising one. The tenth penny had been long virtually extinct, and was
soon to be formally abolished. Confiscation had ceased to afford a
permanent revenue, and the estates obstinately refused to grant a dollar.
Such was the condition to which the unrelenting tyranny and the financial
experiments of Alva had reduced the country.

It was, therefore, obvious to Requesens that it would be useful at the
moment to hold out hopes of pardon and reconciliation. He saw, what he
had not at first comprehended, and what few bigoted supporters of
absolutism in any age have ever comprehended, that national enthusiasm,
when profound and general, makes a rebellion more expensive to the despot
than to the insurgents. "Before my arrival," wrote the Grand Commander to
his sovereign, "I did not understand how the rebels could maintain such
considerable fleets, while your Majesty could not support a single one.
It appears, however, that men who are fighting for their lives, their
firesides, their property, and their false religion, for their own cause,
in short, are contented to receive rations only, without receiving pay."
The moral which the new Governor drew from his correct diagnosis of the
prevailing disorder was, not that this national enthusiasm should be
respected, but that it should be deceived. He deceived no one but
himself, however. He censured Noircarmes and Romero for their
intermeddling, but held out hopes of a general pacification. He
repudiated the idea of any reconciliation between the King and the Prince
of Orange, but proposed at the same time a settlement of the revolt. He
had not yet learned that the revolt and William of Orange were one.
Although the Prince himself had repeatedly offered to withdraw for ever
from the country, if his absence would expedite a settlement satisfactory
to the provinces, there was not a patriot in the Netherlands who could
contemplate his departure without despair. Moreover, they all knew better
than did Requesens, the inevitable result of the pacific measures which
had been daily foreshadowed.

The appointment of the Grand Commander was in truth a desperate attempt
to deceive the Netherlanders. He approved distinctly and heartily of
Alva's policy, but wrote to the King that it was desirable to amuse the
people with the idea of another and a milder scheme. He affected to
believe, and perhaps really did believe, that the nation would accept the
destruction of all their institutions, provided that penitent heretics
were allowed to be reconciled to the Mother Church, and obstinate ones
permitted to go into perpetual exile, taking with them a small portion of
their worldly goods. For being willing to make this last and almost
incredible concession, he begged pardon sincerely of the King. If
censurable, he ought not, he thought, to be too severely blamed, for his
loyalty was known. The world was aware how often he had risked his life
for his Majesty, and how gladly and how many more times he was ready to
risk it in future. In his opinion, religion had, after all, but very
little to do with the troubles, and so he confidentially informed his
sovereign. Egmont and Horn had died Catholics, the people did not rise to
assist the Prince's invasion in 1568, and the new religion was only a
lever by which a few artful demagogues had attempted to overthrow the
King's authority.

Such views as these revealed the measures of the new Governor's capacity.
The people had really refused to rise in 1568, not because they were
without sympathy for Orange, but because they were paralyzed by their
fear of Alva. Since those days, however, the new religion had increased
and multiplied everywhere, in the blood which had rained upon it. It was
now difficult to find a Catholic in Holland and Zealand, who was not a
government agent. The Prince had been a moderate Catholic, in the opening
scenes of the rebellion, while he came forward as the champion of liberty
for all forms of Christianity. He had now become a convert to the new
religion without receding an inch from his position in favor of universal
toleration. The new religion was, therefore, not an instrument devised by
a faction, but had expanded into the atmosphere of the people's daily
life. Individuals might be executed for claiming to breathe it, but it
was itself impalpable to the attacks of despotism. Yet the Grand
Commander persuaded himself that religion had little or nothing to do
with the state of the Netherlands. Nothing more was necessary, he
thought; or affected to think, in order to restore tranquillity, than
once more to spread the net of a general amnesty.

The Duke of Alva knew better. That functionary, with whom, before his
departure from the provinces, Requesens had been commanded to confer,
distinctly stated his opinion that there was no use of talking about
pardon. Brutally, but candidly, he maintained that there was nothing to
be done but to continue the process of extermination. It was necessary,
he said, to reduce the country to a dead level of unresisting misery;
before an act of oblivion could be securely laid down as the foundation
of a new and permanent order of society. He had already given his advice
to his Majesty, that every town in the country should be burned to the
ground, except those which could be permanently occupied by the royal
troops. The King, however, in his access of clemency at the appointment
of a new administration, instructed the Grand Commander not to resort to
this measure unless it should become strictly necessary.--Such were the
opposite opinions of the old and new governors with regard to the pardon.
The learned Viglius sided with Alva, although manifestly against his
will. "It is both the Duke's opinion and my own," wrote the Commander,
"that Viglius does not dare to express his real opinion, and that he is
secretly desirous of an arrangement with the rebels." With a good deal of
inconsistency, the Governor was offended, not only with those who opposed
his plans, but with those who favored them. He was angry with Viglius,
who, at least nominally, disapproved of the pardon, and with Noircarmes,
Aerschot, and others, who manifested a wish for a pacification. Of the
chief characteristic ascribed to the people by Julius Caesar, namely,
that they forgot neither favors nor injuries, the second half only, in
the Grand Commander's opinion, had been retained. Not only did they never
forget injuries, but their memory, said he, was so good, that they
recollected many which they had never received.

On the whole, however, in the embarrassed condition of affairs, and while
waiting for further supplies, the Commander was secretly disposed to try
the effect of a pardon. The object was to deceive the people and to gain
time; for there was no intention of conceding liberty of conscience, of
withdrawing foreign troops, or of assembling the states-general. It was,
however, not possible to apply these hypocritical measures of
conciliation immediately. The war was in full career and could not be
arrested even in that wintry season. The patriots held Mondragon closely
besieged in Middelburg, the last point in the Isle of Walcheren which
held for the King. There was a considerable treasure in money and
merchandise shut up in that city; and, moreover, so deserving and
distinguished an officer as Mondragon could not be abandoned to his fate.
At the same time, famine was pressing him sorely, and, by the end of the
year, garrison and townspeople had nothing but rats, mice, dogs, cats,
and such repulsive substitutes for food, to support life withal. It was
necessary to take immediate measures to relieve the place.

On the other hand, the situation of the patriots was not very
encouraging. Their superiority on the sea was unquestionable, for the
Hollanders and Zealanders were the best sailors in the world, and they
asked of their country no payment for their blood, but thanks. The land
forces, however, were usually mercenaries, who were apt to mutiny at the
commencement of an action if, as was too often the case, their wages
could not be paid. Holland was entirely cut in twain by the loss of
Harlem and the leaguer of Leyden, no communication between the dissevered
portions being possible, except with difficulty and danger. The estates,
although they had done much for the cause, and were prepared to do much
more, were too apt to wrangle about economical details. They irritated
the Prince of Orange by huckstering about subsidies to a degree which his
proud and generous nature could hardly brook. He had strong hopes from
France. Louis of Nassau had held secret interviews with the Duke of
Alencon and the Duke of Anjou, now King of Poland, at Blamont. Alencon
had assured him secretly, affectionately, and warmly, that he would be as
sincere a friend to the cause as were his two royal brothers. The Count
had even received one hundred thousand livres in hand, as an earnest of
the favorable intentions of France, and was now busily engaged, at the
instance of the Prince, in levying an army in Germany for the relief of
Leyden and the rest of Holland, while William, on his part, was omitting
nothing, whether by representations to the estates or by secret foreign
missions and correspondence, to further the cause of the suffering
country.

At the same time, the Prince dreaded the effect--of the promised pardon.
He had reason to be distrustful of the general temper of the nation when
a man like Saint Aldegonde, the enlightened patriot and his own tried
friend, was influenced, by the discouraging and dangerous position in
which he found himself, to abandon the high ground upon which they had
both so long and so firmly stood: Saint Aldegonde had been held a strict
prisoner since his capture at Maeslandsluis, at the close of Alva's
administration.--It was, no doubt, a predicament attended with much keen
suffering and positive danger. It had hitherto been the uniform policy of
the government to kill all prisoners, of whatever rank. Accordingly, some
had been drowned, some had been hanged--some beheaded some poisoned in
their dungeons--all had been murdered. This had been Alva's course. The
Grand Commander also highly approved of the system, but the capture of
Count Bossu by the patriots had necessitated a suspension of such rigor.
It was certain that Bossu's head would fall as soon as Saint Aldegonde's,
the Prince having expressly warned the government of this inevitable
result. Notwithstanding that security, however, for his eventual
restoration to liberty, a Netherland rebel in a Spanish prison could
hardly feel himself at ease. There were so many foot-marks into the cave
and not a single one coming forth. Yet it was not singular, however, that
the Prince should read with regret the somewhat insincere casuistry with
which Saint Aldegonde sought to persuade himself and his
fellow-countrymen that a reconciliation with the monarch was desirable,
even upon unworthy terms. He was somewhat shocked that so valiant and
eloquent a supporter of the Reformation should coolly express his opinion
that the King would probably refuse liberty of conscience to the
Netherlanders, but would, no doubt, permit heretics to go into
banishment. "Perhaps, after we have gone into exile," added Saint
Aldegonde, almost with baseness, "God may give us an opportunity of doing
such good service to the King, that he will lend us a more favorable ear,
and, peradventure, permit our return to the country."

Certainly, such language was not becoming the pen which wrote the famous
Compromise. The Prince himself was, however, not to be induced, even by
the captivity and the remonstrances of so valued a friend, to swerve from
the path of duty. He still maintained, in public and private, that the
withdrawal of foreign troops from the provinces, the restoration of the
old constitutional privileges, and the entire freedom of conscience in
religious matters, were the indispensable conditions of any pacification.
It was plain to him that the Spaniards were not ready to grant these
conditions; but he felt confident that he should accomplish the release
of Saint Aldegonde without condescending to an ignominious peace.

The most pressing matter, upon the Great Commander's arrival, was
obviously to relieve the city of Middelburg. Mondragon, after so stanch a
defence, would soon be obliged to capitulate, unless he should promptly
receive supplies. Requesens, accordingly, collected seventy-five ships at
Bergen op Zoom; which were placed nominally under the command of Admiral
de Glimes, but in reality under that of Julian Romero. Another fleet of
thirty vessels had been assembled at Antwerp under Sancho d'Avila. Both,
amply freighted with provisions, were destined to make their way to
Middelburg by the two different passages of the Hondo and the Eastern
Scheld. On the other hand, the Prince of Orange had repaired to Flushing
to superintend the operations of Admiral Boisot, who already; in
obedience to his orders, had got a powerful squadron in readiness at that
place. Late in January, 1574, d'Avila arrived in the neighbourhood of
Flushing, where he awaited the arrival of Romero's fleet. United, the two
Commanders were to make a determined attempt to reinforce the starving
city of Middelburg. At the same time, Governor Requesens made his
appearance in person at Bergen op Zoom to expedite the departure of the
stronger fleet, but it was not the intention of the Prince of Orange to
allow this expedition to save the city. The Spanish generals, however
valiant, were to learn that their genius was not amphibious, and that the
Beggars of the Sea were still invincible on their own element, even if
their brethren of the land had occasionally quailed.

Admiral Boisot's fleet had already moved up the Scheld and taken a
position nearly opposite to Bergen op Zoom. On the 20th of January the
Prince of Orange, embarking from Zierick Zee, came to make them a visit
before the impending action. His galley, conspicuous for its elegant
decorations, was exposed for some time to the artillery of the fort, but
providentially escaped unharmed. He assembled all the officers of his
armada, and, in brief but eloquent language, reminded them how necessary
it was to the salvation of the whole country that they should prevent the
city of Middelburg--the key to the whole of Zealand, already upon the
point of falling into the hands of the patriots--from being now wrested
from their grasp. On the sea, at least, the Hollanders and Zealanders
were at home. The officers and men, with one accord, rent the air with
their cheers. They swore that they would shed every drop of blood in
their veins but they would sustain the Prince and the country; and they
solemnly vowed not only to serve, if necessary, without wages, but to
sacrifice all that they possessed in the world rather than abandon the
cause of their fatherland. Having by his presence and his language
aroused their valor to so high a pitch of enthusiasm, the Prince departed
for Delft, to make arrangements to drive the Spaniards from the siege of
Leyden.

On the 29th of January, the fleet of Romero sailed from Bergen, disposed
in three divisions, each numbering twenty-five vessels of different
sizes. As the Grand Commander stood on the dyke of Schakerloo to witness
the departure, a general salute was fired by the fleet in his honor, but
with most unfortunate augury. The discharge, by some accident, set fire
to the magazines of one of the ships, which blew up with a terrible
explosion, every soul on board perishing. The expedition, nevertheless,
continued its way. Opposite Romerswael, the fleet of Boisot awaited them,
drawn up in battle array. As an indication of the spirit which animated
this hardy race, it may be mentioned that Schot, captain of the
flag-ship, had been left on shore, dying of a pestilential fever. Admiral
Boisot had appointed a Flushinger, Klaaf Klaafzoon, in his place. Just
before the action, however, Schot, "scarcely able to blow a feather from
his mouth," staggered on board his ship, and claimed the command.

There was no disputing a precedency which he had risen from his death-bed
to vindicate. There was, however, a short discussion, as the enemy's
fleet approached, between these rival captains regarding the manner in
which the Spaniards should be received. Klaafzoon was of opinion that
most of the men should go below till after the enemy's first discharge.
Schot insisted that all should remain on deck, ready to grapple with the
Spanish fleet, and to board them without the least delay.

The sentiment of Schot prevailed, and all hands stood on deck, ready with
boarding-pikes and grappling-irons.

The first division of Romero came nearer, and delivered its first
broadside, when Schot and Klaafzoon both fell mortally wounded. Admiral
Boisot lost an eye, and many officers and sailors in the other vessels
were killed or wounded. This was, however, the first and last of the
cannonading. As many of Romero's vessels as could be grappled within the
narrow estuary found themselves locked in close embrace with their
enemies. A murderous hand-to-hand conflict succeeded. Battle-axe,
boarding-pike, pistol, and dagger were the weapons. Every man who yielded
himself a prisoner was instantly stabbed and tossed into the sea by the
remorseless Zealanders. Fighting only to kill, and not to plunder, they
did not even stop to take the gold chains which many Spaniards wore on
their necks. It had, however, been obvious from the beginning that the
Spanish fleet were not likely to achieve that triumph over the patriots
which was necessary before they could relieve Middelburg. The battle
continued a little longer; but after fifteen ships had been taken and
twelve hundred royalists slain, the remainder of the enemy's fleet
retreated into Bergen. Romero himself, whose ship had grounded, sprang
out of a port-hole and swam ashore, followed by such of his men as were
able to imitate him. He landed at the very feet of the Grand Commander,
who, wet and cold, had been standing all day upon the dyke of Schakerloo,
in the midst of a pouring rain, only to witness the total defeat of his
armada at last.

"I told your Excellency," said Romero, coolly, as he climbed, all
dripping, on the bank, "that I was a land-fighter and not a sailor. If
you were to give me the command of a hundred fleets, I believe that none
of them would fare better than this has done." The Governor and his
discomfited, but philosophical lieutenant, then returned to Bergen, and
thence to Brussels, acknowledging that the city of Middelburg must fall,
while Sancho d'Avila, hearing of the disaster which had befallen his
countrymen, brought his fleet, with the greatest expedition, back to
Antwerp. Thus the gallant Mondragon was abandoned to his fate.

That fate could no longer be protracted. The city of Middelburg had
reached and passed the starvation point. Still Mondragon was determined
not to yield at discretion, although very willing to capitulate. The
Prince of Orange, after the victory of Bergen, was desirous of an
unconditional surrender, believing it to be his right, and knowing that
he could not be supposed capable of practising upon Middelburg the
vengeance which had been wreaked on Naarden, Zutfen, and Harlem.
Mondragon, however, swore that he would set fire to the city in twenty
places, and perish with every soldier and burgher in the flames together,
rather than abandon himself to the enemy's mercy. The prince knew that
the brave Spaniard was entirely capable of executing his threat. He
granted honorable conditions, which, on the 18th February, were drawn up
in five articles, and signed. It was agreed that Mondragon and his troops
should leave the place, with their arms, ammunition, and all their
personal property. The citizens who remained were to take oath of
fidelity to the Prince, as stadholder for his Majesty, and were to pay
besides a subsidy of three hundred thousand florins. Mondragon was,
furthermore, to procure the discharge of Saint Aldegonde, and of four
other prisoners of rank, or, failing in the attempt, was to return within
two months, and constitute himself prisoner of war. The Catholic priests
were to take away from the city none of their property but their clothes.
In accordance with this capitulation, Mondragon, and those who wished to
accompany him, left the city on the 21st of February, and were conveyed
to the Flemish shore at Neuz. It will be seen in the sequel that the
Governor neither granted him the release of the five prisoners, nor
permitted him to return, according to his parole. A few days afterwards,
the Prince entered the city, re-organized the magistracy, received the
allegiance of the inhabitants, restored the ancient constitution, and
liberally remitted two-thirds of the sum in which they had been, mulcted.

The Spaniards had thus been successfully driven from the Isle of
Walcheren, leaving the Hollanders and Zealanders masters of the
sea-coast. Since the siege of Alkmaar had been raised, however, the enemy
had remained within the territory of Holland. Leyden was closely
invested, the country in a desperate condition, and all communication
between its different cities nearly suspended. It was comparatively easy
for the Prince of Orange to equip and man his fleets. The genius and
habits of the people made them at home upon the water, and inspired them
with a feeling of superiority to their adversaries. It was not so upon
land. Strong to resist, patient to suffer, the Hollanders, although
terrible in defence; had not the necessary discipline or experience to
meet the veteran legions of Spain, with confidence in the open field. To
raise the siege of Leyden, the main reliance of the Prince was upon Count
Louis, who was again in Germany. In the latter days of Alva's
administration, William had written to his brothers, urging them speedily
to arrange the details of a campaign, of which he forwarded them a
sketch. As soon as a sufficient force had been levied in Germany, an
attempt was to be made upon Maestricht. If that failed, Louis was to
cross the Meuse, in the neighbourhood of Stochem, make his way towards
the Prince's own city of Gertruidenberg, and thence make a junction with
his brother in the neighbourhood of Delft. They were then to take up a
position together between Harlem and Leyden. In that case it seemed
probable that the Spaniards would find themselves obliged to fight at a
great disadvantage, or to abandon the country. "In short," said the
Prince, "if this enterprise be arranged with due diligence and
discretion, I hold it as the only certain means for putting a speedy end
to the war, and for driving these devils of Spaniards out of the country,
before the Duke of Alva has time to raise another army to support them."

In pursuance of this plan, Louis had been actively engaged all the
earlier part of the winter in levying troops and raising supplies. He had
been assisted by the French princes with considerable sums of money, as
an earnest of what he was in future to expect from that source. He had
made an unsuccessful attempt to effect the capture of Requesens, on his
way to take the government of the Netherlands. He had then passed to the
frontier of France, where he had held his important interview with
Catharine de Medici and the Duke of Anjou, then on the point of departure
to ascend the throne of Poland. He had received liberal presents, and
still more liberal promises. Anjou had assured him that he would go as
far as any of the German princes in rendering active and sincere
assistance to the Protestant cause in the Netherlands. The Duc
d'Alencon--soon, in his brother's absence, to succeed to the
chieftainship of the new alliance between the "politiques" and the
Huguenots--had also pressed his hand, whispering in his ear, as he did
so, that the government of France now belonged to him, as it had recently
done to Anjou, and that the Prince might reckon upon his friendship with
entire security.

These fine words, which cost nothing when whispered in secret, were not
destined to fructify into a very rich harvest, for the mutual jealousy of
France and England, lest either should acquire ascendency in the
Netherlands, made both governments prodigal of promises, while the common
fear entertained by them of the power of Spain rendered both languid;
insincere, and mischievous allies. Count John, however; was indefatigable
in arranging the finances of the proposed expedition, and in levying
contributions among his numerous relatives and allies in Germany, while
Louis had profited by the occasion of Anjou's passage into Poland, to
acquire for himself two thousand German and French cavalry, who had
served to escort that Prince, and who, being now thrown out of
employment, were glad to have a job offered them by a general who was
thought to be in funds. Another thousand of cavalry and six thousand foot
were soon assembled from those ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary
warriors, the smaller German states. With these, towards the end of
February; Louis crossed the Rhine in a heavy snow-storm, and bent his
course towards Maestricht. All the three brothers of the Prince
accompanied this little army, besides Duke Christopher, son of the
elector Palatine.

Before the end of the month the army reached the Meuse, and encamped
within four miles of Maestricht; on the opposite side of the river. The
garrison, commanded by Montesdoca, was weak, but the news of the warlike
preparations in Germany had preceded the arrival of Count Louis.
Requesens, feeling the gravity of the occasion, had issued orders for an
immediate levy of eight thousand cavalry in Germany, with a proportionate
number of infantry. At the same time he had directed Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, with some companies of cavalry, then stationed in Breda, to
throw himself without delay into Maestricht. Don Sancho d'Avila was
entrusted with the general care of resisting the hostile expedition. That
general had forthwith collected all the troops which could be spared from
every town where they were stationed, had strengthened the cities of
Antwerp, Ghent, Nimweben, and Valenciennes, where there were known to be
many secret adherents of Orange; and with the remainder of his forces had
put himself in motion, to oppose the entrance of Louis into Brabant, and
his junction with his brother in Holland. Braccamonte had been despatched
to Leyden, in order instantly to draw off the forces which were besieging
the city. Thus Louis had already effected something of importance by the
very hews of his approach.

Meantime the Prince of Orange had raised six thousand infantry, whose
rendezvous was the Isle of Bommel. He was disappointed at the paucity of
the troops which Louis had been able to collect, but he sent messengers
immediately to him; with a statement of his own condition, and with
directions to join him in the Isle of Bommel, as soon as Maestricht
should be reduced. It was, however, not in the destiny of Louis to reduce
Maestricht. His expedition had been marked with disaster from the
beginning. A dark and threatening prophecy had, even before its
commencement, enwrapped Louis, his brethren, and his little army, in a
funeral pall. More than a thousand of his men had deserted before he
reached the Meuse. When he encamped, apposite Maestricht, he found the
river neither frozen nor open, the ice obstructing the navigation, but
being too weak for the weight of an army. While he was thus delayed and
embarrassed, Mendoza arrived in the city with reinforcements. It seemed
already necessary for Louis to abandon his hopes of Maestricht, but he
was at least desirous of crossing the river in that neighbourhood, in
order to effect his junction with the Prince at the earliest possible
moment. While the stream was still encumbered with ice, however, the
enemy removed all the boats. On, the 3rd of March, Avila arrived with a
large body of troops at Maestricht, and on the 18th Mendoza crossed the
river in the night, giving the patriots so severe an 'encamisada', that
seven hundred were killed, at the expense of only seven of his own party.
Harassed, but not dispirited by these disasters, Louis broke up his camp
on the 21st, and took a position farther down the river, at Fauquemont
and Gulpen, castles in the Duchy of Limburg. On the 3rd of April,
Braccamonite arrived at Maestricht, with twenty-five companies of
Spaniards and three of cavalry, while, on the same day Mondragon reached
the scene of action with his sixteen companies of veterans.

It was now obvious to Louis, not only that he should not take Maestricht,
but that his eventual junction with his brother was at least doubtful,
every soldier who could possibly be spared seeming in motion to oppose
his progress. He was, to be sure, not yet outnumbered, but the enemy was
increasing, and his own force diminishing daily. Moreover, the Spaniards
were highly disciplined and experienced troops; while his own soldiers
were mercenaries, already clamorous and insubordinate. On the 8th of
April he again shifted his encaampment, and took his course along the
right bank of the Meuse, between that river and the Rhine, in the
direction of Nimwegen. Avila promptly decided to follow him upon the
opposite bank of the Meuse, intending to throw himself between Louis and
the Prince of Orange, and by a rapid march to give the Count battle,
before he could join his brother. On the 8th of April, at early dawn,
Louis had left the neighbourhood of Maestricht, and on the 13th he
encamped at the village of Mook near the confines of Cleves. Sending out
his scouts, he learned to his vexation, that the enemy had outmarched
him, and were now within cannonshot. On the 13th, Avila had constructed a
bridge of boats, over which he had effected the passage of the Meuse with
his whole army, so that on the Count's arrival at Mook, he found the
enemy facing him, on the same side of the river, and directly in his
path. It was, therefore, obvious that, in this narrow space between the
Waal and the Meuse, where they were now all assembled, Louis must achieve
a victory, unaided, or abandon his expedition, and leave the Hollanders
to despair. He was distressed at the position in which he found himself,
for he had hoped to reduce Maestricht, and to join, his brother in
Holland. Together, they could, at least, have expelled the Spaniards from
that territory, in which case it was probable that a large part of the
population in the different provinces would have risen. According to
present aspects, the destiny of the country, for some time to come, was
likely to hang upon the issue of a battle which he had not planned, and
for which he was not fully prepared. Still he was not the man to be
disheartened; nor had he ever possessed the courage to refuse a battle
when: offered. Upon this occasion it would be difficult to retreat
without disaster and disgrace, but it was equally difficult to achieve a
victory. Thrust, as he was, like a wedge into the very heart of a hostile
country, he was obliged to force his way through, or to remain in his
enemy's power. Moreover, and worst of all, his troops were in a state of
mutiny for their wages. While he talked to them of honor, they howled to
him for money. It was the custom of these mercenaries to mutiny on the
eve of battle--of the Spaniards, after it had been fought. By the one
course, a victory was often lost which might have been achieved; by the
other, when won it was rendered fruitless.

Avila had chosen his place of battle with great skill. On the right bank
of the Meuse, upon a narrow plain which spread from the river to a chain
of hills within cannon-shot on the north, lay the little village of Mook.
The Spanish general knew that his adversary had the superiority in
cavalry, and that within this compressed apace it would not be possible
to derive much advantage from the circumstance.

On the 14th, both armies were drawn up in battle array at earliest dawn,
Louis having strengthened his position by a deep trench, which extended
from Mook, where he had stationed ten companies of infantry, which thus
rested on the village and the river. Next came the bulk of his infantry,
disposed in a single square. On their right was his cavalry, arranged in
four squadrons, as well as the narrow limits of the field would allow. A
small portion of them, for want of apace, were stationed on the hill
side.

Opposite, the forces of Don Sancho were drawn up in somewhat similar
fashion. Twenty-five companies of Spaniards were disposed in four bodies
of pikemen and musketeers; their right resting on the river. On their
left was the cavalry, disposed by Mendoza in the form of a half moon-the
horns garnished by two small bodies of sharpshooters. In the front ranks
of the cavalry were the mounted carabineers of Schenk; behind were the
Spanish dancers. The village of Mook lay between the two armies.

The skirmishing began at early dawn, with an attack upon the trench, and
continued some hours, without bringing on a general engagement. Towards
ten o'clock, Count Louis became impatient. All the trumpets of the
patriots now rang out a challenge to their adversaries, and the Spaniards
were just returning the defiance, and preparing a general onset, when the
Seigneur de Hierges and Baron Chevreaux arrived on the field. They
brought with them a reinforcement of more than a thousand men, and the
intelligence that Valdez was on his way with nearly five thousand more.
As he might be expected on the following morning, a short deliberation
was held as to the expediency of deferring the action. Count Louis was at
the head of six thousand foot and two thousand cavalry. Avila mustered
only four thousand infantry and not quite a thousand horse. This
inferiority would be changed on the morrow into an overwhelming
superiority. Meantime, it was well to remember the punishment endured by
Aremberg at Heiliger Lee, for not waiting till Meghen's arrival. This
prudent counsel was, however, very generally scouted, and by none more
loudly than by Hierges and Chevreaux, who had brought the intelligence.
It was thought that at this juncture nothing could be more indiscreet
than discretion. They had a wary and audacious general to deal with.
While they were waiting for their reinforcements, he was quite capable of
giving them the slip. He might thus effect the passage of the stream and
that union with his brother which--had been thus far so successfully
prevented. This reasoning prevailed, and the skirmishing at the trench
was renewed with redoubled vigour, an additional: force being sent
against it. After a short and fierce struggle it was carried, and the
Spaniards rushed into the village, but were soon dislodged by a larger
detachment of infantry, which Count Louis sent to the rescue. The battle
now became general at this point.

Nearly all the patriot infantry were employed to defend the post; nearly
all the Spanish infantry were ordered to assail it. The Spaniards,
dropping on their knees, according to custom, said a Paternoster and an
Ave Mary, and then rushed, in mass, to the attack. After a short but
sharp conflict, the trench was again carried, and the patriots completely
routed. Upon this, Count Louis charged with all his cavalry upon the
enemy's horse, which had hitherto remained motionless. With the first
shock the mounted arquebusiers of Schenk, constituting the vanguard, were
broken, and fled in all directions. So great was their panic, as Louis
drove them before him, that they never stopped till they had swum or been
drowned in the river; the survivors carrying the news to Grave and to
other cities that the royalists had been completely routed. This was,
however, very far from the truth. The patriot cavalry, mostly
carabineers, wheeled after the first discharge, and retired to reload
their pieces, but before they were ready for another attack, the Spanish
lancers and the German black troopers, who had all remained firm, set
upon them with great spirit: A fierce, bloody, and confused action
succeeded, in which the patriots were completely overthrown.

Count Louis, finding that the day was lost, and his army cut to pieces,
rallied around him a little band of troopers, among whom were his
brother, Count Henry, and Duke Christopher, and together they made a
final and desperate charge. It was the last that was ever seen of them on
earth. They all went down together, in the midst of the fight, and were
never heard of more. The battle terminated, as usual in those conflicts
of mutual hatred, in a horrible butchery, hardly any of the patriot army
being left to tell the tale of their disaster. At least four thousand
were killed, including those who were slain on the field, those who were
suffocated in the marshes or the river, and those who were burned in the
farm-houses where they had taken refuge. It was uncertain which of those
various modes of death had been the lot of Count Louis, his brother, and
his friend. The mystery was never solved. They had, probably, all died on
the field; but, stripped of their clothing, with their faces trampled
upon by the hoofs of horses, it was not possible to distinguish them from
the less illustrious dead. It was the opinion of, many that they had been
drowned in the river; of others, that they had been burned.

   [Meteren, v. 91. Bor, vii. 491, 492. Hoofd, Bentivoglio, ubi
   sup. The Walloon historian, occasionally cited in these pages, has
   a more summary manner of accounting for the fate of these
   distinguished personages. According to his statement, the leaders
   of the Protestant forces dined and made merry at a convent in the
   neighbourhood upon Good Friday, five days before the battle, using
   the sacramental chalices at the banquet, and mixing consecrated
   wafers with their wine. As a punishment for this sacrilege, the
   army was utterly overthrown, and the Devil himself flew away with
   the chieftains, body and soul.]

There was a vague tale that Louis, bleeding but not killed, had struggled
forth from the heap of corpses where he had been thrown, had crept to
the river-side, and, while washing his wounds, had been surprised and
butchered by a party of rustics. The story was not generally credited,
but no man knew, or was destined to learn, the truth.

A dark and fatal termination to this last enterprise of Count Louis had
been anticipated by many. In that superstitious age, when emperors and
princes daily investigated the future, by alchemy, by astrology, and by
books of fate, filled with formula; as gravely and precisely set forth as
algebraical equations; when men of every class, from monarch to peasant,
implicitly believed in supernatural portents and prophecies, it was not
singular that a somewhat striking appearance, observed in the sky some
weeks previously to the battle of Mookerheyde, should have inspired many
persons with a shuddering sense of impending evil.

Early in February five soldiers of the burgher guard at Utrecht, being on
their midnight watch, beheld in the sky above them the representation of
a furious battle. The sky was extremely dark, except directly over: their
heads; where, for a space equal in extent to the length of the city, and
in breadth to that of an ordinary chamber, two armies, in battle array,
were seen advancing upon each other. The one moved rapidly up from the
north-west, with banners waving; spears flashing, trumpets sounding;
accompanied by heavy artillery and by squadrons of cavalry. The other
came slowly forward from the southeast; as if from an entrenched camp, to
encounter their assailants. There was a fierce action for a few moments,
the shouts of the combatants, the heavy discharge of cannon, the rattle
of musketry; the tramp of heavy-aimed foot soldiers, the rush of cavalry,
being distinctly heard. The firmament trembled with the shock of the
contending hosts, and was lurid with the rapid discharges of their
artillery. After a short, fierce engagement, the north-western army was
beaten back in disorder, but rallied again, after a breathing-time,
formed again into solid column, and again advanced. Their foes, arrayed,
as the witnesses affirmed, in a square and closely serried grove of
spears' and muskets, again awaited the attack. Once more the aerial
cohorts closed upon each other, all the signs and sounds of a desperate
encounter being distinctly recognised by the eager witnesses. The
struggle seemed but short. The lances of the south-eastern army seemed to
snap "like hemp-stalks," while their firm columns all went down together
in mass, beneath the onset of their enemies. The overthrow was complete,
victors and vanquished had faded, the clear blue space, surrounded by
black clouds, was empty, when suddenly its whole extent, where the
conflict had so lately raged, was streaked with blood, flowing athwart
the sky in broad crimson streams; nor was it till the five witnesses had
fully watched and pondered over these portents that the vision entirely
vanished.

So impressed were the grave magistrates of Utrecht with the account given
next day by the sentinels, that a formal examination of the circumstances
was made, the deposition of each witness, under oath, duly recorded, and
a vast deal of consultation of soothsayers' books and other auguries
employed to elucidate the mystery. It was universally considered typical
of the anticipated battle between Count Louis and the Spaniards. When,
therefore, it was known that the patriots, moving from the south-east,
had arrived at Mookerheyde, and that their adversaries, crossing the
Meuse at Grave, had advanced upon them from the north-west, the result of
the battle was considered inevitable; the phantom battle of Utrecht its
infallible precursor.

Thus perished Louis of Nassau in the flower of his manhood, in the midst
of a career already crowded with events such as might suffice for a
century of ordinary existence. It is difficult to find in history a more
frank and loyal character. His life was noble; the elements of the heroic
and the genial so mixed in him that the imagination contemplates him,
after three centuries, with an almost affectionate interest. He was not a
great man. He was far from possessing the subtle genius or the expansive
views of his brother; but, called as he was to play a prominent part in
one of the most complicated and imposing dramas ever enacted by man, he,
nevertheless, always acquitted himself with honor. His direct, fearless
and energetic nature commanded alike the respect of friend and foe. As a
politician, a soldier, and a diplomatist, he was busy, bold, and true.
He, accomplished by sincerity what many thought could only be compassed
by trickery. Dealing often with the most adroit and most treacherous of
princes and statesmen, he frequently carried his point, and he never
stooped to flattery. From the time when, attended by his "twelve
disciples," he assumed the most prominent part in the negotiations with
Margaret of Parma, through all the various scenes of the revolution,
through, all the conferences with Spaniards, Italians, Huguenots.
Malcontents, Flemish councillors, or German princes, he was the
consistent and unflinching supporter of religious liberty and
constitutional law. The battle of Heiliger Lee and the capture of Mons
were his most signal triumphs, but the fruits of both were annihilated by
subsequent disaster. His headlong courage was his chief foible. The
French accused him of losing the battle of Moncontour by his impatience
to engage; yet they acknowledged that to his masterly conduct it was
owing that their retreat was effected in so successful, and even so
brilliant a manner. He was censured for rashness and precipitancy in this
last and fatal enterprise, but the reproach seems entirely without
foundation. The expedition as already stated, had been deliberately
arranged, with the full co-operation of his brother, and had been
preparing several months. That he was able to set no larger force on foot
than that which he led into Gueldres was not his fault. But for the
floating ice which barred his passage of the Meuse, he would have
surprised Maestricht; but for the mutiny, which rendered his mercenary
soldiers cowards, he might have defeated Avila at Mookerheyde. Had he
done so he would have joined his brother in the Isle of Bommel in
triumph; the Spaniards would, probably, have been expelled from Holland,
and Leyden saved the horrors of that memorable siege which she was soon
called, upon to endure. These results were not in his destiny. Providence
had decreed that he should perish in the midst of his usefulness; that
the Prince, in his death,'should lose the right hand which had been so
swift to execute his various plans, and the faithful fraternal heart
which had always responded so readily to every throb of his own.

In figure, he was below the middle height, but martial and noble in his
bearing. The expression of his countenance was lively; his manner frank
and engaging. All who knew him personally loved him, and he was the idol
of his gallant brethren: His mother always addressed him as her dearly
beloved, her heart's-cherished Louis. "You must come soon to me," she
wrote in the last year of his life, "for I have many matters to ask your
advice upon; and I thank you beforehand, for you have loved me as your
mother all the days of your life; for which may God Almighty have you in
his holy keeping."

It was the doom of this high-born, true-hearted dame to be called upon to
weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers. Count
Adolphus had already perished in his youth on the field of Heiliger Lee,
and now Louis and his young brother Henry, who had scarcely attained his
twenty-sixth year, and whose short life had been passed in that faithful
service to the cause of freedom which was the instinct of his race, had
both found a bloody and an unknown grave. Count John, who had already
done so much for the cause, was fortunately spared to do much more.
Although of the expedition, and expecting to participate in the battle,
he had, at the urgent solicitation of all the leaders, left the army for
a brief, season, in order to obtain at Cologne a supply of money, for the
mutinous troops: He had started upon this mission two days before the
action in which he, too, would otherwise have been sacrificed. The young
Duke Christopher, "optimm indolis et magnee spei adolescens," who had
perished on the same field, was sincerely mourned by the lovers of
freedom. His father, the Elector, found his consolation in the
Scriptures, and in the reflection that his son had died in the bed of
honor, fighting for the cause of God. "'T was better thus," said that
stern Calvinist, whose dearest wish was to "Calvinize the world," than to
have passed his time in idleness, "which is the Devil's pillow."

Vague rumors of the catastrophe had spread far and wide. It was soon
certain that Louis had been defeated, but, for a long time, conflicting
reports were in circulation as to the fate of the leaders. The Prince of
Orange, meanwhile, passed days of intense anxiety, expecting hourly to
hear from his brothers, listening to dark rumors, which he refused to
credit and could not contradict, and writing letters, day after day, long
after the eyes which should have read the friendly missives were closed.

The victory of the King's army at Mookerheyde had been rendered
comparatively barren by the mutiny which broke forth the day after the
battle. Three years' pay were due to the Spanish troops, and it was not
surprising that upon this occasion one of those periodic rebellions
should break forth, by which the royal cause was frequently so much
weakened, and the royal governors so intolerably perplexed. These
mutinies were of almost regular occurrence, and attended by as regular a
series of phenomena. The Spanish troops, living so far from their own
country, but surrounded by their women, and constantly increasing swarms
of children, constituted a locomotive city of considerable population,
permanently established on a foreign soil. It was a city walled in by
bayonets, and still further isolated from the people around by the
impassable moat of mutual hatred. It was a city obeying the articles of
war, governed by despotic authority, and yet occasionally revealing, in
full force, the irrepressible democratic element. At periods which could
almost be calculated, the military populace were wont to rise upon the
privileged classes, to deprive them of office and liberty, and to set up
in their place commanders of their own election. A governor-in-chief, a
sergeant-major, a board of councillors and various other functionaries,
were chosen by acclamation and universal suffrage. The Eletto, or chief
officer thus appointed, was clothed with supreme power, but forbidden to
exercise it. He was surrounded by councillors, who watched his every
motion, read all his correspondence, and assisted at all his conferences,
while the councillors were themselves narrowly watched by the commonalty.
These movements were, however, in general, marked by the most exemplary
order. Anarchy became a system of government; rebellion enacted and
enforced the strictest rules of discipline; theft, drunkenness, violence
to women, were severely punished. As soon as the mutiny broke forth, the
first object was to take possession of the nearest city, where the Eletto
was usually established in the town-house, and the soldiery quartered
upon the citizens. Nothing in the shape of food or lodging was too good
for these marauders. Men who had lived for years on camp rations--coarse
knaves who had held the plough till compelled to handle the musket, now
slept in fine linen, and demanded from the trembling burghers the
daintiest viands. They ate the land bare, like a swarm of locusts.
"Chickens and partridges," says the thrifty chronicler of Antwerp,
"capons and pheasants, hares and rabbits, two kinds of wines;--for
sauces, capers and olives, citrons and oranges, spices and sweetmeats;
wheaten bread for their dogs, and even wine, to wash the feet of their
horses;"--such was the entertainment demanded and obtained by the
mutinous troops. They were very willing both to enjoy the luxury of this
forage, and to induce the citizens, from weariness of affording compelled
hospitality, to submit to a taxation by which the military claims might
be liquidated.

A city thus occupied was at the mercy of a foreign soldiery, which had
renounced all authority but that of self-imposed laws. The King's
officers were degraded, perhaps murdered; while those chosen to supply
their places had only a nominal control. The Eletto, day by day,
proclaimed from the balcony of the town-house the latest rules and
regulations. If satisfactory, there was a clamor of applause; if
objectionable, they were rejected with a tempest of hisses, with
discharges of musketry; The Eletto did not govern: he was a dictator who
could not dictate, but could only register decrees. If too honest, too
firm, or too dull for his place, he was deprived of his office and
sometimes of his life. Another was chosen in his room, often to be
succeeded by a series of others, destined to the same fate. Such were the
main characteristics of those formidable mutinies, the result of the
unthriftiness and dishonesty by which the soldiery engaged in these
interminable hostilities were deprived of their dearly earned wages. The
expense of the war was bad enough at best, but when it is remembered that
of three or four dollars sent from Spain, or contributed by the provinces
for the support of the army, hardly one reached the pockets of the
soldier, the frightful expenditure which took place may be imagined. It
was not surprising that so much peculation should engender revolt.

The mutiny which broke out after the defeat of Count Louis was marked
with the most pronounced and inflammatory of these symptoms. Three years'
pay was due, to the Spaniards, who, having just achieved a signal
victory, were-disposed to reap its fruits, by fair means or by force. On
receiving nothing but promises, in answer to their clamorous demands,
they mutinied to a man, and crossed the Meuse to Grave, whence, after
accomplishing the usual elections, they took their course to Antwerp.
Being in such strong force, they determined to strike at the capital.
Rumour flew before them. Champagny, brother of Granvelle, and royal
governor of the city, wrote in haste to apprise Requesens of the
approaching danger. The Grand Commander, attended only by Vitelli,
repaired instantly to Antwerp. Champagny advised throwing up a
breastwork with bales of merchandize, upon the esplanade, between the
citadel and the town, for it was at this point, where the connection
between the fortifications of the castle and those of the city had never
been thoroughly completed, that the invasion might be expected. Requesens
hesitated. He trembled at a conflict with his own soldiery. If
successful, he could only be so by trampling upon the flower of his army.
If defeated, what would become of the King's authority, with rebellious
troops triumphant in rebellious provinces? Sorely perplexed, the
Commander, could think of no expedient. Not knowing what to do, he did
nothing. In the meantime, Champagny, who felt himself odious to the
soldiery, retreated to the Newtown, and barricaded himself, with a few
followers, in the house of the Baltic merchants.

On the 26th of April, the mutinous troops in perfect order, marched into
the city, effecting their entrance precisely at the weak point where they
had been expected. Numbering at least three thousand, they encamped on
the esplanade, where Requesens appeared before them alone on horseback,
and made them an oration. They listened with composure, but answered
briefly and with one accord, "Dineros y non palabras," dollars not
speeches. Requesens promised profusely, but the time was past for
promises. Hard Silver dollars would alone content an army which, after
three years of bloodshed and starvation, had at last taken the law into
their own hands. Requesens withdrew to consult the Broad Council of the
city. He was without money himself, but he demanded four hundred thousand
crowns of the city. This was at first refused, but the troops knew the
strength of their position, for these mutinies were never repressed, and
rarely punished. On this occasion the Commander was afraid to employ
force, and the burghers, after the army had been quartered upon them for
a time, would gladly pay a heavy ransom to be rid of their odious and
expensive guests. The mutineers foreseeing that the work might last a few
weeks, and determined to proceed leisurely; took possession of the great
square. The Eletto, with his staff of councillors, was quartered in the
town-house, while the soldiers distributed themselves among the houses of
the most opulent citizens, no one escaping a billet who was rich enough
to receive such company: bishop or burgomaster, margrave or merchant. The
most famous kitchens were naturally the most eagerly sought, and
sumptuous apartments, luxurious dishes, delicate wines, were daily
demanded. The burghers dared not refuse.

The six hundred Walloons, who had been previously quartered in the city,
were expelled, and for many days, the mutiny reigned paramount. Day after
day the magistracy, the heads of guilds, all the representatives of the
citizens were assembled in the Broad Council. The Governor-General
insisted on his demand of four hundred thousand crowns, representing,
with great justice, that the mutineers would remain in the city until
they had eaten and drunk to that amount, and that there would still be
the arrearages; for which the city would be obliged to raise the funds.
On the 9th of May, the authorities made an offer, which was duly
communicated to the Eletto. That functionary stood forth on a window-sill
of the town-house, and addressed the soldiery. He informed them that the
Grand Commander proposed to pay ten months' arrears in cash, five months
in silks and woollen cloths, and the balance in promises, to be fulfilled
within a few days. The terms were not considered satisfactory, and were
received with groans of derision. The Eletto, on the contrary, declared
them very liberal, and reminded the soldiers of the perilous condition in
which they stood, guilty to a man of high treason, with a rope around
every neck. It was well worth their while to accept the offer made them,
together with the absolute pardon for the past, by which it was
accompanied. For himself, he washed his hands of the consequences if the
offer were rejected. The soldiers answered by deposing the Eletto and
choosing another in his room.

Three days after, a mutiny broke out in the citadel--an unexampled
occurrence. The rebels ordered Sancho d'Avila, the commandant, to deliver
the keys of the fortress. He refused to surrender them but with his life.
They then contented themselves with compelling his lieutenant to leave
the citadel, and with sending their Eletto to confer with the Grand
Commander, as well as with the Eletto of the army. After accomplishing
his mission, he returned, accompanied by Chiappin Vitelli, as envoy of
the Governor-General. No sooner, however, had the Eletto set foot on the
drawbridge than he was attacked by Ensign Salvatierra of the Spanish
garrison, who stabbed him to the heart and threw him into the moat. The
ensign, who was renowned in the army for his ferocious courage, and who
wore embroidered upon his trunk hose the inscription, "El castigador de
los Flamencos," then rushed upon the Sergeant-major of the mutineers,
despatched him in the same way, and tossed him likewise into the moat.
These preliminaries being settled, a satisfactory arrangement was
negotiated between Vitelli and the rebellious garrison. Pardon for the
past, and payment upon the same terms as those offered in the city, were
accepted, and the mutiny of the citadel was quelled. It was, however,
necessary that Salvatierra should conceal himself for a long time, to
escape being torn to pieces by the incensed soldiery.

Meantime, affairs in the city were more difficult to adjust. The
mutineers raised an altar of chests and bales upon the public square, and
celebrated mass under the open sky, solemnly swearing to be true to each
other to the last. The scenes of carousing and merry-making were renewed
at the expense of the citizens, who were again exposed to nightly alarms
from the boisterous mirth and ceaseless mischief-making of the soldiers.
Before the end of the month; the Broad Council, exhausted by the incubus
which had afflicted them so many weeks, acceded to the demand of
Requesens. The four hundred thousand crowns were furnished, the Grand
Commander accepting them as a loan, and giving in return bonds duly
signed and countersigned, together with a mortgage upon all the royal
domains. The citizens received the documents, as a matter of form, but
they had handled such securities before, and valued them but slightly.
The mutineers now agreed to settle with the Governor-General, on
condition of receiving all their wages, either in cash or cloth, together
with a solemn promise of pardon for all their acts of insubordination.
This pledge was formally rendered with appropriate religious ceremonies,
by Requesens, in the cathedral. The payments were made directly
afterwards, and a great banquet was held on the same day, by the whole
mass of the soldiery, to celebrate the event. The feast took place on the
place of the Meer, and was a scene of furious revelry. The soldiers, more
thoughtless than children, had arrayed themselves in extemporaneous
costumes, cut from the cloth which they had at last received in payment
of their sufferings and their blood. Broadcloths, silks, satins, and
gold-embroidered brocades, worthy of a queen's wardrobe, were hung in
fantastic drapery around the sinewy forms and bronzed faces of the
soldiery, who, the day before, had been clothed in rags. The mirth was
fast and furious; and scarce was the banquet finished before every
drum-head became a gaming-table, around which gathered groups eager to
sacrifice in a moment their dearly-bought gold.

The fortunate or the prudent had not yet succeeded in entirely plundering
their companions, when the distant booming of cannon was heard from the
river. Instantly, accoutred as they were in their holiday and fantastic
costumes, the soldiers, no longer mutinous, were summoned from banquet
and gaming-table, and were ordered forth upon the dykes. The patriot
Admiral Boisot, who had so recently defeated the fleet of Bergen, under
the eyes of the Grand Commander, had unexpectedly sailed up the Scheld,
determined to destroy the fleet of Antwerp, which upon that occasion had
escaped. Between, the forts of Lillo and Callao, he met with twenty-two
vessels under the command of Vice-Admiral Haemstede. After a short and
sharp action, he was completely victorious. Fourteen of the enemy's ships
were burned or sunk, with all their crews, and Admiral Haemstede was
taken prisoner. The soldiers opened a warm fire of musketry upon Boisot
from the dyke, to which he responded with his cannon. The distance of the
combatants, however, made the action unimportant; and the patriots
retired down the river, after achieving a complete victory. The Grand
Commander was farther than ever from obtaining that foothold on the sea,
which as he had informed his sovereign, was the only means by which the
Netherlands could be reduced.




1574 [CHAPTER II.]

   First siege of Leyden--Commencement of the second--Description of
   the city--Preparations for defence--Letters of Orange--Act of
   amnesty issued by Requesens--Its conditions--Its reception by the
   Hollanders--Correspondence of the Glippers--Sorties and fierce
   combats beneath the walls of Leyden--Position of the Prince--His
   project of relief Magnanimity of the people--Breaking of the dykes--
   Emotions in the city and the besieging camp--Letter of the Estates
   of Holland--Dangerous illness of the Prince--The "wild Zealanders"--
   Admiral Boisot commences his voyage--Sanguinary combat on the Land--
   Scheiding--Occupation of that dyke and of the Green Way--Pauses and
   Progress of the flotilla--The Prince visits the fleet--Horrible
   sufferings in the city--Speech of Van der Werf--Heroism of the
   inhabitants--The Admiral's letters--The storm--Advance of Boisot--
   Lammen fortress----An anxious night--Midnight retreat of the
   Spaniards--The Admiral enters the city--Thanksgiving in the great
   church The Prince in Leyden--Parting words of Valdez--Mutiny--Leyden
   University founded--The charter--Inauguration ceremonies.

The invasion of Louis of Nassau had, as already stated, effected the
raising of the first siege of Leyden. That leaguer had lasted from the
31st of October, 1573, to the 21st of March, 1574, when the soldiers were
summoned away to defend the frontier. By an extraordinary and culpable
carelessness, the citizens, neglecting the advice of the Prince, had not
taken advantage of the breathing time thus afforded them to victual the
city and strengthen the garrison. They seemed to reckon more confidently
upon the success of Count Louis than he had even done himself; for it was
very probable that, in case of his defeat, the siege would be instantly
resumed. This natural result was not long in following the battle of
Mookerheyde.

On the 26th of May, Valdez reappeared before the place, at the head of
eight thousand Walloons and Germans, and Leyden was now destined to pass
through a fiery ordeal. This city was one of the most beautiful in the
Netherlands. Placed in the midst of broad and fruitful pastures, which
had been reclaimed by the hand of industry from the bottom of the sea; it
was fringed with smiling villages, blooming gardens, fruitful Orchards.
The ancient and, at last, decrepit Rhine, flowing languidly towards its
sandy death-bed, had been multiplied into innumerable artificial
currents, by which the city was completely interlaced. These watery
streets were shaded by lime trees, poplars, and willows, and crossed by
one hundred and forty-five bridges, mostly of hammered stone. The houses
were elegant, the squares and streets spacious, airy and clean, the
churches and public edifices imposing, while the whole aspect, of the
place suggested thrift, industry, and comfort. Upon an artificial
elevation, in the centre of the city, rose a ruined tower of unknown
antiquity. By some it was considered to be of Roman origin, while others
preferred to regard it as a work of the Anglo-Saxon Hengist, raised to
commemorate his conquest of England.

   [Guicciardini, Descript. Holl, et Zelandire. Bor, vii. 502.
   Bentivoglio, viii. 151

            "Putatur Engistus Britanno
             Orbe redus posuisse victor," etc., etc.

   according to the celebrated poem of John Von der Does, the
   accomplished and valiant Commandant of the city. The tower, which
   is doubtless a Roman one, presents, at the present day, almost
   precisely the same appearance as that described by the
   contemporaneous historians of the siege. The verses of the
   Commandant show the opinion, that the Anglo-Saxon conquerors of
   Britain went from Holland, to have been a common one in the
   sixteenth century.]

Surrounded by fruit trees, and overgrown in the centre with oaks, it
afforded, from its mouldering battlements, a charming prospect over a
wide expanse of level country, with the spires of neighbouring cities
rising in every direction. It was from this commanding height, during the
long and terrible summer days which were approaching, that many an eye
was to be strained anxiously seaward, watching if yet the ocean had begun
to roll over the land.

Valdez lost no time in securing himself in the possession of
Maeslandsluis, Vlaardingen, and the Hague. Five hundred English, under
command of Colonel Edward Chester, abandoned the fortress of Valkenburg,
and fled towards Leyden. Refused admittance by the citizens, who now,
with reason, distrusted them, they surrendered to Valdez, and were
afterwards sent back to England. In the course of a few days, Leyden was
thoroughly invested, no less than sixty-two redoubts, some of them having
remained undestroyed from the previous siege, now girdling the city,
while the besiegers already numbered nearly eight thousand, a force to be
daily increased. On the other hand, there were no troops in the town,
save a small corps of "freebooters," and five companies of the burgher
guard. John Van der Does, Seigneur of Nordwyck, a gentleman of
distinguished family, but still more distinguished for his learning, his
poetical genius, and his valor, had accepted the office of military
commandant.

The main reliance of the city, under God, was on the stout hearts of its
inhabitants within the walls, and on, the sleepless energy of William the
Silent without. The Prince, hastening to comfort and encourage the
citizens, although he had been justly irritated by their negligence in
having omitted to provide more sufficiently against the emergency while
there had yet been time, now reminded them that they were not about to
contend for themselves alone, but that the fate of their country and of
unborn generations would, in all human probability, depend on the issue
about to be tried. Eternal glory would be their portion if they
manifested a courage worthy of their race and of the sacred cause of
religion and liberty. He implored them to hold out at least three months,
assuring them that he would, within that time, devise the means of their
deliverance. The citizens responded, courageously and confidently, to
these missives, and assured the Prince of their firm confidence in their
own fortitude and his exertions.

And truly they had a right to rely on that calm and unflinching soul, as
on a rock of adamant. All alone, without a being near him to consult, his
right arm struck from him by the death of Louis, with no brother left to
him but the untiring and faithful John, he prepared without delay for the
new task imposed upon him. France, since the defeat and death of Louis,
and the busy intrigues which had followed the accession of Henry III.,
had but small sympathy for the Netherlands. The English government,
relieved from the fear of France; was more cold and haughty than ever. An
Englishman employed by Requesens to assassinate the Prince of Orange, had
been arrested in Zealand, who impudently pretended that he had undertaken
to perform the same office for Count John, with the full consent and
privity of Queen Elizabeth. The provinces of Holland and Zealand were
stanch and true, but the inequality of the contest between a few brave
men, upon that handsbreadth of territory, and the powerful Spanish
Empire, seemed to render the issue hopeless.

Moreover, it was now thought expedient to publish the amnesty which had
been so long in preparation, and this time the trap was more liberally
baited. The pardon, which had: passed the seals upon the 8th of March,
was formally issue: by the Grand Commander on the 6th of June. By the
terms of this document the King invited all his erring and repentant
subjects, to return to his arms; and to accept a full forgiveness for
their past offences, upon the sole condition that they should once more
throw themselves upon the bosom of the Mother Church. There were but few
exceptions to the amnesty, a small number of individuals, all mentioned
by name, being alone excluded; but although these terms were ample, the
act was liable to a few stern objections. It was easier now for the
Hollanders to go to their graves than to mass, for the contest, in its
progress, had now entirely assumed the aspect of a religious war. Instead
of a limited number of heretics in a state which, although constitutional
was Catholic, there was now hardly a Papist to be found among the
natives. To accept the pardon then was to concede the victory, and the
Hollanders had not yet discovered that they were conquered. They were
resolved, too, not only to be conquered, but annihilated, before the
Roman Church should be re-established on their soil, to the entire
exclusion of the Reformed worship. They responded with steadfast
enthusiasm to the sentiment expressed by the Prince of Orange, after the
second siege of Leyden had been commenced; "As long as there is a living
man left in the country, we will contend for our liberty and our
religion." The single condition of the amnesty assumed, in a phrase; what
Spain had fruitlessly striven to establish by a hundred battles, and the
Hollanders had not faced their enemy on land and sea for seven years to
succumb to a phrase at last.

Moreover, the pardon came from the wrong direction. The malefactor
gravely extended forgiveness to his victims. Although the Hollanders had
not yet disembarrassed their minds of the supernatural theory of
government, and felt still the reverence of habit for regal divinity,
they naturally considered themselves outraged by the trick now played
before them. The man who had violated all his oaths, trampled upon all
their constitutional liberties, burned and sacked their cities,
confiscated their wealth, hanged, beheaded, burned, and buried alive
their innocent brethren, now came forward, not to implore, but to offer
forgiveness. Not in sackcloth, but in royal robes; not with ashes, but
with a diadem upon his head, did the murderer present himself vicariously
upon the scene of his crimes. It may be supposed that, even in the
sixteenth century, there were many minds which would revolt at such
blasphemy. Furthermore, even had the people of Holland been weak enough
to accept the pardon, it was impossible to believe that the promise would
be fulfilled. It was sufficiently known how much faith was likely to be
kept with heretics, notwithstanding that the act was fortified by a papal
Bull, dated on the 30th of April, by which Gregory XIII. promised
forgiveness to those Netherland sinners who duly repented and sought
absolution for their crimes, even although they had sinned more than
seven times seven.

For a moment the Prince had feared lest the pardon might produce some
effect upon men wearied by interminable suffering, but the event proved
him wrong. It was received with universal and absolute contempt. No man
came forward to take advantage of its conditions, save one brewer in
Utrecht, and the son of a refugee peddler from Leyden. With these
exceptions, the only ones recorded, Holland remained deaf to the royal
voice. The city of Leyden was equally cold to the messages of mercy,
which were especially addressed to its population by Valdez and his
agents. Certain Netherlanders, belonging to the King's party, and
familiarly called "Glippers," despatched from the camp many letters to
their rebellious acquaintances in the city. In these epistles the
citizens of Leyden were urgently and even pathetically exhorted to
submission by their loyal brethren, and were implored "to take pity upon
their poor old fathers, their daughters, and their wives." But the
burghers of Leyden thought that the best pity which they could show to
those poor old fathers, daughters, and wives, was to keep them from the
clutches of the Spanish soldiery; so they made no answer to the Glippers,
save by this single line, which they wrote on a sheet of paper, and
forwarded, like a letter, to Valdez:

     "Fistula dulce canit, volucrem cum decipit auceps."

According to the advice early given by the Prince of Orange, the citizens
had taken an account of their provisions of all kinds, including the live
stock. By the end of June, the city was placed on a strict allowance of
food, all the provisions being purchased by the authorities at an
equitable price. Half a pound of meat and half a pound of bread was
allotted to a full grown man, and to the rest, a due proportion. The city
being strictly invested, no communication, save by carrier pigeons, and
by a few swift and skilful messengers called jumpers, was possible.
Sorties and fierce combats were, however, of daily occurrence, and a
handsome bounty was offered to any man who brought into the city gates
the head of a Spaniard. The reward was paid many times, but the
population was becoming so excited and so apt, that the authorities felt
it dangerous to permit the continuance of these conflicts. Lest the city,
little by little, should lose its few disciplined defenders, it was now
proclaimed, by sound of church bell, that in future no man should leave
the gates.

The Prince had his head-quarters at Delft and at Rotterdam. Between those
two cities, an important fortress, called Polderwaert, secured him in the
control of the alluvial quadrangle, watered on two sides by the Yssel and
the Meuse. On the 29th June, the Spaniards, feeling its value, had made
an unsuccessful effort to carry this fort by storm. They had been beaten
off, with the loss of several hundred men, the Prince remaining in
possession of the position, from which alone he could hope to relieve
Leyden. He still held in his hand the keys with which he could unlock the
ocean gates and let the waters in upon the land, and he had long been
convinced that nothing could save the city but to break the dykes. Leyden
was not upon the sea, but he could send the sea to. Leyden, although an
army fit to encounter the besieging force under Valdez could not be
levied. The battle of Mookerheyde had, for the present, quite settled
the question, of land relief, but it was possible to besiege the
besiegers, with the waves of the ocean. The Spaniards occupied the coast
from the Hague to Vlaardingen, but the dykes along the Meuse and Yssel
were in possession of the Prince. He determined, that these should be
pierced, while, at the same time, the great sluices at Rotterdam,
Schiedam, and Delftshaven should be opened. The damage to the fields,
villages, and growing crops would be enormous, but he felt that no other
course could rescue Leyden, and with it the whole of Holland from
destruction. His clear expositions and impassioned eloquence at last
overcame all resistance. By the middle of July the estates consented to
his plan, and its execution was immediately undertaken. "Better a drowned
land than a lost land," cried the patriots, with enthusiasm, as they
devoted their fertile fields to desolation. The enterprise for restoring
their territory, for a season, to the waves, from which it had been so
patiently rescued, was conducted with as much regularity as if it had
been a profitable undertaking. A capital was formally subscribed, for
which a certain number of bonds were issued, payable at a long date. In
addition to this preliminary fund, a monthly allowance of forty-five
guldens was voted by the estates, until the work should be completed, and
a large sum was contributed by the ladies of the land, who freely
furnished their plate, jewellery, and costly furniture to the furtherance
of the scheme.

Meantime, Valdez, on the 30th July; issued most urgent and ample offers
of pardon to the citizens, if they would consent to open their gates and
accept the King's authority, but his Overtures were received with silent
contempt, notwithstanding that the population was already approaching the
starvation point. Although not yet fully informed of the active measures
taken by the Prince, yet they still chose to rely upon his energy and
their own fortitude, rather than upon the honied words which had formerly
been heard at the gates of Harlem and of Naarden. On the 3rd of August,
the Prince; accompanied by Paul Buys, chief of the commission appointed
to execute the enterprise, went in person along the Yssel; as far as
Kappelle, and superintended the rupture of the dykes in sixteen places.
The gates at Schiedam and Rotterdam were, opened, and the ocean began to
pour over the land. While waiting for the waters to rise, provisions were
rapidly, collected, according to an edict of the Prince, in all the
principal towns of the neighbourhood, and some two hundred vessels, of
various sizes, had also been got ready at Rotterdam, Delftshaven, and
other ports.

The citizens of Leyden were, however, already becoming impatient, for
their bread was gone, and of its substitute malt cake, they had but
slender provision. On the 12th of August they received a letter from the
Prince, encouraging them to resistance, and assuring them of a speedy
relief, and on the 21st they addressed a despatch to him in reply,
stating that they had now fulfilled their original promise, for they had
held out two months with food, and another month without food. If not
soon assisted, human strength could do no more; their malt cake would
last but four days, and after that was gone, there was nothing left but
starvation. Upon the same day, however, they received a letter, dictated
by the Prince, who now lay in bed at Rotterdam with a violent fever,
assuring them that the dykes were all pierced, and that the water was
rising upon the "Land-Scheiding," the great outer barrier which separated
the city from the sea. He said nothing however of his own illness, which
would have cast a deep shadow over the joy which now broke forth among
the burghers.

The letter was read publicly in the market-place, and to increase the
cheerfulness, burgomaster Van der Werf, knowing the sensibility of his
countrymen to music, ordered the city musicians to perambulate the
streets, playing lively melodies and martial airs. Salvos of cannon were
likewise fired, and the starving city for a brief space put on the aspect
of a holiday, much to the astonishment of the besieging forces, who were
not yet aware of the Prince's efforts. They perceived very soon, however,
as the water everywhere about Leyden had risen to the depth of ten
inches, that they stood in a perilous position. It was no trifling danger
to be thus attacked by the waves of the ocean, which seemed about to obey
with docility the command of William the Silent. Valdez became anxious
and uncomfortable at the strange aspect of affairs, for the besieging
army was now in its turn beleaguered, and by a stronger power than man's.
He consulted with the most experienced of his officers, with the country
people, with the most distinguished among the Glippers, and derived
encouragement from their views concerning the Prince's plan. They
pronounced it utterly futile and hopeless: The Glippers knew the country
well, and ridiculed the desperate project in unmeasured terms.

Even in the city itself, a dull distrust had succeeded to the first vivid
gleam of hope, while the few royalists among the population boldly
taunted their fellow-citizens to their faces with the absurd vision of
relief which they had so fondly welcomed. "Go up to the tower, ye
Beggars," was the frequent and taunting cry, "go up to the tower, and
tell us if ye can see the ocean coming over the dry land to your
relief"--and day after day they did go, up to the ancient tower of
Hengist, with heavy heart and anxious eye, watching, hoping, praying,
fearing, and at last almost despairing of relief by God or man. On the
27th they addressed a desponding letter to the estates, complaining that
the city had been forgotten in, its utmost need, and on the same day a
prompt and warm-hearted reply was received, in which the citizens were
assured that every human effort was to be made for their relief.
"Rather," said the estates, "will we see our whole land and all our
possessions perish in the waves, than forsake thee, Leyden. We know full
well, moreover, that with Leyden, all Holland must perish also." They
excused themselves for not having more frequently written, upon the
ground that the whole management of the measures for their relief had
been entrusted to the Prince, by whom alone all the details had been
administered, and all the correspondence conducted.

The fever of the Prince had, meanwhile, reached its height. He lay at
Rotterdam, utterly prostrate in body, and with mind agitated nearly to
delirium, by the perpetual and almost unassisted schemes which he was
constructing. Relief, not only for Leyden, but for the whole country, now
apparently sinking into the abyss, was the vision which he pursued as he
tossed upon his restless couch. Never was illness more unseasonable. His
attendants were in despair, for it was necessary that his mind should for
a time be spared the agitation of business. The physicians who attended
him agreed, as to his disorder, only in this, that it was the result of
mental fatigue and melancholy, and could be cured only by removing all
distressing and perplexing subjects from his thoughts, but all the
physicians in the world could not have succeeded in turning his attention
for an instant from the great cause of his country. Leyden lay, as it
were, anxious and despairing at his feet, and it was impossible for him
to close his ears to her cry. Therefore, from his sick bed he continued
to dictate; words of counsel and encouragement to the city; to Admiral
Boisot, commanding, the fleet, minute directions and precautions. Towards
the end of August a vague report had found its way into his sick chamber
that Leyden had fallen, and although he refused to credit the tale, yet
it served to harass his mind, and to heighten fever. Cornelius Van
Mierop, Receiver General of Holland, had occasion to visit him at
Rotterdam, and strange to relate, found the house almost deserted.
Penetrating, unattended, to the Prince's bed-chamber, he found him lying
quite alone. Inquiring what had become, of all his attendants, he was
answered by the Prince, in a very feeble voice, that he had sent them all
away. The Receiver-General seems, from this, to have rather hastily
arrived at the conclusion that the Prince's disorder was the pest, and
that his servants and friends had all deserted him from cowardice.

This was very far from being the case. His private secretary and his
maitre d'hotel watched, day and night, by his couch, and the best
physicians of the city were in constant attendance. By a singular
accident; all had been despatched on different errands, at the express
desire of their master, but there had never been a suspicion that his
disorder was the pest, or pestilential. Nerves of steel, and a frame of
adamant could alone have resisted the constant anxiety and the consuming
fatigue to which he had so long been exposed. His illness had been
aggravated by the rumor of Leyden's fall, a fiction which Cornelius
Mierop was now enabled flatly to contradict. The Prince began to mend
from that hour. By the end of the first week of September, he wrote along
letter to his brother, assuring him of his convalescence, and expressing,
as usual; a calm confidence in the divine decrees--"God will ordain for
me," said he, "all which is necessary for my good and my salvation. He
will load me with no more afflictions than the fragility of this nature
can sustain."

The preparations for the relief of Leyden, which, notwithstanding his
exertions, had grown slack during his sickness, were now vigorously
resumed. On the 1st of September, Admiral Boisot arrived out of Zealand
with a small number of vessels, and with eight hundred veteran sailors. A
wild and ferocious crew were those eight hundred Zealanders. Scarred,
hacked, and even maimed, in the unceasing conflicts in which their lives
had passed; wearing crescents in their caps, with the inscription,
"Rather Turkish than Popish;" renowned far and wide, as much for their
ferocity as for their nautical skill; the appearance of these wildest of
the "Sea-beggars" was both eccentric and terrific. They were known never
to give nor to take quarter, for they went to mortal combat only, and had
sworn to spare neither noble nor simple, neither king, kaiser, nor pope,
should they fall into their power.

More than two hundred-vessels had been assembled, carrying generally ten
pieces of cannon, with from ten to eighteen oars, and manned with
twenty-five hundred veterans, experienced both on land and water. The
work was now undertaken in earnest. The distance from Leyden to the outer
dyke, over whose ruins the ocean had already been admitted, was nearly
fifteen miles. This reclaimed territory, however, was not maintained
against the sea by these external barriers alone. The flotilla made its
way with ease to the Land-Scheiding, a strong dyke within five miles of
Leyden, but here its progress was arrested. The approach to the city was
surrounded by many strong ramparts, one within the other, by which it was
defended against its ancient enemy, the ocean, precisely like the
circumvallations by means of which it was now assailed by its more recent
enemy, the Spaniard. To enable the fleet, however, to sail over the land;
it was necessary to break through this two fold series of defences.
Between the Land-Scheiding and Leyden were several dykes, which kept out
the water; upon the level, were many villages, together with a chain of
sixty-two forts, which completely occupied the land. All these Villages
and fortresses were held by the veteran, troops of the King; the
besieging force, being about four times as strong as that which was
coming to the rescue.

The Prince had given orders that the Land-Scheiding, which was still
one-and-a-half foot above water, should be taken possession of; at every
hazard. On the night of the 10th and 11th of September this was
accomplished; by surprise; and in a masterly manner. The few Spaniards
who had been stationed upon the dyke were all, despatched or driven off,
and the patriots fortified themselves upon it, without the loss of a man.
As the day dawned the Spaniards saw the fatal error which they had
committed in leaving thus bulwark so feebly defended, and from two
villages which stood close to the dyke, the troops now rushed
inconsiderable force to recover what they had lost. A hot action
succeeded, but the patriots had too securely established themselves. They
completely defeated the enemy, who retired, leaving hundreds of dead on
the field, and the patriots in complete possession of the Land-scheiding.
This first action was sanguinary and desperate. It gave a earnest of what
these people, who came to relieve; their brethren, by sacrificing their
property and their lives; were determined to effect. It gave a revolting
proof, too, of the intense hatred which nerved their arms. A Zealander;
having struck down a Spaniard on the dyke, knelt on his bleeding enemy,
tore his heart from his bosom; fastened his teeth in it for an instant,
and then threw it to a dog, with the exclamation, "'Tis too bitter." The
Spanish heart was, however, rescued, and kept for years, with the marks
of the soldier's teeth upon it, a sad testimonial of the ferocity
engendered by this war for national existence.

The great dyke having been thus occupied, no time was lost in breaking it
through in several places, a work which was accomplished under the very
eyes of the enemy. The fleet sailed through the gaps, but, after their
passage had been effected in good order, the Admiral found, to his
surprise, that it was not the only rampart to be carried. The Prince had
been informed, by those who claimed to know, the country, that, when once
the Land-scheiding had been passed, the water would flood the country as
far as Leyden, but the "Green-way," another long dyke three-quarters of a
mile farther inward, now rose at least a foot above the water, to oppose
their further progress. Fortunately, by, a second and still more culpable
carelessness, this dyke had been left by the Spaniards in as unprotected
a state as the first had been, Promptly and audaciously Admiral Boisot
took possession of this barrier also, levelled it in many places, and
brought his flotilla, in triumph, over its ruins. Again, however, he was
doomed to disappointment. A large mere, called the Freshwater Lake, was
known to extend itself directly in his path about midway between the
Land-scheiding and the city. To this piece of water, into which he
expected to have instantly floated, his only passage lay through one deep
canal. The sea which had thus far borne him on, now diffusing itself over
a very wide surface, and under the influence of an adverse wind, had
become too shallow for his ships. The canal alone was deep enough, but it
led directly towards a bridge, strongly occupied by the enemy. Hostile
troops, moreover, to the amount of three thousand occupied both sides of
the canal. The bold Boisot, nevertheless, determined to force his
passage, if possible. Selecting a few of his strongest vessels, his
heaviest artillery, and his bravest sailors, he led the van himself, in a
desperate attempt to make his way to the mere. He opened a hot fire upon
the bridge, then converted into a fortress, while his men engaged in
hand-to-hand combat with a succession of skirmishers from the troops
along the canal. After losing a few men, and ascertaining the impregnable
position of the enemy, he was obliged to withdraw, defeated, and almost
despairing.

A week had elapsed since the great dyke had been pierced, and the
flotilla now lay motionless--in shallow water, having accomplished less
than two miles. The wind, too, was easterly, causing the sea rather to
sink than to rise. Everything wore a gloomy aspect, when, fortunately, on
the 18th, the wind shifted to the north-west, and for three days blew a
gale. The waters rose rapidly, and before the second day was closed the
armada was afloat again. Some fugitives from Zoetermeer village now
arrived, and informed the Admiral that, by making a detour to the right,
he could completely circumvent the bridge and the mere. They guided him,
accordingly, to a comparatively low dyke, which led between the villages
of Zoetermeer and Benthuyzen: A strong force of Spaniards was stationed
in each place, but, seized with a panic, instead of sallying to defend
the barrier, they fled inwardly towards Leyden, and halted at the village
of North Aa. It was natural that they should be amazed. Nothing is more
appalling to the imagination than the rising ocean tide, when man feels
himself within its power; and here were the waters, hourly deepening and
closing around them, devouring the earth beneath their feet, while on the
waves rode a flotilla, manned by a determined race; whose courage and
ferocity were known throughout the world. The Spanish soldiers, brave as
they were on land, were not sailors, and in the naval contests which had
taken place between them and the Hollanders had been almost invariably
defeated. It was not surprising, in these amphibious skirmishes, where
discipline was of little avail, and habitual audacity faltered at the
vague dangers which encompassed them, that the foreign troops should lose
their presence of mind.

Three barriers, one within the other, had now been passed, and the
flotilla, advancing with the advancing waves, and driving the enemy
steadily before it, was drawing nearer to the beleaguered city. As one
circle after another was passed, the besieging army found itself
compressed within a constantly contracting field. The "Ark of Delft," an
enormous vessel, with shot-proof bulwarks, and moved by paddle-wheels
turned by a crank, now arrived at Zoetermeer, and was soon followed by
the whole fleet. After a brief delay, sufficient to allow the few
remaining villagers to escape, both Zoetermeer and Benthuyzen, with the
fortifications, were set on fire, and abandoned to their fate. The blaze
lighted up the desolate and watery waste around, and was seen at Leyden,
where it was hailed as the beacon of hope. Without further impediment,
the armada proceeded to North Aa; the enemy retreating from this position
also, and flying to Zoeterwoude, a strongly fortified village but a mile
and three quarters from the city walls. It was now swarming with troops,
for the bulk of the besieging army had gradually been driven into a
narrow circle of forts, within the immediate neighbourhood of Leyden.
Besides Zoeterwoude, the two posts where they were principally
established were Lammen and Leyderdorp, each within three hundred rods of
the town. At Leyderdorp were the head-quarters of Valdez; Colonel Borgia
commanded in the very strong fortress of Lammen.

The fleet was, however, delayed at North Aa by another barrier, called
the "Kirk-way." The waters, too, spreading once more over a wider space,
and diminishing under an east wind, which had again arisen, no longer
permitted their progress, so that very soon the whole armada was stranded
anew. The waters fell to the depth of nine inches; while the vessels
required eighteen and twenty. Day after day the fleet lay motionless
upon the shallow sea. Orange, rising from his sick bed as soon as he
could stand, now came on board the fleet. His presence diffused universal
joy; his words inspired his desponding army with fresh hope. He rebuked
the impatient spirits who, weary of their compulsory idleness, had shown
symptoms of ill-timed ferocity, and those eight hundred mad Zealanders,
so frantic in their hatred to the foreigners, who had so long profaned
their land, were as docile as children to the Prince. He reconnoitred the
whole ground, and issued orders for the immediate destruction of the
Kirkway, the last important barrier which separated the fleet from
Leyden. Then, after a long conference with Admiral Boisot, he returned to
Delft.

Meantime, the besieged city was at its last gasp. The burghers had been
in a state of uncertainty for many days; being aware that the fleet had
set forth for their relief, but knowing full well the thousand obstacles
which it, had to surmount. They had guessed its progress by the
illumination from, the blazing villages; they had heard its salvos of
artillery, on its arrival at North Aa; but since then, all had been dark
and mournful again, hope and fear, in sickening alternation, distracting
every breast. They knew that the wind was unfavorable, and at the dawn of
each day every eye was turned wistfully to the vanes of the steeples. So
long as the easterly breeze prevailed, they felt, as they anxiously stood
on towers and housetops; that they must look in vain for the welcome
ocean. Yet, while thus patiently waiting, they were literally starving;
for even the misery endured at Harlem had not reached that depth and
intensity of agony to which Leyden was now reduced. Bread, malt-cake,
horseflesh, had entirely disappeared; dogs, cats, rats, and other vermin,
were esteemed luxuries: A small number of cows, kept as long as possible,
for their milk, still remained; but a few were killed from day to day;
and distributed in minute proportions, hardly sufficient to support life
among the famishing population. Starving wretches swarmed daily around
the shambles where these cattle were slaughtered, contending for any
morsel which might fall, and lapping eagerly the blood as it ran along
the pavement; while the hides; chopped and boiled, were greedily
devoured. Women and children, all day long, were seen searching gutters
and dunghills for morsels of food, which they disputed fiercely with the
famishing dogs. The green leaves were stripped from the trees, every
living herb was converted into human food, but these expedients could not
avert starvation. The daily mortality was frightful infants starved to
death on the maternal breasts, which famine had parched and withered;
mothers dropped dead in the streets, with their dead children in their
arms. In many a house the watchmen, in their rounds, found a whole family
of corpses, father, mother, and children, side by side, for a disorder
called the plague, naturally engendered of hardship and famine, now came,
as if in kindness, to abridge the agony of the people. The pestilence
stalked at noonday through the city, and the doomed inhabitants fell like
grass beneath its scythe. From six thousand to eight thousand human
beings sank before this scourge alone, yet the people resolutely held
out--women and men mutually encouraging each other to resist the entrance
of their foreign foe--an evil more horrible than pest or famine.

The missives from Valdez, who saw more vividly than the besieged could
do, the uncertainty of his own position, now poured daily into the city,
the enemy becoming more prodigal of his vows, as he felt that the ocean
might yet save the victims from his grasp. The inhabitants, in their
ignorance, had gradually abandoned their hopes of relief, but they
spurned the summons to surrender. Leyden was sublime in its despair. A
few murmurs were, however, occasionally heard at the steadfastness of the
magistrates, and a dead body was placed at the door of the burgomaster,
as a silent witness against his inflexibility. A party of the more
faint-hearted even assailed the heroic Adrian Van der Werf with threats
and reproaches as he passed through the streets. A crowd had gathered
around him, as he reached a triangular place in the centre of the town,
into which many of the principal streets emptied themselves, and upon one
side of which stood the church of Saint Pancras, with its high brick
tower surmounted by two pointed turrets, and with two ancient lime trees
at its entrance. There stood the burgomaster, a tall, haggard, imposing
figure, with dark visage, and a tranquil but commanding eye. He waved his
broadleaved felt hat for silence, and then exclaimed, in language which
has been almost literally preserved, What would ye, my friends? Why do ye
murmur that we do not break our vows and surrender the city to the
Spaniards? a fate more horrible than the agony which she now endures. I
tell you I have made an oath to hold the city, and may God give me
strength to keep my oath! I can die but once; whether by your hands, the
enemy's, or by the hand of God. My own fate is indifferent to me, not so
that of the city intrusted to my care. I know that we shall starve if not
soon relieved; but starvation is preferable to the dishonored death which
is the only alternative. Your menaces move me not; my life is at your
disposal; here is my sword, plunge it into my breast, and divide my flesh
among you. Take my body to appease your hunger, but expect no surrender,
so long as I remain alive.

The words of the stout burgomaster inspired a new courage in the hearts
of those who heard him, and a shout of applause and defiance arose from
the famishing but enthusiastic crowd. They left the place, after
exchanging new vows of fidelity with their magistrate, and again ascended
tower and battlement to watch for the coming fleet. From the ramparts
they hurled renewed defiance at the enemy. "Ye call us rat-eaters and
dog-eaters," they cried, "and it is true. So long, then, as ye hear dog
bark or cat mew within the walls, ye may know that the city holds out.
And when all has perished but ourselves, be sure that we will each devour
our left arms, retaining our right to defend our women, our liberty, and
our religion, against the foreign tyrant. Should God, in his wrath, doom
us to destruction, and deny us all relief, even then will we maintain
ourselves for ever against your entrance. When the last hour has come,
with our own hands we will set fire to the city and perish, men, women,
and children together in the flames, rather than suffer our homes to be
polluted and our liberties to be crushed." Such words of defiance,
thundered daily from the battlements, sufficiently informed Valdez as to
his chance of conquering the city, either by force or fraud, but at the
same time, he felt comparatively relieved by the inactivity of Boisot's
fleet, which still lay stranded at North Aa. "As well," shouted the
Spaniards, derisively, to the citizens, "as well can the Prince of Orange
pluck the stars from the sky as bring the ocean to the walls of Leyden
for your relief."

On the 28th of September, a dove flew into the city, bringing a letter
from Admiral Boisot. In this despatch, the position of the fleet at North
Aa was described in encouraging terms, and the inhabitants were assured
that, in a very few days at furthest, the long-expected relief would
enter their gates. The letter was read publicly upon the market-place,
and the bells were rung for joy. Nevertheless, on the morrow, the vanes
pointed to the east, the waters, so far from rising, continued to sink,
and Admiral Boisot was almost in despair. He wrote to the Prince, that if
the spring-tide, now to be expected, should not, together with a strong
and favorable wind, come immediately to their relief, it would be in pain
to attempt anything further, and that the expedition would, of necessity,
be abandoned. The tempest came to their relief. A violent equinoctial
gale, on the night of the 1st and 2nd of October, came storming from the
north-west, shifting after a few hours full eight points, and then
blowing still more violently from the south-west. The waters of the North
Sea were piled in vast masses upon the southern coast of Holland, and
then dashed furiously landward, the ocean rising over the earth, and
sweeping with unrestrained power across the ruined dykes.

In the course of twenty-four hours, the fleet at North Aa, instead of
nine inches, had more than two feet of water. No time was lost. The
Kirk-way, which had been broken through according to the Prince's
instructions, was now completely overflowed, and the fleet sailed at
midnight, in the midst of the storm and darkness. A few sentinel vessels
of the enemy challenged them as they steadily rowed towards Zoeterwoude.
The answer was a flash from Boisot's cannon; lighting up the black waste
of waters. There was a fierce naval midnight battle; a strange spectacle
among the branches of those quiet orchards, and with the chimney stacks
of half-submerged farmhouses rising around the contending vessels. The
neighboring village of Zoeterwoude shook with the discharges of the
Zealanders' cannon, and the Spaniards assembled in that fortress knew
that the rebel Admiral was at last, afloat and on his course. The enemy's
vessels were soon sunk, their crews hurled into the waves. On went the
fleet, sweeping over the broad waters which lay between Zoeterwoude and
Zwieten. As they approached some shallows, which led into the great mere,
the Zealanders dashed into the sea, and with sheer strength shouldered
every vessel through. Two obstacles lay still in their path--the forts of
Zoeterwoude and Lammen, distant from the city five hundred and two
hundred and fifty yards respectively. Strong redoubts, both well supplied
with troops and artillery, they were likely to give a rough reception to
the light flotilla, but the panic; which had hitherto driven their foes
before the advancing patriots; had reached Zoeterwoude. Hardly was the
fleet in sight when the Spaniards in the early morning, poured out from
the fortress, and fled precipitately to the left, along a road which led
in a westerly direction towards the Hague. Their narrow path was rapidly
vanishing in the waves, and hundreds sank beneath the constantly
deepening and treacherous flood. The wild Zealanders, too, sprang from
their vessels upon the crumbling dyke and drove their retreating foes
into the sea. They hurled their harpoons at them, with an accuracy
acquired in many a polar chase; they plunged into the waves in the keen
pursuit, attacking them with boat-hook and dagger. The numbers who thus
fell beneath these corsairs, who neither gave nor took quarter, were
never counted, but probably not less than a thousand perished. The rest
effected their escape to the Hague.

The first fortress was thus seized, dismantled, set on fire, and passed,
and a few strokes of the oars brought the whole fleet close to Lammen.
This last obstacle rose formidable and frowning directly across their
path. Swarming as it was with soldiers, and bristling with artillery, it
seemed to defy the armada either to carry it by storm or to pass under
its guns into the city. It appeared that the enterprise was, after all,
to founder within sight of the long expecting and expected haven. Boisot
anchored his fleet within a respectful distance, and spent what remained
of the day in carefully reconnoitring the fort, which seemed only too
strong. In conjunction with Leyderdorp, the head-quarters of Valdez, a
mile and a half distant on the right, and within a mile of the city, it
seemed so insuperable an impediment that Boisot wrote in despondent tone
to the Prince of Orange. He announced his intention of carrying the fort,
if it were possible, on the following morning, but if obliged to retreat,
he observed, with something like despair, that there would be nothing for
it but to wait for another gale of wind. If the waters should rise
sufficiently to enable them to make a wide detour, it might be possible,
if, in the meantime, Leyden did not starve or surrender, to enter its
gates from the opposite side.

Meantime, the citizens had grown wild with expectation. A dove had been
despatched by Boisot, informing them of his precise position, and a
number of citizens accompanied the burgomaster, at nightfall, toward the
tower of Hengist. Yonder, cried the magistrate, stretching out his hand
towards Lammen, "yonder, behind that fort, are bread and meat, and
brethren in thousands. Shall all this be destroyed by the Spanish guns,
or shall we rush to the rescue of our friends?"--"We will tear the
fortress to fragments with our teeth and nails," was the reply, "before
the relief, so long expected, shall be wrested from us." It was resolved
that a sortie, in conjunction with the operations of Boisot, should be
made against Lammen with the earliest dawn. Night descended upon the
scene, a pitch dark night, full of anxiety to the Spaniards, to the
armada, to Leyden. Strange sights and sounds occurred at different
moments to bewilder the anxious sentinels. A long procession of lights
issuing from the fort was seen to flit across the black face of the
waters, in the dead of night, and the whole of the city wall, between the
Cow-gate and the Tower of Burgundy, fell with a loud crash. The
horror-struck citizens thought that the Spaniards were upon them at last;
the Spaniards imagined the noise to indicate, a desperate sortie of the
citizens. Everything was vague and mysterious.

Day dawned, at length, after the feverish, night, and, the Admiral
prepared for the assault. Within the fortress reigned a death-like
stillness, which inspired a sickening suspicion. Had the city, indeed,
been carried in the night; had the massacre already commenced; had all
this labor and audacity been expended in vain? Suddenly a man was
descried, wading breast-high through the water from Lammen towards the
fleet, while at the same time, one solitary boy was seen to wave his cap
from the summit of the fort. After a moment of doubt, the happy mystery
was solved. The Spaniards had fled, panic struck, during the darkness.
Their position would still have enabled them, with firmness, to frustrate
the enterprise of the patriots, but the hand of God, which had sent the
ocean and the tempest to the deliverance of Leyden, had struck her
enemies with terror likewise. The lights which had been seen moving
during the night were the lanterns of the retreating Spaniards, and the
boy who was now waving his triumphant signal from the battlements had
alone witnessed the spectacle. So confident was he in the conclusion to
which it led him, that he had volunteered at daybreak to go thither all
alone. The magistrates, fearing a trap, hesitated for a moment to believe
the truth, which soon, however, became quite evident. Valdez, flying
himself from Leyderdorp, had ordered Colonel Borgia to retire with all
his troops from Lammen. Thus, the Spaniards had retreated at the very
moment that an extraordinary accident had laid bare a whole side of the
city for their entrance. The noise of the wall, as it fell, only inspired
them with fresh alarm for they believed that the citizens had sallied
forth in the darkness, to aid the advancing flood in the work of
destruction. All obstacles being now removed, the fleet of Boisot swept
by Lammen, and entered the city on the morning of the 3rd of October.
Leyden was relieved.

The quays were lined with the famishing population, as the fleet rowed
through the canals, every human being who could stand, coming forth to
greet the preservers of the city. Bread was thrown from every vessel
among the crowd. The poor creatures who, for two months had tasted no
wholesome human food, and who had literally been living within the jaws
of death, snatched eagerly the blessed gift, at last too liberally
bestowed. Many choked themselves to death, in the greediness with which
they devoured their bread; others became ill with the effects of plenty
thus suddenly succeeding starvation; but these were isolated cases, a
repetition of which was prevented. The Admiral, stepping ashore, was
welcomed by the magistracy, and a solemn procession was immediately
formed. Magistrates and citizens, wild Zealanders, emaciated burgher
guards, sailors, soldiers, women, children, nearly every living person
within the walls, all repaired without delay to the great church, stout
Admiral Boisot leading the way. The starving and heroic city, which had
been so firm in its resistance to an earthly king, now bent itself in
humble gratitude before the King of kings. After prayers, the whole vast
congregation joined in the thanksgiving hymn. Thousands of voices raised
the-song, but few were able to carry it to its conclusion, for the
universal emotion, deepened by the music, became too full for utterance.
The hymn was abruptly suspended, while the multitude wept like children.
This scene of honest pathos terminated; the necessary measures for
distributing the food and for relieving the sick were taken by the
magistracy. A note dispatched to the Prince of Orange, was received by
him at two o'clock, as he sat in church at Delft. It was of a somewhat
different purport from that of the letter which he had received early in
the same day from Boisot; the letter in which the admiral had, informed
him that the success of the enterprise depended; after-all, upon the
desperate assault upon a nearly impregnable fort. The joy of the Prince
may be easily imagined, and so soon as the sermon was concluded; he
handed the letter just received to the minister, to be read to the
congregation. Thus, all participated in his joy, and united with him in
thanksgiving.

The next day, notwithstanding the urgent entreaties of his friends, who
were anxious lest his life should be endangered by breathing, in his
scarcely convalescent state; the air of the city where so many thousands
had been dying of the pestilence, the Prince repaired to Leyden. He, at
least, had never doubted his own or his country's fortitude. They could,
therefore, most sincerely congratulate each other, now that the victory
had been achieved. "If we are doomed to perish," he had said a little
before the commencement of the siege, "in the name of God, be it so! At
any rate, we shall have the honor to have done what no nation ever, did
before us, that of having defended and maintained ourselves, unaided, in
so small a country, against the tremendous efforts of such powerful
enemies. So long as the poor inhabitants here, though deserted by all the
world, hold firm, it will still cost the Spaniards the half of Spain, in
money and in men, before they can make an end of us."

The termination of the terrible siege of Leyden was a convincing proof to
the Spaniards that they had not yet made an end of the Hollanders. It
furnished, also, a sufficient presumption that until they had made an end
of them, even unto the last Hollander, there would never be an end of the
struggle in which they were engaged. It was a slender consolation to the
Governor-General, that his troops had been vanquished, not by the enemy,
but by the ocean. An enemy whom the ocean obeyed with such docility might
well be deemed invincible by man. In the head-quarters of Valdez, at
Leyderdorp, many plans of Leyden and the neighbourhood were found lying
in confusion about the room. Upon the table was a hurried farewell of
that General to the scenes of his, discomfiture, written in a Latin
worthy of Juan Vargas: "Vale civitas, valete castelli parvi, qui relicti
estis propter aquam et non per vim inimicorum!" In his precipitate
retreat before the advancing rebels, the Commander had but just found
time for this elegant effusion, and, for his parting instructions to
Colonel Borgia that the fortress of Lammen was to be forthwith abandoned.
These having been reduced to writing, Valdez had fled so speedily as to
give rise to much censure and more scandal. He was even accused of having
been bribed by the Hollanders to desert his post, a tale which many
repeated, and a few believed. On the 4th of October, the day following
that on which the relief of the city was effected, the wind shifted to
the north-east, and again blew a tempest. It was as if the waters, having
now done their work, had been rolled back to the ocean by an Omnipotent
hand, for in the course of a few days, the land was bare again, and the
work of reconstructing the dykes commenced.

After a brief interval of repose, Leyden had regained its former
position. The Prince, with advice of the estates, had granted the city,
as a reward for its sufferings, a ten days' annual fair, without tolls or
taxes, and as a further manifestation of the gratitude entertained by the
people of Holland and Zealand for the heroism of the citizens, it was
resolved that an academy or university should be forthwith established
within their walls. The University of Leyden, afterwards so illustrious,
was thus founded in the very darkest period of the country's struggle.

The university was endowed with a handsome revenue, principally derived
from the ancient abbey of Egmont, and was provided with a number of
professors, selected for their genius, learning, and piety among all the
most distinguished scholars of the Netherlands. The document by which the
institution was founded was certainly a masterpiece of ponderous irony,
for as the fiction of the King's sovereignty was still maintained, Philip
was gravely made to establish the university, as a reward to Leyden for
rebellion to himself. "Considering," said this wonderful charter, "that
during these present wearisome wars within our provinces of Holland and
Zealand, all good instruction of youth in the sciences and liberal arts
is likely to come into entire oblivion. . . . . Considering the
differences of religion--considering that we are inclined to gratify our
city of Leyden, with its burghers, on account of the heavy burthens
sustained by them during this war with such faithfulness--we have
resolved, after ripely deliberating with our dear cousin, William, Prince
of Orange, stadholder, to erect a free public school and university,"
etc., etc., etc. So ran the document establishing this famous academy,
all needful regulations for the government and police of the institution
being entrusted by Philip to his "above-mentioned dear cousin of Orange."

The university having been founded, endowed, and supplied with its
teachers, it was solemnly consecrated in the following winter, and it is
agreeable to contemplate this scene of harmless pedantry, interposed, as
it was, between the acts of the longest and dreariest tragedy of modern
time. On the 5th of February, 1575, the city of Leyden, so lately the
victim of famine and pestilence, had crowned itself with flowers. At
seven in the morning, after a solemn religious celebration in the Church
of St. Peter, a grand procession was formed. It was preceded by a
military escort, consisting of the burgher militia and the five companies
of infantry stationed in the city. Then came, drawn by four horses, a
splendid triumphal chariot, on which sat a female figure, arrayed in
snow-white garments. This was the Holy Gospel. She was attended by the
Four Evangelists, who walked on foot at each side of her chariot. Next
followed Justice, with sword and scales, mounted; blindfold, upon a
unicorn, while those learned doctors, Julian, Papinian, Ulpian, and
Tribonian, rode on either side, attended by two lackeys and four men at
arms. After these came Medicine, on horseback, holding in one hand a
treatise of the healing art, in the other a garland of drugs. The
curative goddess rode between the four eminent physicians, Hippocrates,
Galen, Dioscorides, and Theophrastus, and was attended by two footmen and
four pike-bearers. Last of the allegorical personages came Minerva,
prancing in complete steel, with lance in rest, and bearing her Medusa
shield. Aristotle and Plato, Cicero and Virgil, all on horseback, with
attendants in antique armor at their back, surrounded the daughter of
Jupiter, while the city band, discoursing eloquent music from hautboy and
viol, came upon the heels of the allegory. Then followed the mace-bearers
and other officials, escorting the orator of the day, the newly-appointed
professors and doctors, the magistrates and dignitaries, and the body of
the citizens generally completing the procession.

Marshalled in this order, through triumphal arches, and over a pavement
strewed with flowers, the procession moved slowly up and down the
different streets, and along the quiet canals of the city. As it reached
the Nuns' Bridge, a barge of triumph, gorgeously decorated, came floating
slowly down the sluggish Rhine. Upon its deck, under a canopy enwreathed
with laurels and oranges, and adorned with tapestry, sat Apollo, attended
by the Nine Muses, all in classical costume; at the helm stood Neptune
with his trident. The Muses executed some beautiful concerted pieces;
Apollo twanged his lute. Having reached the landing-place, this
deputation from Parnassus stepped on shore, and stood awaiting the
arrival of the procession. Each professor, as he advanced, was gravely
embraced and kissed by Apollo and all the Nine Muses in turn, who greeted
their arrival besides with the recitation of an elegant Latin poem. This
classical ceremony terminated, the whole procession marched together to
the cloister of Saint Barbara, the place prepared for the new university,
where they listened to an eloquent oration by the Rev. Caspar Kolhas,
after which they partook of a magnificent banquet. With this memorable
feast, in the place where famine had so lately reigned, the ceremonies
were concluded.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
     Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
     Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, THE DUTCH REPUBLIC 1566-74, Complete

     1566, the last year of peace
     Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
     Age when toleration was a vice
     An age when to think was a crime
     Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
     Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
     Business of an officer to fight, of a general to conquer
     Conde and Coligny
     Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
     Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
     Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
     Cruelties exercised upon monks and papists
     Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
     Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
     Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
     Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
     Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
     Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
     For faithful service, evil recompense
     Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
     God Save the King! It was the last time
     Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
     Great battles often leave the world where they found it
     Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
     Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
     Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
     He had omitted to execute heretics
     He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
     Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
     Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
     If he had little, he could live upon little
     Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
     Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
     Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
     Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
     Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
     Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
     Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
     Not to let the grass grow under their feet
     Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
     Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
     Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
     Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war
     Pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn
     Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
     Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
     Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
     Saint Bartholomew's day
     Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
     Science of reigning was the science of lying
     Sent them word by carrier pigeons
     Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels
     Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
     Slender stock of platitudes
     So much responsibility and so little power
     Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
     Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
     The time for reasoning had passed
     The calf is fat and must be killed
     The perpetual reproductions of history
     The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
     The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass
     The tragedy of Don Carlos
     The illness was a convenient one
     Three hundred fighting women
     Time and myself are two
     Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
     We are beginning to be vexed
     Wealth was an unpardonable sin
     Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers
     Who loved their possessions better than their creed
     Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery






MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, VOLUME III.

By John Lothrop Motley

1855

1574-1576  [CHAPTER III.]

   Latter days of the Blood Council--Informal and insincere
   negotiations for peace--Characteristics of the negotiators and of
   their diplomatic correspondence--Dr. Junius--Secret conferences
   between Dr. Leoninus and Orange--Steadfastness of the Prince--
   Changes in the internal government of the northern provinces--
   Generosity and increasing power of the municipalities--Incipient
   jealousy in regard to Orange rebuked--His offer of resignation
   refused by the Estates--His elevation to almost unlimited power--
   Renewed mediation of Maximilian--Views and positions of the parties
   --Advice of Orange--Opening of negotiations at Breda--Propositions
   and counter-propositions--Adroitness of the plenipotentiaries on
   both sides--Insincere diplomacy and unsatisfactory results--Union of
   Holland and Zealand under the Prince of Orange--Act defining his
   powers--Charlotte de Bourbon--Character, fortunes, and fate of Anna
   of Saxony--Marriage of Orange with Mademoiselle de Bourbon--
   Indignation thereby excited--Horrible tortures inflicted upon
   Papists by Sonoy in North Holland--Oudewater and Schoonoven taken by
   Hierges--The isles of Zealand--A submarine expedition projected--
   Details of the adventure--Its entire success--Death of Chiappin
   Vitelli--Deliberations in Holland and Zealand concerning the
   renunciation of Philip's authority--Declaration at Delft--Doubts as
   to which of the Great Powers the sovereignty should be offered--
   Secret international relations--Mission to England--Unsatisfactory
   negotiations with Elizabeth--Position of the Grand Commander--Siege
   of Zieriekzee--Generosity of Count John--Desperate project of the
   Prince--Death and character of Requesens.

The Council of Troubles, or, as it will be for ever denominated in
history, the Council of Blood, still existed, although the Grand
Commander, upon his arrival in the Netherlands, had advised his sovereign
to consent to the immediate abolition of so odious an institution. Philip
accepting the advice of his governor and his cabinet, had accordingly
authorized him by a letter of the 10th of March, 1574, to take that step
if he continued to believe it advisable.

Requesens had made use of this permission to extort money from the
obedient portion of the provinces. An assembly of deputies was held at
Brussels on the 7th of June, 1574, and there was a tedious interchange of
protocols, reports, and remonstrances. The estates, not satisfied with
the extinction of a tribunal which had at last worn itself out by its own
violence, and had become inactive through lack of victims, insisted on
greater concessions. They demanded the departure of the Spanish troops,
the establishment of a council of Netherlanders in Spain for Netherland
affairs, the restoration to offices in the provinces of natives and
natives only; for these drawers of documents thought it possible, at that
epoch, to recover by pedantry what their brethren of Holland and Zealand
were maintaining with the sword. It was not the moment for historical
disquisition, citations from Solomon, nor chopping of logic; yet with
such lucubrations were reams of paper filled, and days and weeks
occupied. The result was what might have been expected. The Grand
Commander obtained but little money; the estates obtained none of their
demands; and the Blood Council remained, as it were, suspended in
mid-air. It continued to transact business at intervals during the
administration of Requesens, and at last, after nine years of existence,
was destroyed by the violent imprisonment of the Council of State at
Brussels. This event, however, belongs to a subsequent page of this
history.

Noircarmes had argued, from the tenor of Saint Aldegonde's letters, that
the Prince would be ready to accept his pardon upon almost any terms.
Noircarmes was now dead, but Saint Aldegonde still remained in prison,
very anxious for his release, and as well disposed as ever to render
services in any secret negotiation. It will be recollected that, at the
capitulation of Middelburg, it had been distinctly stipulated by the
Prince that Colonel Mondragon should at once effect the liberation of
Saint Aldegonde, with certain other prisoners, or himself return into
confinement. He had done neither the one nor the other. The patriots
still languished in prison, some of them being subjected to exceedingly
harsh treatment, but Mondragon, although repeatedly summoned as an
officer and a gentleman, by the Prince, to return to captivity, had been
forbidden by the Grand Commander to redeem his pledge.

Saint Aldegonde was now released from prison upon parole, and despatched
on a secret mission to the Prince and estates. As before, he was
instructed that two points were to be left untouched--the authority of
the King and the question of religion. Nothing could be more preposterous
than to commence a negotiation from which the two important points were
thus carefully eliminated. The King's authority and the question of
religion covered the whole ground upon which the Spaniards and the
Hollanders had been battling for six years, and were destined to battle
for three-quarters of a century longer. Yet, although other affairs might
be discussed, those two points were to be reserved for the more
conclusive arbitration of gunpowder. The result of negotiations upon such
a basis was easily to be foreseen. Breath, time, and paper were profusely
wasted and nothing gained. The Prince assured his friend, as he had done
secret agents previously sent to him, that he was himself ready to leave
the land, if by so doing he could confer upon it the blessing of peace;
but that all hopes of reaching a reasonable conclusion from the premises
established was futile. The envoy treated also with the estates, and
received from them in return an elaborate report, which was addressed
immediately to the King. The style of this paper was bold and blunt, its
substance bitter and indigestible. It informed Philip what he had heard
often enough before, that the Spaniards must go and the exiles come back,
the inquisition be abolished and the ancient privileges restored, the
Roman Catholic religion renounce its supremacy, and the Reformed religion
receive permission to exist unmolested, before he could call himself
master of that little hook of sand in the North Sea. With this paper,
which was entrusted to Saint Aldegonde, by him to be delivered to the
Grand Commander, who was, after reading it, to forward it to its
destination, the negotiator returned to his prison. Thence he did not
emerge again till the course of events released him, upon the 15th of
October, 1574.

This report was far from agreeable to the Governor, and it became the
object of a fresh correspondence between his confidential agent,
Champagny, and the learned and astute Junius de Jonge, representative of
the Prince of Orange and Governor of Yeere. The communication of De Jonge
consisted of a brief note and a long discourse. The note was sharp and
stinging, the discourse elaborate and somewhat pedantic. Unnecessarily
historical and unmercifully extended, it was yet bold, bitter, and
eloquent: The presence of foreigners was proved to have been, from the
beginning of Philip's reign, the curse of the country. Doctor Sonnius,
with his batch of bishops, had sowed the seed of the first disorder. A
prince, ruling in the Netherlands, had no right to turn a deaf ear to the
petitions of his subjects. If he did so, the Hollanders would tell him,
as the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian, that the potentate who had
no time to attend to the interests of his subjects, had not leisure
enough to be a sovereign. While Holland refused to bow its neck to the
Inquisition, the King of Spain dreaded the thunder and lightning of the
Pope. The Hollanders would, with pleasure, emancipate Philip from his own
thraldom, but it was absurd that he, who was himself a slave to another
potentate, should affect unlimited control over a free people. It was
Philip's councillors, not the Hollanders, who were his real enemies; for
it was they who held him in the subjection by which his power was
neutralized and his crown degraded.

It may be supposed that many long pages, conceived in this spirit and
expressed with great vigor, would hardly smooth the way for the more
official negotiations which were soon to take place, yet Doctor Junius
fairly and faithfully represented the sentiment of his nation.

Towards the close of the year, Doctor Elbertus Leoninus, professor of
Louvain, together with Hugo Bonte, ex-pensionary of Middelburg, was
commissioned by the Grand Commander to treat secretly with the Prince. He
was, however, not found very tractable when the commissioners opened the
subject of his own pardon and reconciliation with the King, and he
absolutely refused to treat at all except with the cooperation of the
estates. He, moreover, objected to the use of the word "pardon" on the
ground that he had never done anything requiring his Majesty's
forgiveness. If adversity should visit him, he cared but little for it;
he had lived long enough, he said, and should die with some glory,
regretting the disorders and oppressions which had taken place, but
conscious that it had not been in his power to remedy them. When reminded
by the commissioners of the King's power, he replied that he knew his
Majesty to be very mighty, but that there was a King more powerful
still--even God the Creator, who, as he humbly hoped, was upon his Side.

At a subsequent interview with Hugo Bonte, the Prince declared it almost
impossible for himself or the estates to hold any formal communication
with the Spanish government, as such communications were not safe. No
trust could be reposed either in safe conducts or hostages. Faith had
been too often broken by the administration. The promise made by the
Duchess of Parma to the nobles, and afterwards violated, the recent
treachery of Mondragon, the return of three exchanged prisoners from the
Hague, who died next day of poison administered before their release, the
frequent attempts upon his own life--all such constantly recurring crimes
made it doubtful, in the opinion of the Prince, whether it would be
possible to find commissioners to treat with his Majesty's government.
All would fear assassination, afterwards to be disavowed by the King and
pardoned by the Pope. After much conversation in this vein, the Prince
gave the Spanish agents warning that he might eventually be obliged to
seek the protection of some foreign power for the provinces. In this
connection he made use of the memorable metaphor, so often repeated
afterwards, that "the country was a beautiful damsel, who certainly did
not lack suitors able and willing to accept her and defend her against
the world." As to the matter of religion, he said he was willing to leave
it to be settled by the estates-general; but doubted whether anything
short of entire liberty of worship would ever satisfy the people.

Subsequently there were held other conferences, between the Prince and
Doctor Leoninus, with a similar result, all attempts proving fruitless to
induce him to abandon his position upon the subject of religion, or to
accept a pardon on any terms save the departure of the foreign troops,
the assembling of the estates-general, and entire freedom of religion.
Even if he were willing to concede the religious question himself, he
observed that it was idle to hope either from the estates or people a
hand's-breadth of concession upon that point. Leoninus was subsequently
admitted to a secret conferenc with the estates of Holland, where his
representations were firmly met by the same arguments as those already
used by the Prince.

These proceedings on the part of Saint Aldegonde, Champagny, Junius, and
Elbertus Leoninus extended through the whole summer and autumn of 1574,
and were not terminated until January of the following year.

Changes fast becoming necessary in the internal government of the
provinces, were also undertaken during this year. Hitherto the Prince had
exercised his power under the convenient fiction of the King's authority,
systematically conducting the rebellion in the name of his Majesty, and
as his Majesty's stadholder. By this process an immense power was lodged
in his hands; nothing less, indeed, than the supreme executive and
legislative functions of the land; while since the revolt had become, as
it were, perpetual, ample but anomalous functions had been additionally
thrust upon him by the estates and by the general voice of the people.

The two provinces, even while deprived of Harlem and Amsterdam, now
raised two hundred and ten thousand florins monthly, whereas Alva had
never been able to extract from Holland more than two hundred and
seventy-one thousand florins yearly. They paid all rather than pay a
tenth. In consequence of this liberality, the cities insensibly acquired
a greater influence in the government. The coming contest between the
centrifugal aristocratic principle, represented by these corporations,
and the central popular authority of the stadholder, was already
foreshadowed, but at first the estates were in perfect harmony with the
Prince. They even urged upon him more power than he desired, and declined
functions which he wished them to exercise. On the 7th of September,
1573, it had been formally proposed by the general council to confer a
regular and unlimited dictatorship upon him, but in the course of a year
from that time, the cities had begun to feel their increasing importance.
Moreover, while growing more ambitious, they became less liberal.

The Prince, dissatisfied with the conduct of the cities, brought the
whole subject before an assembly of the estates of Holland on the 20th
October, 1574. He stated the inconveniences produced by the anomalous
condition of the government. He complained that the common people had
often fallen into the error that the money raised for public purposes had
been levied for his benefit only, and that they had, therefore, been less
willing to contribute to the taxes. As the only remedy for these evils,
he tendered his resignation of all the powers with which he was clothed,
so that the estates might then take the government, which they could
exercise without conflict or control. For himself, he had never desired
power, except as a means of being useful to his country, and he did not
offer his resignation from unwillingness to stand by the cause, but from
a hearty desire to save it from disputes among its friends. He was ready,
now as ever, to shed the last drop of his blood to maintain the freedom
of the land.

This straightforward language produced an instantaneous effect. The
estates knew that they were dealing with a man whose life was governed by
lofty principles, and they felt that they were in danger of losing him
through their own selfishness and low ambition. They were embarrassed,
for they did not like to, relinquish the authority which they had begun
to relish, nor to accept the resignation of a man who was indispensable.
They felt that to give up William of Orange at that time was to accept
the Spanish yoke for ever. At an assembly held at Delft on the 12th of
November, 1574, they accordingly requested him "to continue in his
blessed government, with the council established near him," and for this
end, they formally offered to him, "under the name of Governor or Regent,"
absolute power, authority, and sovereign command. In particular, they
conferred on him the entire control of all the ships of war, hitherto
reserved to the different cities, together with the right to dispose of
all prizes and all monies raised for the support of fleets. They gave him
also unlimited power over the domains; they agreed that all magistracies,
militia bands, guilds, and communities, should make solemn oath to
contribute taxes and to receive garrisons, exactly as the Prince, with
his council, should ordain; but they made it a condition that the estates
should be convened and consulted upon requests, impositions, and upon all
changes in the governing body. It was also stipulated that the judges of
the supreme court and of the exchequer, with other high officers, should
be appointed by and with the consent of the estates.

The Prince expressed himself willing to accept the government upon these
terms. He, however, demanded an allowance of forty-five thousand florins
monthly for the army expenses and other current outlays. Here, however,
the estates refused their consent. In a mercantile spirit, unworthy the
occasion and the man with whom they were dealing, they endeavoured to
chaffer where they should have been only too willing to comply, and they
attempted to reduce the reasonable demand of the Prince to thirty
thousand florins. The Prince, who had poured out his own wealth so
lavishly in the cause--who, together with his brothers, particularly the
generous John of Nassau, had contributed all which they could raise by
mortgage, sales of jewellery and furniture, and by extensive loans,
subjecting themselves to constant embarrassment, and almost to penury,
felt himself outraged by the paltriness of this conduct. He expressed his
indignation, and denounced the niggardliness of the estates in the
strongest language, and declared that he would rather leave the country
for ever, with the maintenance of his own honor, than accept the
government upon such disgraceful terms. The estates, disturbed by his
vehemence, and struck with its justice, instantly, and without further
deliberation, consented to his demand. They granted the forty-five
thousand florins monthly, and the Prince assumed the government, thus
remodelled.

During the autumn and early winter of the year 1574, the Emperor
Maximilian had been actively exerting himself to bring about a
pacification of the Netherlands. He was certainly sincere, for an
excellent reason. "The Emperor maintains," said Saint Goard, French
ambassador at Madrid, "that if peace is not made with the Beggars, the
Empire will depart from the house of Austria, and that such is the
determination of the electors." On the other hand, if Philip were not
weary of the war, at any rate his means for carrying it on were
diminishing daily. Requesens could raise no money in the Netherlands; his
secretary wrote to Spain, that the exchequer was at its last gasp, and
the cabinet of Madrid was at its wits' end, and almost incapable of
raising ways and means. The peace party was obtaining the upper hand; the
fierce policy of Alva regarded with increasing disfavor. "The people
here," wrote Saint Goard from Madrid, "are completely desperate, whatever
pains they take to put a good face on the matter. They desire most
earnestly to treat, without losing their character." It seemed,
nevertheless, impossible for Philip to bend his neck. The hope of wearing
the Imperial crown had alone made his bigotry feasible. To less potent
influences it was adamant; and even now, with an impoverished exchequer,
and, after seven years of unsuccessful warfare, his purpose was not less
rigid than at first. "The Hollanders demand liberty of conscience," said
Saint Goard, "to which the King will never consent, or I am much
mistaken."

As for Orange, he was sincerely in favor of peace--but not a dishonorable
peace, in which should be renounced all the objects of the war. He was
far from sanguine on the subject, for he read the signs of the times and
the character of Philip too accurately to believe much more in the
success of the present than in that of the past efforts of Maximilian. He
was pleased that his brother-in-law, Count Schwartzburg, had been
selected as the Emperor's agent in the affair, but expressed his doubts
whether much good would come of the proposed negotiations. Remembering
the many traps which in times past had been set by Philip and his father,
he feared that the present transaction might likewise prove a snare. "We
have not forgotten the words I 'ewig' and 'einig' in the treaty with
Landgrave Philip," he wrote; "at the same time we beg to assure his
Imperial Majesty that we desire nothing more than a good peace, tending
to the glory of God, the service of the King of Spain, and the prosperity
of his subjects."

This was his language to his brother, in a letter which was meant to be
shown to the Emperor. In another, written on the same day, he explained
himself with more clearness, and stated his distrust with more energy.
There were no papists left, except a few ecclesiastics, he said; so much
had the number of the Reformers been augmented, through the singular
grace of God. It was out of the question to suppose, therefore, that a
measure, dooming all who were not Catholics to exile, could be
entertained. None would change their religion, and none would consent,
voluntarily, to abandon for ever their homes, friends, and property.
"Such a peace," he said, "would be poor and pitiable indeed."

These, then, were the sentiments of the party now about to negotiate. The
mediator was anxious for a settlement, because the interests of the
Imperial house required it. The King of Spain was desirous of peace, but
was unwilling to concede a hair. The Prince of Orange was equally anxious
to terminate the war, but was determined not to abandon the objects for
which it had been undertaken. A favorable result, therefore, seemed
hardly possible. A whole people claimed the liberty to stay at home and
practice the Protestant religion, while their King asserted the right to
banish them for ever, or to burn them if they remained. The parties
seemed too far apart to be brought together by the most elastic
compromise. The Prince addressed an earnest appeal to the assembly of
Holland, then in session at Dort, reminding them that, although peace was
desirable, it might be more dangerous than war, and entreating them,
therefore, to conclude no treaty which should be inconsistent with the
privileges of the country and their duty to God.

It was now resolved that all the votes of the assembly should consist of
five: one for the nobles and large cities of Holland, one for the estates
of Zealand, one for the small cities of Holland, one for the cities
Bommel and Buren, and the fifth for William of Orange. The Prince thus
effectually held in his hands three votes: his own, that of the small
cities, which through his means only had been admitted to the assembly,
and thirdly, that of Buren, the capital of his son's earldom. He thus
exercised a controlling influence over the coming deliberations. The ten
commissioners, who were appointed by the estates for the peace
negotiations, were all his friends. Among them were Saint Aldegonde, Paul
Buis, Charles Boisot, and Doctor Junius. The plenipotentiaries of the
Spanish government were Leoninus, the Seigneur de Rassinghem, Cornelius
Suis, and Arnold Sasbout.

The proceedings were opened at Breda upon the 3rd of March, 1575. The
royal commissioners took the initiative, requesting to be informed what
complaints the estates had to make, and offering to remove, if possible,
all grievances which they might be suffering. The states' commissioners
replied that they desired nothing, in the first place, but an answer to
the petition which they had already presented to the King. This was the
paper placed in the hands of Saint Aldegonde during the informal
negotiations of the preceding year. An answer was accordingly given, but
couched in such vague and general language as to be quite without
meaning. The estates then demanded a categorical reply to the two
principal demands in the petition, namely, the departure of the foreign
troops and the assembling of the states-general. They, were asked what
they understood by foreigners and by the assembly of states-general. They
replied that by foreigners they meant those who were not natives, and
particularly the Spaniards. By the estates-general they meant the same
body before which, in 1555, Charles had resigned his sovereignty to
Philip. The royal commissioners made an extremely unsatisfactory answer,
concluding with a request that all cities, fortresses, and castles, then
in the power of the estates, together with all their artillery and
vessels of war, should be delivered to the King. The Roman Catholic
worship, it was also distinctly stated, was to be re-established at once
exclusively throughout the Netherlands; those of the Reformed religion
receiving permission, for that time only, to convert their property into
cash within a certain time, and to depart the country.

Orange and the estates made answer on the 21st March. It could not be
called hard, they said, to require the withdrawal of the Spanish troops,
for this had been granted in 1559, for less imperious reasons. The
estates had, indeed, themselves made use of foreigners, but those
foreigners had never been allowed to participate in the government. With
regard to the assembly of the states-general, that body had always
enjoyed the right of advising with the Sovereign on the condition of the
country, and on general measures of government. Now it was only thought
necessary to summon them, in order that they might give their consent to
the King's "requests." Touching the delivery of cities and citadels,
artillery and ships, the proposition was, pronounced to resemble that
made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable--that the dogs should be
delivered up, as a preliminary to a lasting peace. It was unreasonable to
request the Hollanders to abandon their religion or their country. The
reproach of heresy was unjust, for they still held to the Catholic
Apostolic Church, wishing only to purify, it of its abuses. Moreover, it
was certainly more cruel to expel a whole population than to dismiss
three or four thousand Spaniards who for seven long years had been eating
their fill at the expense of the provinces. It would be impossible for
the exiles to dispose of their property, for all would, by the proposed
measure, be sellers, while there would be no purchasers.

The royal plenipotentiaries, making answer to this communication upon the
1st of April, signified a willingness that the Spanish soldiers should
depart, if the states would consent to disband their own foreign troops.
They were likewise in favor of assembling the states-general, but could
not permit any change in the religion of the country. His Majesty had
sworn to maintain the true worship at the moment of assuming the
sovereignty. The dissenters might, however, be allowed a period of six
months in which to leave the land, and eight or ten years for the sale of
their property. After the heretics had all departed, his Majesty did not
doubt that trade and manufactures would flourish again, along with the
old religion. As for the Spanish inquisition, there was not, and there
never had been, any intention of establishing it in the Netherlands.

No doubt there was something specious in this paper. It appeared to
contain considerable concessions. The Prince and estates had claimed the
departure of the Spaniards. It was now promised that they should depart.
They had demanded the assembling of the states-general. It was now
promised that they should assemble. They had denounced the inquisition.
It was now averred that the Spanish inquisition was not to be
established.

Nevertheless, the commissioners of the Prince were not deceived by such
artifices. There was no parity between the cases of the Spanish soldiery
and of the troops in service of the estates. To assemble the
estates-general was idle, if they were to be forbidden the settlement of
the great question at issue. With regard to the Spanish inquisition, it
mattered little whether the slaughter-house were called Spanish or
Flemish, or simply the Blood-Council. It was, however, necessary for the
states' commissioners to consider their reply very carefully; for the
royal plenipotentiaries had placed themselves upon specious grounds. It
was not enough to feel that the King's government was paltering with
them; it was likewise necessary for the states' agents to impress this
fact upon the people.

There was a pause in the deliberations. Meantime, Count Schwartzburg,
reluctantly accepting the conviction that the religious question was an
insurmountable obstacle to a peace, left the provinces for Germany. The
last propositions of the government plenipotentiaries had been discussed
in the councils of the various cities, so that the reply of the Prince,
and estates was delayed until the 1st of June. They admitted, in this
communication, that the offer to restore ancient privileges had an
agreeable sound; but regretted that if the whole population were to be
banished, there would be but few to derive advantage from the
restoration. If the King would put an end to religious persecution, he
would find as much loyalty in the provinces as his forefathers had found.
It was out of the question, they said, for the states to disarm and to
deliver up their strong places, before the Spanish soldiery had retired,
and before peace had been established. It was their wish to leave the
question of religion, together with all other disputed matters, to the
decision of the assembly. Were it possible, in the meantime, to devise
any effectual method for restraining hostilities, it would gladly be
embraced.

On the 8th of July, the royal commissioners inquired what guarantee the
states would be willing to give, that the decision of the general
assembly, whatever it might be, should be obeyed. The demand was answered
by another, in which the King's agents were questioned as to their own
guarantees. Hereupon it was stated that his Majesty would give his word
and sign manual, together with the word and signature of the Emperor into
the bargain. In exchange for these promises, the Prince and estates were
expected to give their own oaths and seals, together with a number of
hostages. Over and above this, they were requested to deliver up the
cities of Brill and Enkhuizen, Flushing and Arnemuyde. The disparity of
such guarantees was ridiculous. The royal word, even when strengthened by
the imperial promise, and confirmed by the autographs of Philip and
Maximilian, was not so solid a security, in the opinion of Netherlanders,
as to outweigh four cities in Holland and Zealand, with all their
population and wealth. To give collateral pledges and hostages upon one
side, while the King offered none, was to assign a superiority to the
royal word, over that of the Prince and the estates which there was no
disposition to recognize. Moreover, it was very cogently urged that to
give up the cities was to give as security for the contract, some of the
principal contracting parties.

This closed the negotiations. The provincial plenipotentiaries took their
leave by a paper dated 13th July, 1575, which recapitulated the main
incidents of the conference. They expressed their deep regret that his
Majesty should insist so firmly on the banishment of the Reformers, for
it was unjust to reserve the provinces to the sole use of a small number
of Catholics. They lamented that the proposition which had been made, to
refer the religious question to the estates, had neither been loyally
accepted, nor candidly refused. They inferred, therefore, that the object
of the royal government had, been to amuse the states, while tine was
thus gained for reducing the country into a slavery more abject than any
which had yet existed. On the other hand, the royal commissioners as
solemnly averred that the whole responsibility for the failure of the
negotiations belonged to the estates.

It was the general opinion in the insurgent provinces that the government
had been insincere from the beginning, and had neither expected nor
desired to conclude a peace. It is probable, however, that Philip was
sincere; so far as it could be called sincerity to be willing to conclude
a peace, if the provinces would abandon the main objects of the war. With
his impoverished exchequer, and ruin threatening his whole empire, if
this mortal combat should be continued many years longer, he could have
no motive for further bloodshed, provided all heretics should consent to
abandon the country. As usual, however, he left his agents in the dark as
to his real intentions. Even Requesens was as much in doubt as to the
King's secret purposes as Margaret of Parma had ever been in former
times.

   [Compare the remarks of Groen v. Prinst., Archives, etc., v 259-
   262; Bor, viii. 606, 615; Meteren, v. 100; Hoofd, g. 410.--Count
   John of Nassau was distrustful and disdainful from the beginning.
   Against his brother's loyalty and the straightforward intentions of
   the estates, he felt that the whole force of the Macchiavelli system
   of policy would be brought to bear with great effect. He felt that
   the object of the King's party was to temporize, to confuse, and to
   deceive. He did not believe them capable of conceding the real
   object in dispute, but he feared lest they might obscure the
   judgment of the plain and well meaning people with whom they had to
   deal. Alluding to the constant attempts made to poison himself and
   his brother, he likens the pretended negotiations to Venetian drugs,
   by which eyesight, hearing, feeling, and intellect were destroyed.
   Under this pernicious influence, the luckless people would not
   perceive the fire burning around them, but would shrink at a
   rustling leaf. Not comprehending then the tendency of their own
   acts, they would "lay bare their own backs to the rod, and bring
   faggots for their own funeral pile."-Archives, etc., v. 131-137.]

Moreover, the Grand Commander and the government had, after all, made a
great mistake in their diplomacy. The estates of Brabant, although
strongly desirous that the Spanish troops should be withdrawn, were
equally stanch for the maintenance of the Catholic religion, and many of
the southern provinces entertained the same sentiments. Had the Governor,
therefore, taken the states' commissioners at their word, and left the
decision of the religious question to the general assembly, he might
perhaps have found the vote in his favor. In this case, it is certain
that the Prince of Orange and his party would have been placed in a very
awkward position.

The internal government of the insurgent provinces had remained upon the
footing which we have seen established in the autumn of 1574, but in the
course of this summer (1575), however, the foundation was laid for the
union of Holland and Zealand, under the authority of Orange. The selfish
principle of municipal aristocracy, which had tended to keep asunder
these various groups of cities, was now repressed by the energy of the
Prince and the strong determination of the people.

In April, 1575, certain articles of union between Holland and Zealand
were proposed, and six commissioners appointed to draw up an ordinance
for the government of the two provinces. This ordinance was accepted in
general assembly of both. It was in twenty articles. It declared that,
during the war the Prince as sovereign, should have absolute power in all
matters concerning the defence of the country. He was to appoint military
officers, high and low, establish and remove garrisons, punish offenders
against the laws of war. He was to regulate the expenditure of all money
voted by the estates. He was to maintain the law, in the King's name, as
Count of Holland, and to appoint all judicial officers upon nominations
by the estates. He was, at the usual times, to appoint and renew the
magistracies of the cities, according to their constitutions. He was to
protect the exercise of the Evangelical Reformed religion, and to
suppress the exercise of the Roman religion, without permitting, however,
that search should be made into the creed of any person. A deliberative
and executive council, by which the jealousy of the corporations had
intended to hamper his government, did not come into more than nominal
existence.

The articles of union having been agreed upon, the Prince, desiring an
unfettered expression of the national will, wished the ordinance to be
laid before the people in their primary assemblies. The estates, however,
were opposed to this democratic proceeding. They represented that it had
been customary to consult; after the city magistracies, only the captains
of companies and the deans of guilds on matters of government. The
Prince, yielding the point, the captains of companies and deans of guilds
accordingly alone united with the aristocratic boards in ratifying the
instrument by which his authority over the two united provinces was
established. On the 4th of June this first union was solemnized.

Upon the 11th of July, the Prince formally accepted the government. He,
however, made an essential change in a very important clause of the
ordinance. In place of the words, the "Roman religion," he insisted that
the words, "religion at variance with the Gospel," should be substituted
in the article by which he was enjoined to prohibit the exercise of such
religion. This alteration rebuked the bigotry which had already grown out
of the successful resistance to bigotry, and left the door open for a
general religious toleration.

Early in this year the Prince had despatched Saint Aldegonde on a private
mission to the Elector Palatine. During some of his visits to that
potentate he had seen at Heidelberg the Princess Charlotte of Bourbon.
That lady was daughter of the Due de Montpensier, the most ardent of the
Catholic Princes of France, and the one who at the conferences of Bayonne
had been most indignant at the Queen Dowager's hesitation to unite
heartily with the schemes of Alva and Philip for the extermination of
the Huguenots. His daughter, a woman of beauty, intelligence, and virtue,
forced before the canonical age to take the religious vows, had been
placed in the convent of Joliarrs, of which she had become Abbess. Always
secretly inclined to the Reformed religion, she had fled secretly from
her cloister, in the year of horrors 1572, and had found refuge at the
court of the Elector Palatine, after which step her father refused to
receive her letters, to contribute a farthing to her support, or even to
acknowledge her claims upon him by a single line or message of affection.

Under these circumstances the outcast princess, who had arrived at the
years of maturity, might be considered her own mistress, and she was
neither morally nor legally bound, when her hand was sought in marriage
by the great champion of the Reformation, to ask the consent of a parent
who loathed her religion and denied her existence. The legality of the
divorce from Anne of Saxony had been settled by a full expression of the
ecclesiastical authority which she most respected;

   [Acte de, cinq Ministres du St. Evangile par lequel ils declarent le
   mariage du Prince d'Orange etre legitime.--Archives, etc., v. 216-
   226.]

the facts upon which the divorce had been founded having been proved
beyond peradventure.

Nothing, in truth, could well be more unfortunate in its results than the
famous Saxon marriage, the arrangements for which had occasioned so much
pondering to Philip, and so much diplomatic correspondence on the part of
high personages in Germany, the Netherlands, and Spain. Certainly, it was
of but little consequence to what church the unhappy Princess belonged,
and they must be lightly versed in history or in human nature who can
imagine these nuptials to have exercised any effect upon the religious or
political sentiments of Orange. The Princess was of a stormy,
ill-regulated nature; almost a lunatic from the beginning. The dislike
which succeeded to her fantastic fondness for the Prince, as well as her
general eccentricity, had soon become the talk of all the court at
Brussels. She would pass week after week without emerging from her
chamber, keeping the shutters closed and candles burning, day and night.
She quarrelled violently, with Countess Egmont for precedence, so that
the ludicrous contentions of the two ladies in antechambers and doorways
were the theme and the amusement of society. Her insolence, not only in
private but in public, towards her husband became intolerable: "I could
not do otherwise than bear it with sadness and patience," said the
Prince, with great magnanimity, "hoping that with age would come
improvement." Nevertheless, upon one occasion, at a supper party, she had
used such language in the presence of Count Horn and many other nobles,
"that all wondered that he could endure the abusive terms which she
applied to him."

When the clouds gathered about him, when he had become an exile and a
wanderer, her reproaches and her violence increased. The sacrifice of
their wealth, the mortgages and sales which he effected of his estates,
plate, jewels, and furniture, to raise money for the struggling country,
excited her bitter resentment. She separated herself from him by degrees,
and at last abandoned him altogether. Her temper became violent to
ferocity. She beat her servants with her hands and with clubs; she
threatened the lives of herself, of her attendants, of Count John of
Nassau, with knives and daggers, and indulged in habitual profanity and
blasphemy, uttering frightful curses upon all around. Her original
tendency to intemperance had so much increased, that she was often unable
to stand on her feet. A bottle of wine, holding more than a quart, in the
morning, and another in the evening, together with a pound of sugar, was
her usual allowance. She addressed letters to Alva complaining that her
husband had impoverished himself "in his good-for-nothing Beggar war,"
and begging the Duke to furnish her with a little ready money and with
the means of arriving at the possession of her dower.

An illicit connexion with a certain John Rubens, an exiled magistrate of
Antwerp, and father of the celebrated painter, completed the list of her
delinquencies, and justified the marriage of the Prince with Charlotte de
Bourbon. It was therefore determined by the Elector of Saxony and the
Landgrave William to remove her from the custody of the Nassaus. This
took place with infinite difficulty, at the close of the year 1575.
Already, in 1572; Augustus had proposed to the Landgrave that she should
be kept in solitary confinement, and that a minister should preach to her
daily through the grated aperture by which her, food was to be admitted.
The Landgrave remonstrated at so inhuman a proposition, which was,
however, carried into effect. The wretched Princess, now completely a
lunatic, was imprisoned in the electoral palace, in a chamber where the
windows were walled up and a small grating let into the upper part of the
door. Through this wicket came her food, as well as the words of the holy
man appointed to preach daily for her edification.

Two years long, she endured this terrible punishment, and died mad, on
the 18th of December, 1577. On the following day, she was buried in the
electoral tomb at Meissen; a pompous procession of "school children,
clergy, magistrates, nobility, and citizens" conducting her to that rest
of which she could no longer be deprived by the cruelty of man nor her
own violent temperament.

   [It can certainly be considered no violation of the sanctity of
   archives to make these slender allusions to a tale, the main
   features of which have already been published, not only by MM. Groan
   v. Prinsterer and Bakhuyzen, in Holland, but by the Saxon Professor
   Bottiger, in Germany. It is impossible to understand the character
   and career of Orange, and his relations with Germany, without a
   complete view of the Saxon marriage. The extracts from the
   "geomantic letters" of Elector Augustus, however, given in Bottiger
   (Hist. Taschenb. 1836, p. 169-173), with their furious attacks upon
   the Prince and upon Charlotte of Bourbon, seem to us too obscene to
   be admitted, even in a note to these pages, and in a foreign
   language.]

So far, therefore, as the character of Mademoiselle de Bourbon and the
legitimacy of her future offspring were concerned, she received ample
guarantees. For the rest, the Prince, in a simple letter, informed her
that he was already past his prime, having reached his forty-second year,
and that his fortune was encumbered not only with settlements for his,
children by previous marriages, but by debts contracted in the cause of
his oppressed country. A convention of doctors and bishops of France;
summoned by the Duc de Montpensier, afterwards confirmed the opinion that
the conventual vows of the Princess Charlotte had been conformable
neither to the laws of France nor to the canons of the Trent Council. She
was conducted to Brill by Saint Aldegonde, where she was received by her
bridegroom, to whom she was united on the 12th of June. The wedding
festival was held at Dort with much revelry and holiday making, "but
without dancing."

In this connexion, no doubt the Prince consulted his inclination only.
Eminently domestic in his habits, he required the relief of companionship
at home to the exhausting affairs which made up his life abroad. For
years he had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals,
with man or woman; it was natural, therefore, that he should contract
this marriage. It was equally natural that he should make many enemies by
so impolitic a match. The Elector Palatine, who was in place of guardian
to the bride, decidedly disapproved, although he was suspected of
favoring the alliance. The Landgrave of Hesse for a time was furious; the
Elector of Saxony absolutely delirious with rage. The Diet of the Empire
was to be held within a few weeks at Frankfort, where it was very certain
that the outraged and influential Elector would make his appearance,
overflowing with anger, and determined to revenge upon the cause of the
Netherland Reformation the injury which he had personally received. Even
the wise, considerate, affectionate brother, John of Nassau, considered
the marriage an act of madness. He did what he could, by argument and
entreaty, to dissuade the Prince from its completion; although he
afterwards voluntarily confessed that the Princess Charlotte had been
deeply calumniated, and was an inestimable treasure to his brother. The
French government made use of the circumstance to justify itself in a
still further alienation from the cause of the Prince than it had
hitherto manifested, but this was rather pretence than reality.

It was not in the nature of things, however, that the Saxon and Hessian
indignation could be easily allayed. The Landgrave was extremely violent.
"Truly, I cannot imagine," he wrote to the Elector of Saxony, "quo
consilio that wiseacre of an Aldegonde, and whosoever else has been
aiding and abetting, have undertaken this affair. Nam si pietatem
respicias, it is to be feared that, considering she is a Frenchwoman, a
nun, and moreover a fugitive nun, about whose chastity there has been
considerable question, the Prince has got out of the frying-pan into the
fire. Si formam it is not to be supposed that it was her beauty which
charmed him, since, without doubt, he must be rather frightened than
delighted, when he looks upon her. Si spem prolis, the Prince has
certainly only too many heirs already, and ought to wish that he had
neither wife nor children. Si amicitiam, it is not to be supposed, while
her father expresses himself in such threatening language with regard to
her, that there will be much cordiality of friendship on his part. Let
them look to it, then, lest it fare with them no better than with the
Admiral, at his Paris wedding; for those gentlemen can hardly forgive
such injuries, sine mercurio et arsenico sublimato."

The Elector of Saxony was frantic with choler, and almost ludicrous in
the vehemence of its expression. Count John was unceasing in his
exhortations to his brother to respect the sensitiveness of these
important personages, and to remember how much good and how much evil it
was in their power to compass, with regard to himself and to the great
cause of the Protestant religion. He reminded him, too, that the divorce
had not been, and would not be considered impregnable as to form, and
that much discomfort and detriment was likely to grow out of the whole
proceeding, for himself and his family. The Prince, however, was
immovable in his resolution, and from the whole tone of his
correspondence and deportment it was obvious that his marriage was one
rather of inclination than of policy. "I can assure you, my brother," he
wrote to Count John, "that my character has always tended to this--to
care neither for words nor menaces in any matter where I can act with a
clear conscience, and without doing injury to my neighbour. Truly, if I
had paid regard to the threats of princes, I should never have embarked
in so many dangerous affairs, contrary to the will of the King, my
master, in times past, and even to the advice of many of my relatives and
friends."

The evil consequences which had been foreseen were not slow to manifest
themselves. There was much discussion of the Prince's marriage at the
Diet of Frankfort, and there was even a proposition, formally to declare
the Calvinists excluded in Germany from the benefits of the Peace of
Passau. The Archduke Rudolph was soon afterwards elected King of the
Romans and of Bohemia, although hitherto, according to the policy of the
Prince of Orange, and in the expectation of benefit to the cause of the
Reformation in Germany and the Netherlands, there has been a strong
disposition to hold out hopes to Henry the Third, and to excite the fears
of Maximilian.

While these important affairs, public and private, had been occurring in
the south of Holland and in Germany, a very nefarious transaction had
disgraced the cause of the patriot party in the northern quarter.
Diedrich Sonoy, governor of that portion of Holland, a man of great
bravery but of extreme ferocity of character, had discovered an extensive
conspiracy among certain of the inhabitants, in aid of an approaching
Spanish invasion. Bands of land-loupers had been employed, according to
the intimation which he had received or affected to have received, to set
fire to villages and towns in every direction, to set up beacons, and to
conduct a series of signals by which the expeditions about to be
organized were to be furthered in their objects. The Governor, determined
to show that the Duke of Alva could not be more prompt nor more terrible
than himself, improvised, of his own authority, a tribunal in imitation
of the infamous Blood-Council. Fortunately for the character of the
country, Sonoy was not a Hollander, nor was the jurisdiction of this
newly established court allowed to extend beyond very narrow limits.
Eight vagabonds were, however, arrested and doomed to tortures the most
horrible, in order to extort from them confessions implicating persons of
higher position in the land than themselves. Seven, after a few turns of
the pulley and the screw, confessed all which they were expected to
confess, and accused all whom they were requested to accuse. The eighth
was firmer, and refused to testify to the guilt of certain respectable
householders, whose names he had, perhaps, never heard, and against whom
there was no shadow of evidence. He was, however, reduced by three hours
and a half of sharp torture to confess, entirely according to their
orders, so that accusations and evidence were thus obtained against
certain influential gentlemen of the province, whose only crime was a
secret adherence to the Catholic Faith.

The eight wretches who had been induced by promises of unconditional
pardon upon one hand, and by savage torture on the other, to bear this
false witness, were condemned to be burned alive, and on their way to the
stake, they all retracted the statements which had only been extorted
from them by the rack. Nevertheless, the individuals who had been thus
designated, were arrested. Charged with plotting a general conflagration
of the villages and farmhouses, in conjunction with an invasion by
Hierges and other Papist generals, they indignantly protested their
innocence; but two of them, a certain Kopp Corneliszoon, and his son,
Nanning Koppezoon, were selected to undergo the most cruel torture which
had yet been practised in the Netherlands. Sonoy, to his eternal shame,
was disposed to prove that human ingenuity to inflict human misery had
not been exhausted in the chambers of the Blood Council, for it was to be
shown that Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
in this diabolical science. Kopp, a man advanced in years, was tortured
during a whole day. On the following morning he was again brought to the
rack, but the old man was too weak to endure all the agony which his
tormentors had provided for him. Hardly had he been placed upon the bed
of torture than he calmly expired, to the great indignation of the
tribunal. "The Devil has broken his neck and carried him off to hell,"
cried they ferociously. "Nevertheless, that shall not prevent him from
being hung and quartered." This decree of impotent vengeance was
accordingly executed. The son of Kopp, however, Nanning Koppezoon, was a
man in the full vigor of his years. He bore with perfect fortitude a
series of incredible tortures, after which, with his body singed from
head to heel, and his feet almost entirely flayed, he was left for six
weeks to crawl about his dungeon on his knees. He was then brought back
to the torture-room, and again stretched upon the rack, while a large
earthen vessel, made for the purpose, was placed, inverted, upon his
naked body. A number of rats were introduced under this cover, and hot
coals were heaped upon the vessel, till the rats, rendered furious by the
heat, gnawed into the very bowels of the victim, in their agony to
escape.

   [Bor (viii. 628) conscientiously furnishes diagrams of the
   machinery by aid of which this devilish cruelty was inflicted. The
   rats were sent by the Governor himself.--Vide Letter of the
   Commissioners to Sonoy, apud Bor, viii. 640, 641. The whole letter
   is a wonderful monument of barbarity. The incredible tortures to
   which the poor creatures had been subjected are detailed in a
   business-like manner, as though the transactions were quite regular
   and laudable, The Commissioners conclude with pious wishes for the
   Governor's welfare: "Noble, wise, virtuous, and very discreet sir,"
   they say, "we have wished to apprise you of the foregoing, and we
   now pray that God Almighty may spare you in a happy, healthy and
   long-continued government"--It will be seen, however, that the wise,
   virtuous, and very discreet Governor, who thus caused his fellow-
   citizens bowels to be gnawed by rats, was not allowed to remain much
   longer in his "happy and healthy government"]

The holes thus torn in his bleeding flesh were filled with red-hot coals.
He was afterwards subjected to other tortures too foul to relate; nor was
it till he had endured all this agony, with a fortitude which seemed
supernatural, that he was at last discovered to be human. Scorched;
bitten, dislocated in every joint, sleepless, starving, perishing with
thirst, he was at last crushed into a false confession, by a promise of
absolute forgiveness. He admitted everything which was brought to his
charge, confessing a catalogue of contemplated burnings and beacon
firings of which he had never dreamed, and avowing himself in league with
other desperate Papists, still more dangerous than himself.

Notwithstanding the promises of pardon, Nanning was then condemned to
death. The sentence ordained that his heart should be torn from his
living bosom, and thrown in his face, after which his head was to be
taken off and exposed on the church steeple of his native village. His
body was then to be cut in four, and a quarter fastened upon different
towers of the city of Alkmaar, for it was that city, recently so famous
for its heroic resistance to the Spanish army, which was now sullied by
all this cold-blooded atrocity. When led to execution, the victim
recanted indignantly the confessions forced from him by weakness of body,
and exonerated the persons whom he had falsely accused. A certain
clergyman, named Jurian Epeszoon, endeavored by loud praying to drown his
voice, that the people might not rise with indignation, and the dying
prisoner with his last breath solemnly summoned this unworthy pastor of
Christ Jo meet him within three days before the judgment-seat of God. It
is a remarkable and authentic fact, that the clergyman thus summoned,
went home pensively from the place of execution, sickened immediately and
died upon the appointed day.

Notwithstanding this solemn recantation, the persons accused were
arrested, and in their turn subjected to torture, but the affair now
reached the ears of Orange. His peremptory orders, with the universal
excitement produced in the neighbourhood, at last checked the course of
the outrage, and the accused persons were remanded to prison, where they
remained till liberated by the Pacification of Ghent. After their release
they commenced legal proceedings against Sonoy, with a view of
establishing their own innocence, and of bringing the inhuman functionary
to justice. The process languished, however, and was finally abandoned,
for the powerful Governor had rendered such eminent service in the cause
of liberty, that it was thought unwise to push him to extremity. It is no
impeachment upon the character of the Prince that these horrible crimes
were not prevented. It was impossible for him to be omnipresent. Neither
is it just to consider the tortures and death thus inflicted upon
innocent men an indelible stain upon the cause of liberty. They were the
crimes of an individual who had been useful, but who, like the Count De
la Marck, had now contaminated his hand with the blood of the guiltless.
The new tribunal never took root, and was abolished as soon as its
initiatory horrors were known.

On the 19th of July, Oudewater, entirely unprepared for such an event,
was besieged by Hierges, but the garrison and the population, although
weak, were brave. The town resisted eighteen days, and on the 7th of
August was carried by assault, after which the usual horrors were fully
practised, after which the garrison was put to the sword, and the
townspeople fared little better. Men, women, and children were murdered
in cold blood, or obliged to purchase their lives by heavy ransoms, while
matrons and maids were sold by auction to the soldiers at two or three
dollars each. Almost every house in the city was burned to the ground,
and these horrible but very customary scenes having been enacted, the
army of Hierges took its way to Schoonhoven. That city, not defending
itself, secured tolerable terms of capitulation, and surrendered on the
24th of August.

The Grand Commander had not yet given up the hope of naval assistance
from Spain, notwithstanding the abrupt termination to the last expedition
which had been organized. It was, however, necessary that a foothold
should be recovered upon the seaboard, before a descent from without
could be met with proper co-operation from the land forces withal; and he
was most anxious, therefore, to effect the reconquest of some portion of
Zealand. The island of Tholen was still Spanish, and had been so since
the memorable expedition of Mondragon to South Beveland. From this
interior portion of the archipelago the Governor now determined to
attempt an expedition against the outer and more important territory. The
three principal islands were Tholen; Duiveland, and Sehouwen. Tholen was
the first which detached itself from the continent. Neat, and separated
from it by a bay two leagues in width, was Duiveland, or the Isle of
Doves. Beyond, and parted by a narrower frith, was Schouwen, fronting
directly upon the ocean, fortified by its strong capital city;
Zieriekzee, and containing other villages of inferior consequence.

Requesens had been long revolving in his mind the means of possessing
himself of this important, island. He had caused to be constructed, a
numerous armada of boats and light vessels of various dimensions, and he
now came to Tholew to organize the expedition. His prospects were at
first not flattering, for the gulfs and estuaries swarmed with Zealand
vessels, manned by crews celebrated for their skill and audacity.
Traitors, however, from Zealand itself now came forward to teach the
Spanish Commander how to strike at the heart of their own country. These
refugees explained to Requesens that a narrow flat extended under the sea
from Philipsland, a small and uninhabited islet situate close to Tholen,
as far as the shore of Duiveland. Upon this submerged tongue of land the
water, during ebb-tide, was sufficiently shallow to be waded, and it
would therefore be possible for a determined band, under cover of the
night, to make the perilous passage. Once arrived at Duiveland, they
could more easily cross the intervening creek to Schouwen, which was not
so deep and only half as wide, so that a force thus, sent through these
dangerous shallows, might take possession of Duiveland and lay siege to
Zierickzee, in the very teeth of the Zealand fleet, which would be unable
to sail near enough to intercept their passage.

The Commander determined that the enterprise should be attempted. It was
not a novelty, because Mondragon, as we have seen, had already most
brilliantly conducted a very similar expedition. The present was,
however, a much more daring scheme. The other exploit, although
sufficiently hazardous, and entirely, successful, had been a victory
gained over the sea alone. It had been a surprise, and had been effected
without any opposition from human enemies. Here, however, they were to
deal, not only with the ocean and darkness, but with a watchful and
determined foe. The Zealanders were aware that the enterprise was in
contemplation, and their vessels lay about the contiguous waters in
considerable force. Nevertheless, the determination of the Grand
Commander was hailed with enthusiasm by his troops. Having satisfied
himself by personal experiment that the enterprise was possible, and that
therefore his brave soldiers could accomplish it, he decided that the
glory of the achievement should be fairly shared, as before, among the
different nations which served the King.

After completing his preparations, Requesens came to Tholen, at which
rendezvous were assembled three thousand infantry, partly Spaniards,
partly Germans, partly Walloons. Besides these, a picked corps of two
hundred sappers and miners was to accompany the expedition, in order that
no time might be lost in fortifying themselves as soon as they had seized
possession of Schouwen. Four hundred mounted troopers were, moreover,
stationed in the town of Tholen, while the little fleet, which had been
prepared at Antwerp; lay near that city ready to co-operate with the land
force as soon as they, should complete their enterprise. The Grand
Commander now divided the whole force into two parts: One half was to
remain in the boats, under the command of Mondragon; the other half,
accompanied by the two hundred pioneers, were to wade through the sea
from Philipsland to Duiveland and Schouwen. Each soldier of this
detachment was provided with a pair of shoes, two pounds of powder, and
rations for three days in a canvas bag suspended at his neck. The leader
of this expedition was Don Osorio d'Ulloa, an officer distinguished for
his experience and bravery.

On the night selected for the enterprise, that of the 27th September, the
moon was a day old in its fourth quarter, and rose a little before
twelve. It was low water at between four and five in the morning. The
Grand Commander, at the appointed hour of midnight, crossed to
Philipsland, and stood on the shore to watch the setting forth of the
little army. He addressed a short harangue to them, in which he
skillfully struck the chords of Spanish chivalry, and the national love
of glory, and was answered with loud and enthusiastic cheers. Don Osorio
d'Ulloa then stripped and plunged into the sea immediately after the
guides. He was followed by the Spaniards, after whom came the Germans and
then the Walloons. The two hundred sappers and miners came next, and Don
Gabriel Peralta, with his Spanish company; brought up the rear. It was a
wild night. Incessant lightning, alternately revealed and obscured the
progress of the midnight march through the black waters, as the anxious
Commander watched the expedition from the shore, but the soldiers were
quickly swallowed up in the gloom. As they advanced cautiously, two by
two, the daring adventurers found themselves soon nearly up to their
necks in the waves, while so narrow was the submerged bank along which
they were marching, that a misstep to the right or left was fatal.
Luckless individuals repeatedly sank to rise no more. Meantime, as the
sickly light, of the waning moon came forth at intervals through the
stormy clouds the soldiers could plainly perceive the files of Zealand
vessels through which they were to march, and which were anchored as
close to the flat as the water would allow. Some had recklessly stranded
themselves, in their eagerness to interrupt the passage, of the troops,
and the artillery played unceasingly from the larger vessels. Discharges
of musketry came continually from all, but the fitful lightning rendered
the aim difficult and the fire comparatively harmless while the Spaniards
were, moreover, protected, as to a large part of their bodies, by the
water in which they were immersed.

At times; they halted for breath, or to engage in fierce skirmishes with
their nearest assailants. Standing breast-high in the waves, and
surrounded at intervals by total darkness, they were yet able to pour an
occasional well-directed volley into the hostile ranks. The Zealanders,
however, did, not assail them with fire-arms alone. They transfixed some
with their fatal harpoons; they dragged others from the path with
boathooks; they beat out the brains of others with heavy flails. Many
were the mortal duels thus fought in the darkness, and, as it were, in
the bottom of the sea; many were the deeds of audacity which no eye was
to mark save those by whom they were achieved. Still, in spite of all
impediments and losses, the Spaniards steadily advanced. If other arms
proved less available, they were attached by the fierce taunts and
invectives of their often invisible foes who reviled them as water-dogs,
fetching and carrying for a master who despised them; as mercenaries who
coined their blood for gold, and were employed by tyrants for the basest
uses. If stung by these mocking voices, they turned in the darkness to
chastise their unseen tormentors, they were certain to be trampled upon
by their comrades, and to be pushed from their narrow pathway into the
depths of the sea. Thus many perished.

The night wore on, and the adventurers still fought it out manfully, but
very slowly, the main body of Spaniards, Germans, and Walloons, soon
after daylight, reaching the opposite shore, having sustained
considerable losses, but in perfect order. The pioneers were not so
fortunate. The tide rose over them before they could effect their
passage, and swept nearly every one away. The rearguard, under Peralta,
not surprised, like the pioneers, in the middle of their passage, by the
rising tide, but prevented, before it was too late; from advancing far
beyond the shore from which they had departed were fortunately enabled to
retrace their steps.

Don Osorio, at the head of the successful adventurers, now effected his
landing upon Duiveland. Reposing themselves but for an instant after this
unparalleled march through the water, of more than six hours, they took a
slight refreshment, prayed to the Virgin Mary and to Saint James, and
then prepared to meet their new enemies on land. Ten companies of French,
Scotch, and English auxiliaries lay in Duiveland, under the command of
Charles Van Boisot. Strange to relate, by an inexplicable accident, or by
treason, that general was slain by his own soldiers, at the moment when
the royal troops landed. The panic created by this event became intense,
as the enemy rose suddenly, as it were, out of the depths of the ocean to
attack them. They magnified the numbers of their assailants, and fled
terror-stricken in every direction. Same swam to the Zealand vessels
which lay in the neighbourhood; others took refuge in the forts which had
been constructed on the island; but these were soon carried by the
Spaniards, and the conquest of Duiveland was effected.

The enterprise was not yet completed, but the remainder was less
difficult and not nearly so hazardous, for the creek which separated
Duiveland from Schouwen was much narrower than the estuary which they had
just traversed. It was less than a league in width, but so encumbered by
rushes and briers that, although difficult to wade, it was not navigable
for vessels of any kind. This part of the expedition was accomplished
with equal resolution, so that, after a few hours' delay, the soldiers
stood upon the much-coveted island of Schouwen. Five companies of states'
troops, placed to oppose their landing, fled in the most cowardly manner
at the first discharge of the Spanish muskets, and took refuge in the
city of Zierickzee, which was soon afterwards beleaguered.

The troops has been disembarked upon Duiveland from the armada, which had
made its way to the scene of action, after having received, by signal,
information that the expedition through the water had been successful.
Brouwershaven, on the northern side of Schouwen, was immediately reduced,
but Bommenede resisted till the 25th of October, when it was at last
carried by assault, and delivered over to fire and sword. Of the whole
population and garrison not twenty were left alive. Siege was then laid
to Zierickzee, and Colonel Mondragon was left in charge of the
operations. Requesens himself came to Schouwen to give directions
concerning this important enterprise.

Chiapin Vitelli also came thither in the middle of the winter, and was so
much injured by a fall from his litter, while making the tour of the
island, that he died on shipboard during his return to Antwerp. This
officer had gained his laurels upon more than one occasion, his conduct
in the important action near Mons, in which the Huguenot force under
Genlis was defeated, having been particularly creditable. He was of a
distinguished Umbrian family, and had passed his life in camps, few of
the generals who had accompanied Alva to the Netherlands being better
known or more odious to the inhabitants. He was equally distinguished for
his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence. The last characteristic was
so remarkable that he was almost monstrous in his personal appearance.
His protuberant stomach was always supported in a bandage suspended from
his neck, yet in spite of this enormous impediment, he was personally
active on the battle-field, and performed more service, not only as a
commander but as a subaltern, than many a younger and lighter man.

The siege of Zierickzee was protracted till the following June, the city
holding out with firmness. Want of funds caused the operations to be,
conducted with languor, but the same cause prevented the Prince from
accomplishing its relief. Thus the expedition from Philipsland, the most
brilliant military exploit of the whole war, was attended with important
results. The communication between Walcheren and the rest of Zealand was
interrupted; the province cut in two; a foothold on the ocean; for a
brief interval at least, acquired by Spain. The Prince was inexpressibly
chagrined by these circumstances, and felt that the moment had arrived
when all honorable means were to be employed to obtain foreign
assistance. The Hollanders and Zealanders had fought the battles of
freedom alone hitherto, and had fought them well, but poverty was fast
rendering them incapable of sustaining much longer the unequal conflict.
Offers of men, whose wages the states were to furnish, were refused; as
worse than fruitless. Henry of Navarre, who perhaps deemed it possible to
acquire the sovereignty of the provinces by so barren a benefit, was
willing to send two or three thousand men, but not at his own expense.
The proposition was respectfully declined.

The Prince and his little country, were all alone. "Even if we should not
only see ourselves deserted by all the world, but also all the world
against us," he said, "we should not cease to defend ourselves even to
the last man. Knowing the justice of our cause, we repose, entirely in
the mercy of God." He determined, however, once more to have recourse to
the powerful of the earth, being disposed to test the truth of his
celebrated observation, that "there would be no lack of suitors for the
bride that he had to bestow." It was necessary, in short, to look the
great question of formally renouncing Philip directly in the face.

Hitherto the fiction of allegiance had been preserved, and, even by the
enemies of the Prince, it, was admitted: that it had been retained with
no disloyal intent. The time however, had come when it was necessary to
throw off allegiance, provided another could be found strong enough and
frank enough to accept the authority which Philip had forfeited. The
question was, naturally, between France and England; unless the provinces
could effect their re-admission into the body of the Germanic Empire.
Already in June the Prince had laid the proposition formally before the
states, "whether they should not negotiate with the Empire on the subject
of their admission, with maintenance of their own constitutions," but it
was understood that this plan was not to be carried out, if the
protection of the Empire could be obtained under easier conditions.

Nothing came of the proposition at that time. The nobles and the deputies
of South Holland now voted, in the beginning of the ensuing month, "that
it was their duty to abandon the King, as a tyrant who sought to oppress
and destroy his subjects; and that it behooved them to seek another
protector." This was while the Breda negotiations were still pending, but
when their inevitable result was very visible. There was still a
reluctance at taking the last and decisive step in the rebellion, so that
the semblance of loyalty was still retained; that ancient scabbard, in
which the sword might yet one day be sheathed. The proposition was not
adopted at the diet. A committee of nine was merely appointed to
deliberate with the Prince upon the "means of obtaining foreign
assistance, without accepting foreign authority, or severing their
connexion with his Majesty." The estates were, however, summoned a few
months later, by the Prince, to deliberate on this important matter at
Rotterdam. On the 1st of October he then formally proposed, either to
make terms with their enemy, and that the sooner the better, or else,
once for all, to separate entirely from the King of Spain, and to change
their sovereign, in order, with the assistance and under protection of
another Christian potentate, to maintain the provinces against their
enemies. Orange, moreover, expressed the opinion that upon so important a
subject it was decidedly incumbent upon them all to take the sense of the
city governments. The members for the various municipalities acquiesced
in the propriety of this suggestion, and resolved to consult their
constituents, while the deputies of the nobility also desired to consult
with their whole body. After an adjournment of a few days, the diet again
assembled at Delft, and it was then unanimously resolved by the nobles
and the cities, "that they would forsake the King and seek foreign
assistance; referring the choice to the Prince, who, in regard to the
government, was to take the opinion of the estates."

Thus, the great step was taken, by which two little provinces declared
themselves independent of their ancient master. That declaration,
although taken in the midst of doubt and darkness, was not destined to be
cancelled, and the germ of a new and powerful commonwealth was planted.
So little, however, did these republican fathers foresee their coming
republic, that the resolution to renounce one king was combined with a
proposition to ask for the authority of another. It was not imagined that
those two slender columns, which were all that had yet been raised of
the future stately peristyle, would be strong enough to stand alone. The
question now arose, to what foreign power application should be made. But
little hope was to be entertained from Germany, a state which existed
only in name, and France was still in a condition of religious and
intestine discord. The attitude of revolt maintained by the Duc d'Alencon
seemed to make it difficult and dangerous to enter into negotiations with
a country where the civil wars had assumed so complicated a character,
that loyal and useful alliance could hardly be made with any party. The
Queen of England, on the other hand; dreaded the wrath of Philip, by
which her perpetual dangers from the side of Scotland would be
aggravated, while she feared equally the extension of French authority in
the Netherlands, by which increase her neighbour would acquire an
overshadowing power. She was also ashamed openly to abandon the provinces
to their fate, for her realm was supposed to be a bulwark of the
Protestant religion. Afraid to affront Philip, afraid to refuse the suit
of the Netherlands, afraid to concede as aggrandizement to France, what
course was open to the English Queen. That which, politically and
personally, she loved the best--a course of barren coquetry. This the
Prince of Orange foresaw; and although not disposed to leave a stone
unturned in his efforts to find assistance for his country, he on the
whole rather inclined for France. He, however, better than any man, knew
how little cause there was for sanguine expectation from either source.

It was determined, in the name of his Highness and the estates, first to
send a mission to England, but there had already been negotiations this
year of an unpleasant character with that power. At the request of the
Spanish envoy, the foremost Netherland rebels, in number about fifty,
including by name the Prince of Orange, the Counts of Berg and Culemburg,
with Saint Aldegonde, Boisot, Junius, and others, had been formally
forbidden by Queen Elizabeth to enter her realm. The Prince had, in
consequence, sent Aldegonde and Junius on a secret mission to France, and
the Queen; jealous and anxious, had thereupon sent Daniel Rogers secretly
to the Prince. At the same tine she had sent an envoy to the Grand
Commander, counselling, conciliatory measures; and promising to send a
special mission to Spain with the offer of her mediation, but it was
suspected by those most in the confidence of the Spanish government at
Brussels, that there was a great deal of deception in these proceedings.
A truce for six months having now been established between the Duc
d'Alencon and his brother, it was supposed, that an alliance between
France and England, and perhaps between Alencon and Elizabeth, was on the
carpet, and that a kingdom of the Netherlands was to be the wedding
present of the bride to her husband. These fantasies derived additional
color from the fact that, while the Queen was expressing the most
amicable intentions towards Spain, and the greatest jealousy of France,
the English residents at Antwerp and other cities of the Netherlands, had
received private instructions to sell out their property as fast as
possible, and to retire from the country. On the whole, there was little
prospect either of a final answer, or of substantial assistance from the
Queen.

The envoys to England were Advocate Buis and Doctor Francis Maalzon,
nominated by the estates, and Saint Aldegonde, chief of the mission,
appointed by the Prince. They arrived in England at Christmas-tide.
Having represented to the Queen the result of the Breda negotiations,
they stated that the Prince and the estates, in despair of a secure
peace, had addressed themselves to her as an upright protector of the
Faith, and as a princess descended from the blood of Holland. This
allusion to the intermarriage of Edward III. of England with Philippa,
daughter of Count William III. of Hainault and Holland, would not, it was
hoped, be in vain. They furthermore offered to her Majesty, in case she
were willing powerfully to assist the states, the sovereignty over
Holland and Zealand, under certain conditions.

The Queen listened graciously to the envoys, and appointed commissioners
to treat with them on the subject. Meantime, Requesens sent Champagny to
England, to counteract the effect of this embassy of the estates, and to
beg the Queen to give no heed to the prayers of the rebels, to enter into
no negotiations with them, and to expel them at once from her kingdom.

The Queen gravely assured Champagny "that the envoys were no rebels, but
faithful subjects of his Majesty." There was certainly some effrontery in
such a statement, considering the solemn offer which had just been made
by the envoys. If to renounce allegiance to Philip and to propose the
sovereignty to Elizabeth did not constitute rebellion, it would be
difficult to define or to discover rebellion anywhere. The statement was
as honest, however, as the diplomatic grimace with which Champagny had
reminded Elizabeth of the ancient and unbroken friendship which had
always, existed between herself and his Catholic Majesty. The attempt of
Philip to procure her dethronement and assassination but a few years
before was, no doubt, thought too trifling a circumstance to have for a
moment interrupted those harmonious relations. Nothing came of the
negotiations on either side. The Queen coquetted, as was her custom. She
could not accept the offer of the estates; she could not say them nay.
She would not offend Philip; she would not abandon the provinces; she
would therefore negotiate--thus there was an infinite deal of diplomatic
nothing spun and unravelled, but the result was both to abandon the
provinces and to offend Philip.

In the first answer given by her commissioners to the states' envoys, it
was declared, "that her Majesty considered it too expensive to assume the
protection of both provinces." She was willing to protect them in name,
but she should confer the advantage exclusively on Walcheren in reality.
The defence of Holland must be maintained at the expense of the Prince
and the estates.

This was certainly not munificent, and the envoys insisted upon more
ample and liberal terms. The Queen declined, however, committing herself
beyond this niggardly and inadmissible offer. The states were not willing
to exchange the sovereignty over their country for so paltry a
concession. The Queen declared herself indisposed to go further, at least
before consulting parliament. The commissioners waited for the assembling
of parliament. She then refused to lay the matter before that body, and
forbade the Hollanders taking any steps for that purpose. It was evident
that she was disposed to trifle with the provinces, and had no idea of
encountering the open hostility of Philip. The envoys accordingly begged
for their passports. These were granted in April, 1576, with the
assurance on the part of her Majesty that "she would think more of the
offer made to her after she had done all in her power to bring about an
arrangement between the provinces and Philip."

After the result of the negotiations of Breda, it is difficult to imagine
what method she was likely to devise for accomplishing such a purpose.
The King was not more disposed than during the preceding summer to grant
liberty of religion, nor were the Hollanders more ready than they had
been before to renounce either their faith or their fatherland. The
envoys, on parting, made a strenuous effort to negotiate a loan, but the
frugal Queen considered the proposition quite inadmissible. She granted
them liberty to purchase arms and ammunition, and to levy a few soldiers
with their own money, and this was accordingly done to a limited extent.
As it was not difficult to hire soldiers or to buy gunpowder anywhere, in
that warlike age, provided the money were ready, the states had hardly
reason to consider themselves under deep obligation for this concession.
Yet this was the whole result of the embassy. Plenty of fine words had,
been bestowed, which might or might not have meaning, according to the
turns taken by coming events. Besides these cheap and empty civilities,
they received permission to defend Holland at their own expense; with the
privilege, of surrendering its sovereignty, if they liked, to Queen
Elizabeth-and this was all.

On the 19th of April, the envoys returned to their country, and laid
before the estates the meagre result of their negotiations. Very soon
afterwards, upon an informal suggestion from Henry III. and the Queen
Mother, that a more favorable result might be expected, if the same
applications were made to the Duc d'Alencon which had been received in so
unsatisfactory a manner by Elizabeth, commissioners were appointed to
France. It proved impossible, however, at that juncture, to proceed with
the negotiations, in consequence of the troubles occasioned by the
attitude of the Duke. The provinces were still, even as they had been
from the beginning, entirely alone.

Requesens was more than ever straitened for funds, wringing, with
increasing difficulty, a slender subsidy, from time to time, out of the
reluctant estates of Brabant, Flanders, and the other obedient provinces.
While he was still at Duiveland, the estates-general sent him a long
remonstrance against the misconduct of the soldiery, in answer to his
demand for supplies. "Oh, these estates! these estates!" cried the Grand
Commander, on receiving such vehement reproaches instead of his money;
"may the Lord deliver me from these estates!" Meantime, the important
siege of Zierickzee continued, and it was evident that the city must
fall. There was no money at the disposal of the Prince. Count John, who
was seriously embarrassed by reason of the great obligations in money
which he, with the rest of his family, had incurred on behalf of the
estates, had recently made application to the Prince for his influence
towards procuring him relief. He had forwarded an account of the great
advances made by himself and his brethren in money, plate, furniture, and
endorsements of various kinds, for which a partial reimbursement was
almost indispensable to save him from serious difficulties. The Prince,
however, unable to procure him any assistance, had been obliged him once
more to entreat him to display the generosity and the self-denial which
the country had never found wanting at his hands or at those of his
kindred. The appeal had not been, in vain, but the Count was obviously
not in a condition to effect anything more at that moment to relieve the
financial distress of the states. The exchequer was crippled.

   [The contributions of Holland and Zealand for war expenses amounted
   to one hundred and fifty thousand florins monthly. The pay of a
   captain was eighty florins monthly; that of a lieutenant, forty;
   that of a corporal, fifteen; that of a drummer, fifer, or Minister,
   twelve; that of a common soldier, seven and a half. A captain had
   also one hundred and fifty florins each month to distribute among
   the most meritorious of his company. Each soldier was likewise
   furnished with food; bedding, fire, light, and washing.--Renom de
   France MS, vol. ii. c. 46,]

Holland and Zealand were cut in twain by the occupation of Schouwen and
the approaching fall of its capital. Germany, England, France; all
refused to stretch out their hands to save the heroic but exhaustless
little provinces. It was at this moment that a desperate but sublime
resolution took possession of the Prince's mind. There seemed but one way
left to exclude the Spaniards for ever from Holland and Zealand, and to
rescue the inhabitants from impending ruin. The Prince had long brooded
over the scheme, and the hour seemed to have struck for its fulfilment.
His project was to collect all the vessels, of every description, which
could be obtained throughout the Netherlands. The whole population of the
two provinces, men, women, and children, together with all the moveable
property of the country, were then to be embarked on board this numerous
fleet, and to seek a new home beyond the seas. The windmills were then to
be burned, the dykes pierced, the sluices opened in every direction, and
the country restored for ever to the ocean, from which it had sprung.

It is difficult to say whether the resolution, if Providence had
permitted its fulfilment, would have been, on the whole, better or worse
for humanity and civilization. The ships which would have borne the
heroic Prince and his fortunes might have taken the direction of the
newly-discovered Western hemisphere. A religious colony, planted by a
commercial and liberty-loving race, in a virgin soil, and directed by
patrician but self-denying hands, might have preceded, by half a century,
the colony which a kindred race, impelled by similar motives, and under
somewhat similar circumstances and conditions, was destined to plant upon
the stern shores of New England. Had they directed their course to the
warm and fragrant islands of the East, an independent Christian
commonwealth might have arisen among those prolific regions, superior in
importance to any subsequent colony of Holland, cramped from its birth by
absolute subjection to a far distant metropolis.

The unexpected death of Requesens suddenly dispelled these schemes. The
siege of Zierickzee had occupied much of the Governor's attention, but he
had recently written to his sovereign, that its reduction was now
certain. He had added an urgent request for money, with a sufficient
supply of which he assured Philip that he should be able to bring the war
to an immediate conclusion. While waiting for these supplies, he had,
contrary to all law or reason, made an unsuccessful attempt to conquer
the post of Embden, in Germany. A mutiny had at about the same time,
broken out among his troops in Harlem, and he had furnished the citizens
with arms to defend themselves, giving free permission to use them
against the insurgent troops. By this means the mutiny had been quelled,
but a dangerous precedent established. Anxiety concerning this rebellion
is supposed to have hastened the Grand Commander's death. A violent fever
seized him on the 1st, and terminated his existence on the 5th of March,
in the fifty-first year of his life.

It is not necessary to review elaborately his career, the chief incidents
of which have been sufficiently described. Requesens was a man of high
position by birth and office, but a thoroughly commonplace personage. His
talents either for war or for civil employments were not above
mediocrity. His friends disputed whether he were greater in the field or
in the council, but it is certain that he was great in neither. His
bigotry was equal to that of Alva, but it was impossible to rival the
Duke in cruelty. Moreover, the condition of the country, after seven
years of torture under his predecessor, made it difficult for him, at the
time of his arrival, to imitate the severity which had made the name of
Alva infamous. The Blood Council had been retained throughout his
administration, but its occupation was gone, for want of food for its
ferocity. The obedient provinces had been purged of Protestants; while
crippled, too, by confiscation, they offered no field for further
extortion. From Holland and Zealand, whence Catholicism had been nearly
excluded, the King of Spain was nearly excluded also. The Blood Council
which, if set up in that country, would have executed every living
creature of its population, could only gaze from a distance at those who
would have been its victims. Requesens had been previously distinguished
in two fields of action: the Granada massacres and the carnage of
Lepanto. Upon both occasions he had been the military tutor of Don John
of Austria, by whom he was soon to be succeeded in the government of the
Netherlands. To the imperial bastard had been assigned the pre-eminence,
but it was thought that the Grand Commander had been entitled to a more
than equal share of the glory.

We have seen how much additional reputation was acquired by Requesens in
the provinces. The expedition against Duiveland and Schouwen, was, on the
whole, the most brilliant feat of arms during the war, and its success
reflects an undying lustre on the hardihood and discipline of the
Spanish, German, and Walloon soldiery. As an act of individual audacity
in a bad cause, it has rarely been equalled. It can hardly be said,
however, that the Grand Commander was entitled to any large measure of
praise for the success of the expedition. The plan was laid by Zealand
traitors. It was carried into execution by the devotion of the Spanish,
Walloon, and German troops; while Requesens was only a spectator of the
transaction. His sudden death arrested, for a moment, the ebb-tide in the
affairs of the Netherlands, which was fast leaving the country bare and
desolate, and was followed by a train of unforeseen transactions, which
it is now our duty to describe.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
     Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
     Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
     Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
     Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
     He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
     Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
     Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
     Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
     Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
     Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
     Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
     Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
     The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Volume
25.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothop Motley
1855




CHAPTER IV.

   Assumption of affairs by the state council at Brussels--Hesitation
   at Madrid--Joachim Hopper--Mal-administration--Vigilance of Orange--
   The provinces drawn more closely together--Inequality of the
   conflict--Physical condition of Holland--New act of Union between
   Holland and Zealand--Authority of the Prince defined and enlarged--
   Provincial polity characterized--Generous sentiments of the Prince--
   His tolerant spirit--Letters from the King--Attitude of the great
   powers towards the Netherlands--Correspondence and policy of
   Elizabeth--Secret negotiations with France and Alencon--Confused and
   menacing aspect of Germany--Responsible, and laborious position of
   Orange--Attempt to relieve Zierickzee--Death of Admiral Boisot--
   Capitulation of the city upon honourable terms--Mutiny of the
   Spanish troops in Schouwen--General causes of discontent--Alarming
   increase of the mutiny--The rebel regiments enter Brabant--Fruitless
   attempts to pacify them--They take possession of Alost--Edicts,
   denouncing them, from the state council--Intense excitement in
   Brussels and Antwerp--Letters from Philip brought by Marquis Havre--
   The King's continued procrastination--Ruinous royal confirmation of
   the authority assumed by the state council--United and general
   resistance to foreign military oppression--The German troops and the
   Antwerp garrison, under Avila, join the revolt--Letter of Verdugo--
   A crisis approaching--Jerome de Roda in the citadel--The mutiny
   universal.

The death of Requesens, notwithstanding his four days' illness, occurred
so suddenly, that he had not had time to appoint his successor. Had he
exercised this privilege, which his patent conferred upon him, it was
supposed that he would have nominated Count Mansfeld to exercise the
functions of Governor-General, until the King should otherwise ordain.

In the absence of any definite arrangement, the Council of State,
according to a right which that body claimed from custom, assumed the
reins of government. Of the old board, there were none left but the Duke
of Aerschot, Count Berlaymont, and Viglins. To these were soon added,
however, by royal diploma, the Spaniard, Jerome de Roda, and the
Netherlanders, Assonleville, Baron Rassenghiem and Arnold Sasbout. Thus,
all the members, save one, of what had now become the executive body,
were natives of the country. Roda was accordingly looked askance upon by
his colleagues. He was regarded by Viglius as a man who desired to repeat
the part which had been played by Juan Vargas in the Blood Council, while
the other members, although stanch Catholics, were all of them
well-disposed to vindicate the claim of Netherland nobles to a share in
the government of the Netherlands.

For a time, therefore, the transfer of authority seemed to have been
smoothly accomplished. The Council of State conducted the administration
of the country. Peter Ernest Mansfeld was entrusted with the supreme
military command, including the government of Brussels; and the Spanish
commanders; although dissatisfied that any but a Spaniard should be thus
honored, were for a time quiescent. When the news reached Madrid, Philip
was extremely disconcerted. The death of Requesens excited his
indignation. He was angry with him, not for dying, but for dying at so
very inconvenient a moment. He had not yet fully decided either upon his
successor, or upon the policy to be enforced by his successor. There were
several candidates for the vacant post; there was a variety of opinions
in the cabinet as to the course of conduct to be adopted. In the
impossibility of instantly making up his mind upon this unexpected
emergency, Philip fell, as it were, into a long reverie, than which
nothing could be more inopportune. With a country in a state of
revolution and exasperation, the trance, which now seemed to come over
the government, was like to be followed by deadly effects. The stationary
policy, which the death of Requesens had occasioned, was allowed to
prolong itself indefinitely, and almost for the first time in his life,
Joachim Hopper was really consulted about the affairs of that department
over which he imagined himself, and was generally supposed by others, to
preside at Madrid. The creature of Viglius, having all the subserviency,
with none of the acuteness of his patron, he had been long employed as
chief of the Netherland bureau, while kept in profound ignorance of the
affairs which were transacted in his office. He was a privy councillor,
whose counsels were never heeded, a confidential servant in whom the King
reposed confidence, only on the ground that no man could reveal secrets
which he did not know. This deportment of the King's showed that he had
accurately measured the man, for Hopper was hardly competent for the
place of a chief clerk. He was unable to write clearly in any language,
because incapable of a fully developed thought upon any subject. It may
be supposed that nothing but an abortive policy, therefore, would be
produced upon the occasion thus suddenly offered. "'Tis a devout man,
that poor Master Hopper," said Granvelle, "but rather fitted for platonic
researches than for affairs of state."

It was a proof of this incompetency, that now, when really called upon
for advice in an emergency, he should recommend a continuance of the
interim. Certainly nothing worse could be devised. Granvelle recommended
a reappointment of the Duchess Margaret. Others suggested Duke Eric of
Brunswick, or an Archduke of the Austrian house; although the opinion
held by most of the influential councillors was in favor of Don John of
Austria. In the interests of Philip and his despotism, nothing, at any
rate, could be more fatal than delay. In the condition of affairs which
then existed, the worst or feeblest governor would have been better than
none at all. To leave a vacancy was to play directly into the hands of
Orange, for it was impossible that so skilful an adversary should not at
once perceive the fault, and profit by it to the utmost. It was strange
that Philip did not see the danger of inactivity at such a crisis.
Assuredly, indolence was never his vice, but on this occasion indecision
did the work of indolence. Unwittingly, the despot was assisting the
efforts of the liberator. Viglius saw the position of matters with his
customary keenness, and wondered at the blindness of Hopper and Philip.
At the last gasp of a life, which neither learning nor the accumulation
of worldly prizes and worldly pelf could redeem from intrinsic baseness,
the sagacious but not venerable old man saw that a chasm was daily
widening; in which the religion and the despotism which he loved might
soon be hopelessly swallowed. "The Prince of Orange and his Beggars do
not sleep," he cried, almost in anguish; "nor will they be quiet till
they have made use of this interregnum to do us some immense grievance."
Certainly the Prince of Orange did not sleep upon this nor any other
great occasion of his life. In his own vigorous language, used to
stimulate his friends in various parts of the country, he seized the
swift occasion by the forelock. He opened a fresh correspondence with
many leading gentlemen in Brussels and other places in the Netherlands;
persons of influence, who now, for the first time, showed a disposition
to side with their country against its tyrants. Hitherto the land had
been divided into two very unequal portions. Holland and Zealand were
devoted to the Prince; their whole population, with hardly an individual
exception, converted to the Reformed religion. The other fifteen
provinces were, on the whole, loyal to the King; while the old religion
had, of late years, taken root so rapidly again, that perhaps a moiety of
their population might be considered as Catholic. At the same time, the
reign of terror under Alva, the paler, but not less distinct tyranny of
Requesens, and the intolerable excesses of the foreign soldiery, by which
the government of foreigners was supported, had at last maddened all the
inhabitants of the seventeen provinces. Notwithstanding, therefore, the
fatal difference of religious opinion, they were all drawn into closer
relations with each other; to regain their ancient privileges, and to
expel the detested foreigners from the soil, being objects common to all.
The provinces were united in one great hatred and one great hope.

The Hollanders and Zealanders, under their heroic leader, had well nigh
accomplished both tasks, so far as those little provinces were concerned.
Never had a contest, however, seemed more hopeless at its commencement.
Cast a glance at the map. Look at Holland--not the Republic, with its
sister provinces beyond the Zuyder Zee--but Holland only, with the
Zealand archipelago. Look at that narrow tongue of half-submerged earth.
Who could suppose that upon that slender sand-bank, one hundred and
twenty miles in length, and varying in breadth from four miles to forty,
one man, backed by the population of a handful of cities, could do battle
nine years long with the master of two worlds, the "Dominator Of Asia,
Africa, and America"--the despot of the fairest realms of Europe--and
conquer him at last. Nor was William even entirely master of that narrow
shoal where clung the survivors of a great national shipwreck. North and
South Holland were cut in two by the loss of Harlem, while the enemy was
in possession of the natural capital of the little country, Amsterdam.
The Prince affirmed that the cause had suffered more from the disloyalty
of Amsterdam than from all the efforts of the enemy.

Moreover, the country was in a most desolate condition. It was almost
literally a sinking ship. The destruction of the bulwarks against the
ocean had been so extensive, in consequence of the voluntary inundations
which have been described in previous pages, and by reason of the general
neglect which more vital occupations had necessitated, that an enormous
outlay, both of labor and money, was now indispensable to save the
physical existence of the country. The labor and the money,
notwithstanding the crippled and impoverished condition of the nation,
were, however, freely contributed; a wonderful example of energy and
patient heroism was again exhibited. The dykes which had been swept away
in every direction were renewed at a vast expense. Moreover, the country,
in the course of recent events, had become almost swept bare of its
cattle, and it was necessary to pass a law forbidding, for a considerable
period, the slaughter of any animals, "oxen, cows, calves, sheep, or
poultry." It was, unfortunately, not possible to provide by law against
that extermination of the human population which had been decreed by
Philip and the Pope.

Such was the physical and moral condition of the provinces of Holland and
Zealand. The political constitution of both assumed, at this epoch, a
somewhat altered aspect. The union between the two states; effected in
June, 1575, required improvement. The administration of justice, the
conflicts of laws, and more particularly the levying of monies and troops
in equitable proportions, had not been adjusted with perfect smoothness.
The estates of the two provinces, assembled in congress at Delft,
concluded, therefore, a new act of union, which was duly signed upon the
25th of April, 1576. Those estates, consisting of the knights and nobles
of Holland, with the deputies from the cities and countships of Holland
and Zealand, had been duly summoned by the Prince of Orange. They as
fairly included all the political capacities, and furnished as copious a
representation of the national will, as could be expected, for it is
apparent upon every page of his history, that the Prince, upon all
occasions, chose to refer his policy to the approval and confirmation of
as large a portion of the people as any man in those days considered
capable or desirous of exercising political functions.

The new, union consisted of eighteen articles. It was established that
deputies from all the estates should meet, when summoned by the Prince of
Orange or otherwise, on penalty of fine, and at the risk of measures
binding upon them being passed by the rest of the Congress. Freshly
arising causes of litigation were to be referred to the Prince. Free
intercourse and traffic through the united provinces was guaranteed. The
confederates were mutually to assist each other in preventing all
injustice, wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy. The authority of
law and the pure administration of justice were mutually promised by the
contracting states. The common expenses were to be apportioned among the
different provinces, "as if they were all included in the republic of a
single city." Nine commissioners, appointed by the Prince on nomination
by the estates, were to sit permanently, as his advisers, and as
assessors and collectors of the taxes. The tenure of the union was from
six months to six months, with six weeks notice.

The framers of this compact having thus defined the general outlines of
the confederacy, declared that the government, thus constituted, should
be placed under a single head. They accordingly conferred supreme
authority on the Prince, defining his powers in eighteen articles. He was
declared chief commander by land and sea. He was to appoint all officers,
from generals to subalterns, and to pay them at his discretion. The whole
protection of the land was devolved upon him. He was to send garrisons or
troops into every city and village at his pleasure, without advice or
consent of the estates, magistrates of the cities, or any other persons
whatsoever. He was, in behalf of the King as Count of Holland and
Zealand, to cause justice to be administered by the supreme court. In the
same capacity he was to provide for vacancies in all political and
judicial offices of importance, choosing, with the advice of the estates,
one officer for each vacant post out of three candidates nominated to him
by that body. He was to appoint and renew, at the usual times, the
magistracies in the cities, according to the ancient constitutions. He
was to make changes in those boards, if necessary, at unusual times, with
consent of the majority of those representing the great council and
corpus of the said cities. He was to uphold the authority and
pre-eminence of all civil functionaries, and to prevent governors and
military officers from taking any cognizance of political or judicial
affairs. With regard to religion, he was to maintain the practice of the
Reformed Evangelical religion, and to cause to surcease the exercise of
all other religions contrary to the Gospel. He was, however, not to
permit that inquisition should be made into any man's belief or
conscience, or that any man by cause thereof should suffer trouble,
injury, or hindrance.

The league thus concluded was a confederation between a group of
virtually independent little republics. Each municipality, was, as it
were, a little sovereign, sending envoys to a congress to vote and to
sign as plenipotentiaries. The vote of each city was, therefore,
indivisible, and it mattered little, practically, whether there were one
deputy or several. The nobles represented not only their own order, but
were supposed to act also in behalf of the rural population. On the
whole, there was a tolerably fair representation of the whole nation. The
people were well and worthily represented in the government of each city,
and therefore equally so in the assembly of the estates. It was not till
later that the corporations, by the extinction of the popular element,
and by the usurpation of the right of self-election, were thoroughly
stiffened into fictitious personages which never died, and which were
never thoroughly alive.

At this epoch the provincial liberties, so far as they could maintain
themselves against Spanish despotism, were practical and substantial. The
government was a representative one, in which all those who had the
inclination possessed, in one mode or another, a voice. Although the
various members of the confederacy were locally and practically republics
or self-governed little commonwealths, the general government which they,
established was, in form, monarchical. The powers conferred upon Orange
constituted him a sovereign ad interim, for while the authority of the
Spanish monarch remained suspended, the Prince was invested, not only
with the whole executive and appointing power, but even with a very large
share in the legislative functions of the state.

The whole system was rather practical than theoretical, without any
accurate distribution of political powers. In living, energetic
communities, where the blood of the body politic circulates swiftly,
there is an inevitable tendency of the different organs to sympathize and
commingle more closely than a priori philosophy would allow. It is
usually more desirable than practicable to keep the executive,
legislative, and judicial departments entirely independent of each other.

Certainly, the Prince of Orange did not at that moment indulge in
speculations concerning the nature and origin of government. The Congress
of Delft had just clothed him with almost regal authority. In his hands
were the powers of war and peace, joint control of the magistracies and
courts of justice, absolute supremacy over the army and the fleets. It is
true that these attributes had been conferred upon him ad interim, but it
depended only upon himself to make the sovereignty personal and
permanent. He was so thoroughly absorbed in his work, however, that he
did not even see the diadem which he put aside. It was small matter to
him whether they called him stadholder or guardian, prince or king. He
was the father of his country and its defender. The people, from highest
to lowest, called him "Father William," and the title was enough for him.
The question with him was not what men should call him, but how he should
best accomplish his task.

So little was he inspired by the sentiment of self-elevation, that he was
anxiously seeking for a fitting person--strong, wise, and willing
enough--to exercise the sovereignty which was thrust upon himself, but
which he desired to exchange against an increased power to be actively
useful to his country. To expel the foreign oppressor; to strangle the
Inquisition; to maintain the ancient liberties of the nation; here was
labor enough for his own hands. The vulgar thought of carving a throne
out of the misfortunes of his country seems not to have entered his mind.
Upon one point, however, the Prince had been peremptory. He would have no
persecution of the opposite creed. He was requested to suppress the
Catholic religion, in terms. As we have seen, he caused the expression to
be exchanged for the words, "religion at variance with the Gospel." He
resolutely stood out against all meddling with men's consciences, or
inquiring into their thoughts. While smiting the Spanish Inquisition into
the dust, he would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place.
Earnestly a convert to the Reformed religion, but hating and denouncing
only what was corrupt in the ancient Church, he would not force men, with
fire and sword, to travel to heaven upon his own road. Thought should be
toll-free. Neither monk nor minister should burn, drown, or hang his
fellow-creatures, when argument or expostulation failed to redeem them
from error. It was no small virtue, in that age, to rise to such a
height. We know what Calvinists, Zwinglians, Lutherans, have done in the
Netherlands, in Germany, in Switzerland, and almost a century later in
New England. It is, therefore, with increased veneration that we regard
this large and truly catholic mind. His tolerance proceeded from no
indifference. No man can read his private writings, or form a thorough
acquaintance with his interior life, without recognizing him as a deeply
religious man. He had faith unfaltering in God. He had also faith in man
and love for his brethren. It was no wonder that in that age of religious
bigotry he should have been assaulted on both sides. While the Pope
excommunicated him as a heretic, and the King set a price upon his head
as a rebel, the fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless
man. Peter Dathenus, the unfrocked monk of Poperingen, shrieked out in
his pulpit that the "Prince of Orange cared nothing either for God or for
religion."

The death of Requesens had offered the first opening through which the
watchful Prince could hope to inflict a wound in the vital part of
Spanish authority in the Netherlands. The languor of Philip and the
procrastinating counsel of the dull Hopper unexpectedly widened the
opening. On the 24th of March letters were written by his Majesty to the
states-general, to the provincial estates, and to the courts of justice,
instructing them that, until further orders, they were all to obey the
Council of State. The King was confident that all would do their utmost
to assist that body in securing the holy Catholic Faith and the implicit
obedience of the country to its sovereign. He would, in the meantime,
occupy himself with the selection of a new Governor-General, who should
be of his family and blood. This uncertain and perilous condition of
things was watched with painful interest in neighbouring countries.

The fate of all nations was more or less involved in the development of
the great religious contest now waging in the Netherlands. England and
France watched each other's movements in the direction of the provinces
with intense jealousy. The Protestant Queen was the natural ally of the
struggling Reformers, but her despotic sentiments were averse to the
fostering of rebellion against the Lord's anointed. The thrifty Queen
looked with alarm at the prospect of large subsidies which would
undoubtedly be demanded of her. The jealous Queen could as ill brook the
presence of the French in the Netherlands as that of the Spaniards whom
they were to expel. She therefore embarrassed, as usual, the operations
of the Prince by a course of stale political coquetry. She wrote to him,
on the 18th of March, soon after the news of the Grand Commander's death,
saying that she could not yet accept the offer which had been made to
her, to take the provinces of Holland and Zealand under her safe keeping,
to assume, as Countess, the sovereignty over them, and to protect the
inhabitants against the alleged tyranny of the King of Spain. She was
unwilling to do so until she had made every effort to reconcile them with
that sovereign. Before the death of Requesens she had been intending to
send him an envoy, proposing a truce, for the purpose of negotiation.
This purpose she still retained. She should send commissioners to the
Council of State and to the new Governor, when he should arrive. She
should also send a special envoy to the King of Spain. She doubted not
that the King would take her advice, when he heard her speak in such
straightforward language. In the meantime, she hoped that they would
negotiate with no other powers.

This was not very satisfactory. The Queen rejected the offers to herself,
but begged that they might, by no means, be made to her rivals. The
expressed intention of softening the heart of Philip by the use of
straightforward language seemed but a sorry sarcasm. It was hardly worth
while to wait long for so improbable a result. Thus much for England at
that juncture. Not inimical, certainly; but over-cautious, ungenerous,
teasing, and perplexing, was the policy of the maiden Queen. With regard
to France, events there seemed to favor the hopes of Orange. On the 14th
of May, the "Peace of Monsieur," the treaty by which so ample but so
short-lived a triumph was achieved by the Huguenots, was signed at Paris.
Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured. Rights of worship,
rights of office, political and civil, religious enfranchisement, were
recovered, but not guaranteed. It seemed scarcely possible that the King
could be in earnest then, even if a Medicean Valois could ever be
otherwise than treacherous. It was almost, certain, therefore, that a
reaction would take place; but it is easier for us, three centuries after
the event, to mark the precise moment of reaction, than it was for the
most far-seeing contemporary to foretell how soon it would occur. In the
meantime, it was the Prince's cue to make use of this sunshine while it
lasted. Already, so soon as the union of 25th of April had been concluded
between Holland and Zealand, he had forced the estates to open
negotiations with France. The provinces, although desirous to confer
sovereignty upon him, were indisposed to renounce their old allegiance to
their King in order to place it at the disposal of a foreigner.
Nevertheless, a resolution, at the reiterated demands of Orange, was
passed by the estates, to proceed to the change of master, and, for that,
purpose, to treat with the King of France, his brother, or any other
foreign potentate, who would receive these provinces of Holland and
Zealand under his government and protection. Negotiations were
accordingly opened with the Duke-of-Anjou, the dilettante leader of the
Huguenots at that remarkable juncture. It was a pity that no better
champion could be looked for among the anointed of the earth than the
false, fickle, foolish Alencon, whose career, everywhere contemptible,
was nowhere so flagitious as in the Netherlands. By the fourteenth
article of the Peace of Paris, the Prince was reinstated and secured in
his principality of Orange; and his other possessions in France. The best
feeling; for the time being, was manifested between the French court and
the Reformation.

Thus much for England and France. As for Germany, the prospects of the
Netherlands were not flattering. The Reforming spirit had grown languid,
from various causes. The self-seeking motives of many Protestant princes
had disgusted the nobles. Was that the object of the bloody wars of
religion, that a few potentates should be enabled to enrich themselves by
confiscating the broad lands and accumulated treasures of the Church? Had
the creed of Luther been embraced only for such unworthy ends? These
suspicions chilled the ardor of thousands, particularly among the greater
ones of the land. Moreover, the discord among the Reformers themselves
waxed daily, and became more and more mischievous. Neither the people nor
their leaders could learn that, not a new doctrine, but a wise toleration
for all Christian doctrines was wanted. Of new doctrines there was no
lack. Lutherans, Calvinists, Flaccianists, Majorists, Adiaphorists,
Brantianists, Ubiquitists, swarmed and contended pell-mell. In this there
would have been small harm, if the Reformers had known what reformation
meant. But they could not invent or imagine toleration. All claimed the
privilege of persecuting. There were sagacious and honest men among the
great ones of the country, but they were but few. Wise William of Hesse
strove hard to effect a concordia among the jarring sects; Count John of
Nassau, though a passionate Calvinist, did no less; while the Elector of
Saxony, on the other hand, raging and roaring like a bull of Bashan, was
for sacrificing the interest of millions on the altar of his personal
spite. Cursed was his tribe if he forgave the Prince. He had done what he
could at the Diet of Ratisbon to exclude all Calvinists from a
participation in the religious peace of Germany, and he redoubled his
efforts to prevent the extension of any benefits to the Calvinists of the
Netherlands. These determinations had remained constant and intense.

On the whole, the political appearance of Germany was as menacing as that
of France seemed for a time favorable to the schemes of Orange. The
quarrels of the princes, and the daily widening schism between Lutherans
and Calvinists, seemed to bode little good to the cause of religious
freedom. The potentates were perplexed and at variance, the nobles
lukewarm and discontented. Among the people, although subdivided into
hostile factions, there was more life. Here, at least, were heartiness of
love and hate, enthusiastic conviction, earnestness and agitation. "The
true religion," wrote Count John, "is spreading daily among the common
men. Among the powerful, who think themselves highly learned, and who sit
in roses, it grows, alas, little. Here and there a Nicodemus or two may
be found, but things will hardly go better here than in France or the
Netherlands."

Thus, then, stood affairs in the neighbouring countries. The prospect was
black in Germany, more encouraging in France, dubious, or worse, in
England. More work, more anxiety, more desperate struggles than ever,
devolved upon the Prince. Secretary Brunynck wrote that his illustrious
chief was tolerably well in health, but so loaded with affairs, sorrows,
and travails, that, from morning till night, he had scarcely leisure to
breathe. Besides his multitudinous correspondence with the public bodies,
whose labors he habitually directed; with the various estates of the
provinces, which he was gradually moulding into an organised and general
resistance to the Spanish power; with public envoys and with secret
agents to foreign cabinets, all of whom received their instructions from
him alone; with individuals of eminence and influence, whom he was
eloquently urging to abandon their hostile position to their fatherland;
and to assist him in the great work which he was doing; besides these
numerous avocations, he was actively and anxiously engaged during the
spring of 1576, with the attempt to relieve the city of Zierickzee.

That important place, the capital of Schouwen, and the key to half
Zealand, had remained closely invested since the memorable expedition to
Duiveland. The Prince had passed much of his time in the neighbourhood,
during the month of May, in order to attend personally to the
contemplated relief, and to correspond daily with the beleaguered
garrison. At last, on the 25th of May, a vigorous effort was made to
throw in succor by sea. The brave Admiral Boisot, hero of the memorable
relief of Leyden, had charge of the expedition. Mondragon had surrounded
the shallow harbor with hulks and chains, and with a loose submerged dyke
of piles and rubbish. Against this obstacle Boisot drove his ship, the
'Red Lion,' with his customary audacity, but did not succeed in cutting
it through. His vessel, the largest of the feet, became entangled: he
was, at the same time, attacked from a distance by the besiegers. The
tide ebbed and left his ship aground, while the other vessels had been
beaten back by the enemy. Night approached; and there was no possibility
of accomplishing the enterprise. His ship was hopelessly stranded. With
the morning's sun his captivity was certain. Rather than fall into the
hands of his enemy, he sprang into the sea; followed by three hundred of
his companions, some of whom were fortunate enough to effect their
escape. The gallant Admiral swam a long time, sustained by a broken spar.
Night and darkness came on before assistance could be rendered, and he
perished. Thus died Louis Boisot, one of the most enterprising of the
early champions of Netherland freedom--one of the bravest precursors of
that race of heroes, the commanders of the Holland navy. The Prince
deplored his loss deeply, as that of a "valiant gentleman, and one well
affectioned to the common cause." His brother, Charles Boisot, as will be
remembered, had perished by treachery at the first landing of the Spanish
troops; after their perilous passage from Duiveland.--Thus both the
brethren had laid down their lives for their country, in this its outer
barrier, and in the hour of its utmost need. The fall of the beleaguered
town could no longer be deferred. The Spaniards were, at last, to receive
the prize of that romantic valor which had led them across the bottom of
the sea to attack the city. Nearly nine months had, however, elapsed
since that achievement; and the Grand Commander, by whose orders it had
been undertaken, had been four months in his grave. He was permitted to
see neither the long-delayed success which crowded the enterprise, nor
the procession of disasters and crimes which were to mark it as a most
fatal success.

On the 21st of June, 1576, Zierickzee, instructed by the Prince of Orange
to accept honorable terms, if offered, agreed to surrender. Mondragon,
whose soldiers were in a state of suffering, and ready to break out in
mutiny, was but too happy to grant an honorable capitulation. The
garrison were allowed to go out with their arms and personal baggage. The
citizens were permitted to retain or resume their privileges and
charters, on payment of two hundred thousand guldens. Of, sacking and
burning there was, on this occasion, fortunately, no question; but the
first half of the commutation money was to be paid in cash. There was but
little money in the impoverished little town, but mint-masters were
appointed by the magistrates to take their seats at once an in the Hotel
de Ville. The citizens brought their spoons and silver dishes; one after
another, which were melted and coined into dollars and half-dollars,
until the payment was satisfactorily adjusted. Thus fell Zierickzee, to
the deep regret of the Prince. "Had we received the least succor in the
world from any side," he wrote; "the poor city should never have fallen.
I could get nothing from France or England, with all my efforts.
Nevertheless, we do not lose courage, but hope that, although abandoned
by all the world, the Lord God will extend His right hand over us."

The enemies were not destined to go farther. From their own hand now came
the blow which was to expel them from the soil which they had so long
polluted. No sooner was Zierickzee captured than a mutiny broke forth
among several companies of Spaniards and Walloons, belonging, to the army
in Schouwen. A large number of the most influential officers had gone to
Brussels, to make arrangements, if possible; for the payment of the
troops. In their absence there was more scope for the arguments of the
leading mutineers; arguments assuredly, not entirely destitute of justice
or logical precision. If ever laborers were worthy of their hire,
certainly it was the Spanish soldiery. Had they not done the work of
demons for nine years long? Could Philip or Alva have found in the wide
world men to execute their decrees with more unhesitating docility, with
more sympathizing eagerness? What obstacle had ever given them pause in
their career of duty? What element had they not braved? Had not they
fought within the bowels of the earth, beneath the depths of the sea,
within blazing cities, and upon fields of ice? Where was the work which
had been too dark and bloody for their performance? Had they not
slaughtered unarmed human beings by townfuls, at the word of command? Had
they not eaten the flesh, and drank the hearts' blood of their enemies?
Had they not stained the house of God with wholesale massacre? What altar
and what hearthstone had they not profaned? What fatigue, what danger,
what crime, had ever checked them for a moment? And for all this
obedience, labor, and bloodshed, were they not even to be paid such wages
as the commonest clown, who only tore the earth at home, received? Did
Philip believe that a few thousand Spaniards were to execute his sentence
of death against three millions of Netherlanders, and be cheated of their
pay at last?

It was in vain that arguments and expostulations were addressed to
soldiers who were suffering from want, and maddened by injustice. They
determined to take their cause into their own hand, as they had often
done before. By the 15th of July, the mutiny was general on the isle of
Schouwen. Promises were freely offered, both of pay and pardon; appeals
were made to their old sense of honor and loyalty; but they had had
enough of promises, of honor, and of work. What they wanted now were
shoes and jerkins, bread and meat, and money. Money they would have, and
that at once. The King of Spain was their debtor. The Netherlands
belonged to the King of Spain. They would therefore levy on the
Netherlands for payment of their debt. Certainly this was a logical
deduction. They knew by experience that this process had heretofore
excited more indignation in the minds of the Netherland people than in
that of their master. Moreover, at this juncture, they cared little for
their sovereign's displeasure, and not at all for that of the
Netherlanders. By the middle of July, then, the mutineers, now entirely
beyond control, held their officers imprisoned within their quarters at
Zierickzee. They even surrounded the house of Mondtagon, who had so often
led them to victory, calling upon him with threats and taunts to furnish
them with money. The veteran, roused to fury by their insubordination and
their taunts, sprang from his house into the midst of the throng. Baring
his breast before them, he fiercely invited and dared their utmost
violence. Of his life-blood, he told them bitterly, he was no niggard,
and it was at their disposal. His wealth, had he possessed any, would
have been equally theirs. Shamed into temporary respect, but not turned
from their purpose by the choler of their chief, they left him to
himself. Soon afterwards, having swept Schouwen island bare of every
thing which could be consumed, the mutineers swarmed out of Zealand into
Brabant, devouring as they went.

It was their purpose to hover for a time in the neighbourhood of the
capital, and either to force the Council of State to pay them their long
arrears, or else to seize and sack the richest city upon which they could
lay their hands. The compact, disciplined mass, rolled hither and
thither, with uncertainty of purpose, but with the same military
precision of movement which had always characterized these remarkable
mutinies. It gathered strength daily. The citizens of Brussels
contemplated with dismay the eccentric and threatening apparition. They
knew that rapine, murder, and all the worst evils which man can inflict
on his brethren were pent within it, and would soon descend. Yet, even
with all their past experience, did they not foresee the depth of woe
which was really impending. The mutineers had discarded such of their
officers as they could not compel to obedience, and had, as usual, chosen
their Eletto. Many straggling companies joined them as they swept to and
fro. They came to Herenthals, where they were met by Count Mansfeld, who
was deputed by the Council of State to treat with them, to appeal to
them; to pardon them, to offer, them everything but money. It may be
supposed that the success of the commander-in-chief was no better than
that of Mondragon and his subalterns. They laughed him to scorn when he
reminded them how their conduct was tarnishing the glory which they had
acquired by nine years of heroism. They answered with their former
cynicism, that glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach. They
had no use for it; they had more than enough of it. Give them money, or
give them a City, these were their last terms.

Sorrowfully and bodingly Mansfeld withdrew to consult again with the
State Council. The mutineers then made a demonstration upon Mechlin, but
that city having fortunately strengthened its garrison, was allowed to
escape. They then hovered for a time outside the walls of Brussels. At
Grimsberg, where they paused for a short period, they held a parley with
Captain Montesdocca, whom they received with fair words and specious
pretences. He returned to Brussels with the favourable tidings, and the
mutineers swarmed off to Assche. Thither Montesdoeca was again
despatched, with the expectation that he would be able to bring them to
terms, but they drove him off with jeers and threats, finding that he
brought neither money nor the mortgage of a populous city. The next day,
after a feint or two in a different direction, they made a sudden swoop
upon Alost, in Flanders. Here they had at last made their choice, and the
town was carried by storm. All the inhabitants who opposed them were
butchered, and the mutiny, at last established in a capital, was able to
treat with the State Council upon equal terms. They were now between two
and three thousand strong, disciplined, veteran troops, posted in a
strong and wealthy city. One hundred parishes belonged to the
jurisdiction of Alost, all of which were immediately laid under
contribution.

The excitement was now intense in Brussels. Anxiety and alarm had given
place to rage, and the whole population rose in arms to defend the
capital, which was felt to be in imminent danger. This spontaneous
courage of the burghers prevented the catastrophe, which was reserved for
a sister city. Meantime, the indignation and horror excited by the mutiny
were so universal that the Council of State could not withstand the
pressure. Even the women and children demanded daily in the streets that
the rebel soldiers should be declared outlaws. On the 26th of July,
accordingly, the King of Spain was made to pronounce, his Spaniards
traitors and murderers. All men were enjoined to slay one or all of them,
wherever they should be found; to refuse them bread, water, and fire, and
to assemble at sound of bell; in every city; whenever the magistrates
should order an assault upon them. A still more stringent edict was
issued on the 2nd of August; and so eagerly had these degrees been
expected, that they were published throughout Flanders and Brabant almost
as soon as issued. Hitherto the leading officers of the Spanish army had
kept aloof from the insurgents, and frowned upon their proceedings. The
Spanish member of the State Council, Jerome de Roda, had joined without
opposition in the edict. As, however, the mutiny gathered strength on the
outside, the indignation waxed daily within the capital. The citizens of
Brussels, one and all, stood to their arms. Not a man could enter or
leave without their permission. The Spaniards who were in the town,
whether soldiers or merchants, were regarded with suspicion and
abhorrence. The leading Spanish officers, Romero, Montesdocca, Verdugo,
and others, who had attempted to quell the mutiny, had been driven off
with threats and curses, their soldiers defying them and brandishing
their swords in their very faces. On the other hand, they were looked
upon with ill-will by the Netherlanders. The most prominent Spanish
personages in Brussels were kept in a state of half-imprisonment. Romero,
Roda, Verdugo, were believed to favor at heart the cause of their
rebellious troops, and the burghers of Brabant had come to consider all
the King's army in a state of rebellion. Believing the State Council
powerless to protect them from the impending storm, they regarded that
body with little respect, keeping it, as it were, in durance, while the
Spaniards were afraid to walk the streets of Brussels for fear of being
murdered. A retainer of Rods, who had ventured to defend the character
and conduct of his master before a number of excited citizens, was slain
on the spot.

In Antwerp, Champagny, brother of Granvelle, and governor of the city,
was disposed to cultivate friendly relations with the Prince of Orange.
Champagny hated the Spaniards, and the hatred seemed to establish enough
of sympathy between himself and the liberal party to authorize confidence
in him. The Prince dealt with him, but regarded him warily. Fifteen
companies of German troops, under Colonel Altaemst, were suspected of a
strong inclination to join the mutiny. They were withdrawn from Antwerp,
and in their room came Count Uberstein, with his regiment, who swore to
admit no suspicious person inside the gates, and in all things to obey
the orders of Champagny. In the citadel, however, matters were very
threatening. Sancho d'Avila, the governor, although he had not openly
joined the revolt, treated the edict of outlawry against the rebellious
soldiery with derision. He refused to publish a decree which he
proclaimed infamous, and which had been extorted, in his opinion, from an
impotent and trembling council. Even Champagny had not desired or dared
to publish the edict within the city. The reasons alleged were his fears
of irritating and alarming the foreign merchants, whose position was so
critical and friendship so important at that moment. On the other hand,
it was loudly and joyfully published in most other towns of Flanders and
Brabant. In Brussels there were two parties, one holding the decree too
audacious for his Majesty to pardon; the other clamoring for its
instantaneous fulfilment. By far the larger and more influential portion
of the population favored the measure, and wished the sentence of
outlawry and extermination to be extended at once against all Spaniards
and other foreigners in the service of the King. It seemed imprudent to
wait until all the regiments had formally accepted the mutiny, and
concentrated themselves into a single body.

At this juncture, on the last day of July, the Marquis off Havre, brother
to the Duke of Aerschot, arrived out of Spain. He was charged by the King
with conciliatory but unmeaning phrases to the estates. The occasion was
not a happy one. There never was a time when direct and vigorous action
had been more necessary. It was probably the King's desire then, as much
as it ever had been his desire at all, to make up the quarrel with his
provinces. He had been wearied with the policy which Alva had enforced,
and for which he endeavoured at that period to make the Duke appear
responsible. The barren clemency which the Grand Commander had been
instructed to affect, had deceived but few persons, and had produced but
small results. The King was, perhaps, really inclined at this juncture to
exercise clemency--that is to say he was willing to pardon his people for
having contended for their rights, provided they were now willing to
resign them for ever. So the Catholic religion and his own authority,
were exclusively and inviolably secured, he was willing to receive his
disobedient provinces into favor. To accomplish this end, however, he had
still no more fortunate conception than to take the advice of Hopper. A
soothing procrastination was the anodyne selected for the bitter pangs of
the body politic--a vague expression of royal benignity the styptic to be
applied to its mortal wounds. An interval of hesitation was to bridge
over the chasm between the provinces and their distant metropolis. "The
Marquis of Havre has been sent," said the King, "that he may expressly
witness to you of our good intentions, and of our desire, with the grace
of God, to bring about a pacification." Alas, it was well known whence
those pavements of good intentions had been taken, and whither they would
lead. They were not the material for a substantial road to
reconciliation. "His Majesty," said the Marquis; on delivering his report
to the State Council, "has long been pondering over all things necessary
to the peace of the land. His Majesty, like a very gracious and bountiful
Prince, has ever been disposed, in times past, to treat these, his
subjects, by the best and sweetest means." There being, however, room for
an opinion that so bountiful a prince might have discovered sweeter
means, by all this pondering, than to burn and gibbet his subjects by
thousands, it was thought proper to insinuate that his orders had been
hitherto misunderstood. Alva and Requesens had been unfaithful agents,
who did not know their business, but it was to be set right in future.
"As the good-will and meaning of his Majesty has, by no means been
followed," continued the envoy, "his Majesty has determined to send
Councillor Hopper, keeper of the privy seal, and myself, hitherwards, to
execute the resolutions of his Majesty." Two such personages as poor,
plodding, confused; time-serving Hopper, and flighty, talkative Havre,
whom even Requesens despised, and whom Don John, while shortly afterwards
recommending him for a state councillor, characterized, to Philip as "a
very great scoundrel;" would hardly be able, even if royally empowered,
to undo the work of two preceding administrations. Moreover, Councillor
Hopper, on further thoughts, was not despatched at all to the
Netherlands.

The provinces were, however, assured by the King's letters to the Brabant
estates, to the State Council, and other, public bodies, as well as by
the report of the Marquis, that efficacious remedies were preparing in
Madrid. The people were only too wait patiently till they should arrive.
The public had heard before of these nostrums, made up by the royal
prescriptions in Spain; and were not likely to accept them as a panacea
for their present complicated disorders. Never, in truth, had
conventional commonplace been applied more unseasonably. Here was a
general military mutiny flaming in the very centre of the land. Here had
the intense hatred of race, which for years had been gnawing at the heart
of the country, at last broken out into most malignant manifestation.
Here was nearly the whole native population of every province, from grand
seigneur to plebeian, from Catholic prelate to Anabaptist artisan,
exasperated alike by the excesses of six thousand foreign brigands, and
united by a common hatred, into a band of brethren. Here was a State
Council too feeble to exercise the authority which it had arrogated,
trembling between the wrath of its sovereign, the menacing cries of the
Brussels burghers, and the wild threats of the rebellious army; and held
virtually, captive in the capital which it was supposed to govern.

Certainly, the confirmation of the Council in its authority, for an
indefinite, even if for a brief period, was a most unlucky step at this
juncture. There were two parties in the provinces, but one was far the
most powerful upon the great point of the Spanish soldiery. A vast
majority were in favor of a declaration of outlawry against the whole
army, and it was thought desirable to improve the opportunity by getting
rid of them altogether. If the people could rise en masse, now that the
royal government was in abeyance, and, as it were, in the nation's hands,
the incubus might be cast off for ever. If any of the Spanish officers
had been sincere in their efforts to arrest the mutiny, the sincerity was
not believed. If any of the foreign regiments of the King appeared to
hesitate at joining the Alost crew, the hesitation was felt to be
temporary. Meantime, the important German regiments of Fugger,
Fronsberger, and Polwiller, with their colonels and other officers, had
openly joined the rebellion, while there was no doubt of the sentiments
of Sancho d'Avila and the troops under his command. Thus there were two
great rallying-places for the sedition, and the most important fortress
of the country, the key which unlocked the richest city in the world, was
in the hands of the mutineers. The commercial capital of Europe, filled
to the brim with accumulated treasures, and with the merchandize of every
clime; lay at the feet of this desperate band of brigands. The horrible
result was but too soon to be made manifest.

Meantime, in Brussels, the few Spaniards trembled for their lives. The
few officers shut up there were in imminent danger. "As the Devil does
not cease to do his work," wrote Colonel Verdugo, "he has put it into the
heads of the Brabanters to rebel, taking for a pretext the mutiny of the
Spaniards. The Brussels men have handled their weapons so well against
those who were placed there to protect them, that they have begun to kill
the Spaniards, threatening likewise the Council of State. Such is their
insolence, that they care no more for these great lords than for so many
varlets." The writer, who had taken refuge, together with Jerome de Roda
and other Spaniards, or "Hispaniolized" persons, in Antwerp citadel,
proceeded to sketch the preparations which were going on in Brussels, and
the counter measures which were making progress in Antwerp. "The states,"
he wrote, "are enrolling troops, saying 'tis to put down the mutiny; but
I assure you 'tis to attack the army indiscriminately. To prevent such a
villainous undertaking, troops of all nations are assembling here, in
order to march straight upon Brussels, there to enforce everything which
my lords of the State Council shall ordain." Events were obviously
hastening to a crisis--an explosion, before long, was inevitable. "I wish
I had my horses here," continued the Colonel, "and must beg you to send
them. I see a black cloud hanging over our heads. I fear that the
Brabantines will play the beasts so much, that they will have all the
soldiery at their throats."

Jerome de Roda had been fortunate enough to make his escape out of
Brussels, and now claimed to be sole Governor of the Netherlands, as the
only remaining representative of the State Council. His colleagues were
in durance at the capital. Their authority was derided. Although not yet
actually imprisoned, they were in reality bound hand and foot, and
compelled to take their orders either from the Brabant estates or from
the burghers of Brussels. It was not an illogical proceeding, therefore,
that Roda, under the shadow of the Antwerp citadel, should set up his own
person as all that remained of the outraged majesty of Spain. Till the
new Governor, Don Juan, should arrive, whose appointment the King had
already communicated to the government, and who might be expected in the
Netherlands before the close of the autumn, the solitary councillor
claimed to embody the whole Council. He caused a new seal to be struck--a
proceeding very unreasonably charged as forgery by the provincials--and
forthwith began to thunder forth proclamations and counter-proclamations
in the King's name and under the royal seal. It is difficult to see any
technical crime or mistake in such a course. As a Spaniard, and a
representative of his Majesty, he could hardly be expected to take any
other view of his duty. At any rate, being called upon to choose between
rebellious Netherlanders and mutinous Spaniards, he was not long in
making up his mind.

By the beginning of September the mutiny was general. All the Spanish
army, from general to pioneer, were united. The most important German
troops had taken side with them. Sancho d'Avila held the citadel of
Antwerp, vowing vengeance, and holding open communication with the
soldiers at Alost. The Council of State remonstrated with him for his
disloyalty. He replied by referring to his long years of service, and by
reproving them for affecting an authority which their imprisonment
rendered ridiculous. The Spaniards were securely established. The various
citadels which had been built by Charles and Philip to curb the country
now effectually did their work. With the castles of Antwerp,
Valenciennes, Ghent, Utrecht, Culemburg, Viane, Alost, in the hands of
six thousand veteran Spaniards, the country seemed chained in every limb.
The foreigner's foot was on its neck. Brussels was almost the only
considerable town out of Holland and Zealand which was even temporarily
safe. The important city of Maestricht was held by a Spanish garrison,
while other capital towns and stations were in the power of the Walloon
and German mutineers. The depredations committed in the villages, the
open country, and the cities were incessant--the Spaniards treating every
Netherlander as their foe. Gentleman and peasant, Protestant and
Catholic, priest and layman, all were plundered, maltreated, outraged.
The indignation became daily more general and more intense. There were
frequent skirmishes between the soldiery and promiscuous bands of
peasants, citizens, and students; conflicts in which the Spaniards were
invariably victorious. What could such half-armed and wholly untrained
partisans effect against the bravest and most experienced troops in the
whole world? Such results only increased the general exasperation, while
they impressed upon the whole people the necessity of some great and
general effort to throw off the incubus.




1576-1577  [CHAPTER V.]

   Religious and political sympathies and antipathies in the seventeen
   provinces--Unanimous hatred for the foreign soldiery--Use made by
   the Prince of the mutiny--His correspondence--Necessity of Union
   enforced--A congress from nearly all the provinces meets at Ghent--
   Skirmishes between the foreign troops and partisan bands--Slaughter
   at Tisnacq--Suspicions entertained of the State-Council--Arrest of
   the State-Council--Siege of Ghent citadel--Assistance sent by
   Orange--Maestricht lost and regained--Wealthy and perilous condition
   of Antwerp--Preparations of the mutineers under the secret
   superintendence of Avila--Stupidity of Oberstein--Duplicity of Don
   Sancho--Reinforcements of Walloons under Havre, Egmont, and others,
   sent to for the expected assault of Antwerp--Governor Champagny's
   preparations the mutineers--Insubordination, incapacity, and
   negligence of all but him--Concentration of all the mutineers from
   different points, in the citadel--The attack--the panic--the flight
   --the massacre--the fire--the sack--and other details of the
   "Spanish Fury"--Statistics of murder and robbery--Letter of Orange
   to the states-general--Surrender of Ghent citadel--Conclusion of the
   "Ghent Pacification"--The treaty characterized--Forms of
   ratification--Fall of Zierickzee and recovery of Zealand.

Meantime, the Prince of Orange sat at Middelburg, watching the storm. The
position of Holland and Zealand with regard to the other fifteen
provinces was distinctly characterized. Upon certain points there was an
absolute sympathy, while upon others there was a grave and almost fatal
difference. It was the task of the Prince to deepen the sympathy, to
extinguish the difference.

In Holland and Zealand, there was a warm and nearly universal adhesion to
the Reformed religion, a passionate attachment to the ancient political
liberties. The Prince, although an earnest Calvinist himself, did all in
his power to check the growing spirit of intolerance toward the old
religion, omitted no opportunity of strengthening the attachment which
the people justly felt for their liberal institutions.

On the other hand, in most of the other provinces, the Catholic religion
had been regaining its ascendency. Even in 1574, the estates assembled at
Brussels declared to Requesens "that they would rather die the death than
see any change in their religion." That feeling had rather increased than
diminished. Although there was a strong party attached to the new faith,
there was perhaps a larger, certainly a more influential body, which
regarded the ancient Church with absolute fidelity. Owing partly to the
persecution which had, in the course of years, banished so many thousands
of families from the soil, partly to the coercion, which was more
stringent in the immediate presence of the Crown's representative, partly
to the stronger infusion of the Celtic element, which from the earliest
ages had always been so keenly alive to the more sensuous and splendid
manifestations of the devotional principle--owing to those and many other
causes, the old religion, despite of all the outrages which had been
committed in its name, still numbered a host of zealous adherents in the
fifteen provinces. Attempts against its sanctity were regarded with
jealous eyes. It was believed, and with reason, that there was a
disposition on the part of the Reformers to destroy it root and branch.
It was suspected that the same enginery of persecution would be employed
in its extirpation, should the opposite party gain the supremacy, which
the Papists had so long employed against the converts to the new
religion.

As to political convictions, the fifteen provinces differed much less
from their two sisters. There was a strong attachment to their old
constitutions; a general inclination to make use of the present crisis to
effect their restoration. At the same time, it had not come to be the
general conviction, as in Holland and Zealand, that the maintenance of
those liberties was incompatible with the continuance of Philip's
authority. There was, moreover, a strong aristocratic faction which was
by no means disposed to take a liberal view of government in general, and
regarded with apprehension the simultaneous advance of heretical notions
both in church and, state. Still there were, on the whole, the elements
of a controlling constitutional party throughout the fifteen provinces
The great bond of sympathy, however, between all the seventeen was their
common hatred to the foreign soldiery. Upon this deeply imbedded,
immovable fulcrum of an ancient national hatred, the sudden mutiny of the
whole Spanish army served as a lever of incalculable power. The Prince
seized it as from the hand of God. Thus armed, he proposed to himself the
task of upturning the mass of oppression under which the old liberties of
the country had so long been crushed. To effect this object, adroitness
was as requisite as courage. Expulsion of the foreign soldiery, union of
the seventeen provinces, a representative constitution, according to the
old charters, by the states-general, under an hereditary chief, a large
religious toleration, suppression of all inquisition into men's
consciences--these were the great objects to which the Prince now devoted
himself with renewed energy.

To bring about a general organization and a general union, much delicacy
of handling was necessary. The sentiment of extreme Catholicism and
Monarchism was not to be suddenly scared into opposition. The Prince,
therefore, in all his addresses and documents was careful to disclaim any
intention of disturbing the established religion, or of making any rash
political changes. "Let no man think," said he, to the authorities of
Brabant, "that, against the will of the estates, we desire to bring about
any change in religion. Let no one suspect us capable of prejudicing the
rights of any man. We have long since taken up arms to maintain a legal
and constitutional freedom, founded upon law. God forbid that we should
now attempt to introduce novelties, by which the face of liberty should
be defiled."

In a brief and very spirited letter to Count Lalain, a Catholic and a
loyalist, but a friend of his country and fervent hater of foreign
oppression, he thus appealed to his sense of chivalry and justice:
"Although the honorable house from which you spring," he said, "and the
virtue and courage of your ancestors have always impressed me with the
conviction that you would follow in their footsteps, yet am I glad to
have received proofs that my anticipations were correct. I cannot help,
therefore, entreating you to maintain the same high heart, and to
accomplish that which you have so worthily begun. Be not deluded by false
masks, mumming faces, and borrowed titles, which people assume for their
own profit, persuading others that the King's service consists in the
destruction of his subjects."

While thus careful to offend no man's religious convictions, to startle
no man's loyalty, he made skillful use of the general indignation felt
at, the atrocities of the mutinous army. This chord he struck boldly,
powerfully, passionately, for he felt sure of the depth and strength of
its vibrations. In his address to the estates of Gelderland, he used
vigorous language, inflaming and directing to a practical purpose the
just wrath which was felt in that, as in every other province. "I write
to warn you," he said, "to seize this present opportunity. Shake from
your necks the yoke of the godless Spanish tyranny, join yourselves at
once to the lovers of the fatherland, to the defenders of freedom.
According to the example of your own ancestors and ours, redeem for the
country its ancient laws, traditions, and privileges. Permit no longer,
to your shame and ours, a band of Spanish landloupers and other
foreigners, together with three or four self-seeking enemies of their own
land, to keep their feet upon our necks. Let them no longer, in the very
wantonness of tyranny, drive us about like a herd of cattle--like a gang
of well-tamed slaves."

Thus, day after day, in almost countless addresses to public bodies and
private individuals, he made use of the crisis to pile fresh fuel upon
the flames. At the same time, while thus fanning the general indignation,
he had the adroitness to point out that the people had already committed
themselves. He represented to them that the edict, by which they had
denounced his Majesty's veterans as outlaws, and had devoted them to the
indiscriminate destruction which such brigands deserved, was likely to
prove an unpardonable crime in the eyes of majesty. In short, they had
entered the torrent. If they would avoid being dashed over the precipice,
they must struggle manfully with the mad waves of civil war into which
they had plunged. "I beg you, with all affection," he said to the states
of Brabant, "to consider the danger in which you have placed yourselves.
You have to deal with the proudest and most overbearing race in the
world. For these qualities they are hated by all other nations. They are
even hateful to themselves. 'Tis a race which seeks to domineer
wheresoever it comes. It particularly declares its intention to crush and
to tyrannize you, my masters, and all the land. They have conquered you
already, as they boast, for the crime of lese-majesty has placed you at
their mercy. I tell you that your last act, by which you have declared
this army to be rebels, is decisive. You have armed and excited the whole
people against them, even to the peasants and the peasants' children, and
the insults and injuries thus received, however richly deserved and
dearly avenged, are all set down to your account. Therefore, 'tis
necessary for you to decide now, whether to be utterly ruined, yourselves
and your children, or to continue firmly the work which you have begun
boldly, and rather to die a hundred thousand deaths than to make a treaty
with them, which can only end in your ruin. Be assured that the measure
dealt to you will be ignominy as well as destruction. Let not your
leaders expect the honorable scaffolds of Counts Egmont and Horn. The
whipping-post and then the gibbet will be their certain fate."

Having by this and similar language, upon various occasions, sought to
impress upon his countrymen the gravity of the position, he led them to
seek the remedy in audacity and in union. He familiarized them with his
theory, that the legal, historical government of the provinces belonged
to the states-general, to a congress of nobles, clergy, and commons,
appointed from each of the seventeen provinces. He maintained, with
reason, that the government of the Netherlands was a representative
constitutional government, under the hereditary authority of the King. To
recover this constitution, to lift up these down-trodden rights, he set
before them most vividly the necessity of union, "'Tis impossible," he
said, "that a chariot should move evenly having its wheels unequally
proportioned; and so must a confederation be broken to pieces, if there
be not an equal obligation on all to tend to a common purpose." Union,
close, fraternal, such as became provinces of a common origin and with
similar laws, could alone save them from their fate. Union against a
common tyrant to save a common fatherland. Union; by which differences of
opinion should be tolerated, in order that a million of hearts should
beat for a common purpose, a million hands work out, invincibly, a common
salvation. "'Tis hardly necessary," he said "to use many words in
recommendation of union. Disunion has been the cause of all our woes.
There is no remedy, no hope, save in the bonds of friendship. Let all
particular disagreements be left to the decision of the states-general,
in order that with one heart and one will we may seek the disenthralment
of the fatherland from the tyranny of strangers."

The first step to a thorough union among all the provinces was the
arrangement of a closer connection between the now isolated states of
Holland and Zealand on the one side, and their fifteen sisters on the
other. The Prince professed the readiness of those states which he might
be said to represent in his single person, to draw as closely as possible
the bonds of fellowship. It was almost superfluous for him to promise his
own ready co-operation. "Nothing remains to us," said he, "but to discard
all jealousy and distrust. Let us, with a firm resolution and a common
accord, liberate these lands from the stranger. Hand to hand let us
accomplish a just and general peace. As for myself, I present to you,
with very, good affection, my person and all which I possess, assuring
you that I shall regard all my labors and pains in times which are past,
well bestowed, if God now grant me grace to see the desired end. That
this end will be reached, if you hold fast your resolution and take to
heart the means which God presents to you, I feel to be absolutely
certain."

Such were the tenor and the motives of the documents which he
scattered--broadcast at this crisis. They were addressed to the estates
of nearly every province. Those bodies were urgently implored to appoint
deputies to a general congress, at which a close and formal union between
Holland and Zealand with the other provinces might be effected. That
important measure secured, a general effort might, at the same time, be
made to expel the Spaniard from the soil. This done, the remaining
matters could be disposed of by the assembly of the estates-general. His
eloquence and energy were not without effect. In the course of the
autumn, deputies were appointed from the greater number of the provinces,
to confer with the representatives of Holland and Zealand, in a general
congress. The place appointed for the deliberations was the city of
Ghent. Here, by the middle of October, a large number of delegates were
already assembled.

Events were rapidly rolling together from every quarter, and accumulating
to a crisis. A congress--a rebellious congress, as the King might deem
it--was assembling at Ghent; the Spanish army, proscribed, lawless, and
terrible, was strengthening itself daily for some dark and mysterious
achievement; Don John of Austria, the King's natural brother, was
expected from Spain to assume the government, which the State Council was
too timid to wield and too loyal to resign, while, meantime, the whole
population of the Netherlands, with hardly an exception, was disposed to
see the great question of the foreign soldiery settled, before the chaos
then existing should be superseded by a more definite authority.
Everywhere, men of all ranks and occupations--the artisan in the city,
the peasant in the fields--were deserting their daily occupations to
furbish helmets, handle muskets, and learn the trade of war. Skirmishes,
sometimes severe and bloody, were of almost daily occurrence. In these
the Spaniards were invariably successful, for whatever may be said of
their cruelty and licentiousness, it cannot be disputed that their
prowess was worthy of their renown. Romantic valor, unflinching
fortitude, consummate skill, characterized them always. What could
half-armed artisans achieve in the open plain against such accomplished
foes? At Tisnacq, between Louvain and Tirlemont, a battle was attempted
by a large miscellaneous mass of students, peasantry, and burghers, led
by country squires. It soon changed to a carnage, in which the victims
were all on one side. A small number of veterans, headed by Vargas,
Mendoza, Tassis, and other chivalrous commanders, routed the
undisciplined thousands at a single charge. The rude militia threw away
their arms, and fled panic-struck in all directions, at the first sight
of their terrible foe. Two Spaniards lost their lives and two thousand
Netherlanders. It was natural that these consummate warriors should
despise such easily slaughtered victims. A single stroke of the iron
flail, and the chaff was scattered to the four winds; a single sweep of
the disciplined scythe, and countless acres were in an instant mown.
Nevertheless, although beaten constantly, the Netherlanders were not
conquered. Holland and Zealand had read the foe a lesson which he had not
forgotten, and although on the open fields, and against the less vigorous
population of the more central provinces, his triumphs had been easier,
yet it was obvious that the spirit of resistance to foreign oppression
was growing daily stronger, notwithstanding daily defeats.

Meantime, while these desultory but deadly combats were in daily
progress, the Council of State was looked upon with suspicion by the mass
of the population. That body, in which resided provisionally the powers
of government, was believed to be desirous of establishing relations with
the mutinous army. It was suspected of insidiously provoking the excesses
which it seemed to denounce. It was supposed to be secretly intriguing
with those whom its own edicts had outlawed. Its sympathies were
considered, Spanish. It was openly boasted by the Spanish army that,
before long, they would descend from their fastnesses upon Brussels, and
give the city to the sword. A shuddering sense of coming evil pervaded
the population, but no man could say where the blow would first be
struck. It was natural that the capital should be thought exposed to
imminent danger. At the same time, while every man who had hands was
disposed to bear arms to defend the city, the Council seemed paralyzed.
The capital was insufficiently garrisoned, yet troops were not enrolling
for its protection. The state councillors obviously omitted to provide
for defence, and it was supposed that they were secretly assisting the
attack. It was thought important, therefore, to disarm, or, at least, to
control this body which was impotent for protection, and seemed powerful
only for mischief. It was possible to make it as contemptible as it was
believed to be malicious.

An unexpected stroke was therefore suddenly levelled against the Council
in full session. On the 5th of September, the Seigneur de Heze, a young
gentleman of a bold, but unstable character, then entertaining close but
secret relations with the Prince of Orange, appeared before the doors of
the palace. He was attended by about five hundred troops, under the
immediate command of the Seigneur de Glimes, bailiff of Walloon Brabant.
He demanded admittance, in the name of the Brabant estates, to the
presence of the State Council, and was refused. The doors were closed and
bolted. Without further ceremony the soldiers produced iron bars brought
with them for the purpose, forced all the gates from the hinges, entered
the hall of session, and at a word from their commander, laid hands upon
the councillors, and made every one prisoner. The Duke of Aerschot,
President of the Council, who was then in close alliance with the Prince,
was not present at the meeting, but lay forewarned, at home, confined to
his couch by a sickness assumed for the occasion. Viglius, who rarely
participated in the deliberations of the board, being already afflicted
with the chronic malady under which he was ere long to succumb, also
escaped the fate of his fellow-senators. The others were carried into
confinement. Berlaymont and Mansfeld were imprisoned in the Brood-Huys,
where the last mortal hours of Egmont and Horn had been passed. Others
were kept strictly guarded in their own houses. After a few weeks, most
of them were liberated. Councillor Del Rio was, however, retained in
confinement, and sent to Holland, where he was subjected to a severe
examination by the Prince of Orange, touching his past career,
particularly concerning the doings of the famous Blood Council. The
others were set free, and even permitted to resume their functions, but
their dignity was gone, their authority annihilated. Thenceforth the
states of Brabant and the community of Brussels were to govern for an
interval, for it was in their name that the daring blow against the
Council had been struck. All individuals and bodies, however, although
not displeased with the result, clamorously disclaimed responsibility for
the deed. Men were appalled at the audacity of the transaction, and
dreaded the vengeance of the King: The Abbot Van Perch, one of the secret
instigators of the act, actually died of anxiety for its possible
consequences. There was a mystery concerning the affair. They in whose
name it had been accomplished, denied having given any authority to the
perpetrators. Men asked each other what unseen agency had been at work,
what secret spring had been adroitly touched. There is but little doubt,
however, that the veiled but skilful hand which directed the blow, was
the same which had so long been guiding the destiny of the Netherlands.

It had been settled that the congress was to hold its sessions in Ghent,
although the citadel commanding that city was held by the Spaniards. The
garrison was not very strong, and Mondragon, its commander, was absent in
Zealand, but the wife of the veteran ably supplied his place, and
stimulated the slender body of troops to hold out with heroism, under the
orders of his lieutenant, Avilos Maldonado. The mutineers, after having
accomplished their victory at Tisnacq, had been earnestly solicited to
come to the relief of this citadel. They had refused and returned to
Alost. Meantime, the siege was warmly pressed by the states. There being,
however, a deficiency of troops, application for assistance was formally
made to the Prince of Orange. Count Reulx, governor of Flanders;
commissioned the Seigneur d'Haussy, brother of Count Bossu, who, to
obtain the liberation of that long-imprisoned and distinguished nobleman,
was about visiting the Prince in Zealand, to make a request for an
auxiliary force. It was, however, stipulated that care should be taken
lest any prejudice should be done to the Roman Catholic religion or the
authority of the King. The Prince readily acceded to the request, and
agreed to comply with the conditions under which only it could be
accepted. He promised to send twenty-eight companies. In his letter
announcing this arrangement, he gave notice that his troops would receive
strict orders to do no injury to person or property, Catholic or
Protestant, ecclesiastic or lay, and to offer no obstruction to the Roman
religion or the royal dignity. He added, however, that it was not to be
taken amiss, if his soldiers were permitted to exercise their own
religious rites, and to sing their Protestant hymns within their own
quarters. He moreover, as security for the expense and trouble, demanded
the city of Sluys. The first detachment of troops, under command of
Colonel Vander Tympel, was, however, hardly on its way, before an alarm
was felt among the Catholic party at this practical alliance with the
rebel Prince. An envoy, named Ottingen, was despatched to Zealand,
bearing a letter from the estates of Hainault, Brabant, and Flanders,
countermanding the request for troops, and remonstrating categorically
upon the subject of religion and loyalty. Orange deemed such
tergiversation paltry, but controlled his anger. He answered the letter
in liberal terms, for he was determined that by no fault of his should
the great cause be endangered. He reassured the estates as to the
probable behaviour of his troops. Moreover, they had been already
admitted into the city, while the correspondence was proceeding. The
matter of the psalm-singing was finally arranged to the satisfaction of
both parties, and it was agreed that Niewport, instead of Sluys, should
be given to the Prince as security.

The siege of the citadel was now pressed vigorously, and the
deliberations of the congress were opened under the incessant roar of
cannon. While the attack was thus earnestly maintained upon the important
castle of Ghent, a courageous effort was made by the citizens of
Maestricht to wrest their city from the hands of the Spaniards. The
German garrison having been gained by the burghers, the combined force
rose upon the Spanish troops, and drove them from the city, Montesdocca,
the commander, was arrested and imprisoned, but the triumph was only
temporary. Don Francis d'Ayala, Montesdocca's lieutenant, made a stand,
with a few companies, in Wieck, a village on the opposite side of the
Meuse, and connected with the city by a massive bridge of stone. From
this point he sent information to other commanders in the neighbourhood.
Don Ferdinand de Toledo soon arrived with several hundred troops from
Dalem. The Spaniards, eager to wipe out the disgrace to their arms,
loudly demanded to be led back to the city. The head of the bridge,
however, over which they must pass, was defended by a strong battery, and
the citizens were seen clustering in great numbers to defend their
firesides against a foe whom they had once expelled. To advance across
the bridge seemed certain destruction to the little force. Even Spanish
bravery recoiled at so desperate an undertaking, but unscrupulous
ferocity supplied an expedient where courage was at fault. There were few
fighting men present among the population of Wieck, but there were many
females. Each soldier was commanded to seize a woman, and, placing her
before his own body, to advance across the bridge. The column, thus
bucklered, to the shame of Spanish chivalry, by female bosoms, moved in
good order toward the battery. The soldiers leveled their muskets with
steady aim over the shoulders or under the arms of the women whom they
thus held before them. On the other hand, the citizens dared not
discharge their cannon at their own townswomen, among whose numbers many
recognized mothers, sisters, or wives. The battery was soon taken, while
at the same time Alonzj Vargas, who had effected his entrance from the
land side by burning down the Brussels gate, now entered the city at the
head of a band of cavalry. Maestricht was recovered, and an
indiscriminate slaughter instantly avenged its temporary loss. The
plundering, stabbing, drowning, burning, ravishing; were so dreadful
that, in the words of a cotemporary historian, "the burghers who had
escaped the fight had reason to think themselves less fortunate than
those who had died with arms in their hands."

This was the lot of Maestricht on the 20th of October. It was
instinctively felt to be the precursor of fresh disasters. Vague,
incoherent, but widely disseminated rumors had long pointed to Antwerp
and its dangerous situation. The Spaniards, foiled in their views upon
Brussels, had recently avowed an intention of avenging themselves in the
commercial capital. They had waited long enough, and accumulated strength
enough. Such a trifling city as Alost could no longer content their
cupidity, but in Antwerp there was gold enough for the gathering. There
was reason for the fears of the inhabitants, for the greedy longing of
their enemy. Probably no city in Christendom could at that day vie with
Antwerp in wealth and splendor. Its merchants lived in regal pomp and
luxury. In its numerous, massive warehouses were the treasures of every
clime. Still serving as the main entrepot of the world's traffic, the
Brabantine capital was the centre of that commercial system which was
soon to be superseded by a larger international life. In the midst of the
miseries which had so long been raining upon the Netherlands, the stately
and egotistical city seemed to have taken stronger root and to flourish
more freshly than ever. It was not wonderful that its palaces and its
magazines, glittering with splendor and bursting with treasure, should
arouse the avidity of a reckless and famishing soldiery. Had not a
handful of warriors of their own race rifled the golden Indies? Had not
their fathers, few in number, strong in courage and discipline, revelled
in the plunder of a new world? Here were the Indies in a single city.
Here were gold and silver, pearls and diamonds, ready and portable; the
precious fruit dropping, ripened, from the bough. Was it to be tolerated
that base, pacific burghers should monopolize the treasure by which a
band of heroes might be enriched?

A sense of coming evil diffused itself through the atmosphere. The air
seemed lurid with the impending storm, for the situation was one of
peculiar horror. The wealthiest city in Christendom lay at the mercy of
the strongest fastness in the world; a castle which had been built to
curb, not to protect, the town. It was now inhabited by a band of
brigands, outlawed by government, strong in discipline, furious from
penury, reckless by habit, desperate in circumstance--a crew which feared
not God, nor man, nor Devil. The palpitating quarry lay expecting hourly
the swoop of its trained and pitiless enemy, for the rebellious soldiers
were now in a thorough state of discipline. Sancho d'Avila, castellan of
the citadel, was recognized as the chief of the whole mutiny, the army
and the mutiny being now one. The band, entrenched at Alost, were upon
the best possible understanding with their brethren in the citadel, and
accepted without hesitation the arrangements of their superior. On the
aide of the Scheld, opposite Antwerp, a fortification had been thrown up
by Don Sancho's orders, and held by Julian Romero. Lier, Breda, as well
as Alost, were likewise ready to throw their reinforcements into the
citadel at a moment's warning. At the signal of their chief, the united
bands might sweep from their impregnable castle with a single impulse.

The city cried aloud for help, for it had become obvious that an attack
might be hourly expected. Meantime an attempt, made by Don Sancho d'Avila
to tamper with the German troops stationed within the walls, was more
than partially, successful. The forces were commanded by Colonel Van Ende
and Count Oberatein. Van Ende, a crafty traitor to his country, desired
no better than to join the mutiny on so promising an occasion, and his
soldiers, shared his sentiments. Oberatein, a brave, but blundering
German, was drawn into the net of treachery by the adroitness of the
Spaniard and the effrontery of his comrade. On the night of the 29th of
October, half-bewildered and half-drunk, he signed a treaty with Sancho
d'Avilat and the three colonels--Fugger, Frondsberger, and Polwiller. By
this unlucky document, which was of course subscribed also by Van Ende,
it was agreed that the Antwerp burghers should be forthwith disarmed;
that their weapons should be sent into the citadel; that Oberstein should
hold the city at the disposition of Sancho d'Avila; that he should refuse
admittance to all troops which might be sent into the city, excepting by
command of Don Sancho, and that he should decline compliance with any
orders which he might receive from individuals calling themselves the
council of state, the states-general, or the estates of Brabant. This
treaty was signed, moreover; by Don Jeronimo de Rods, then established in
the citadel, and claiming to represent exclusively his Majesty's
government.

Hardly had this arrangement been concluded than the Count saw the trap
into which he had fallen. Without intending to do so, he had laid the
city at the mercy of its foe, but the only remedy which suggested itself
to his mind was an internal resolution not to keep his promises. The
burghers were suffered to retain their arms, while, on the other hand,
Don Sancho lost no time in despatching messages to Alost, to Lier, to
Breda, and even to Maestricht, that as large a force as possible might be
assembled for the purpose of breaking immediately the treaty of peace
which he had just concluded. Never was a solemn document, regarded with
such perfectly bad faith by all its signers as the accord, of the 29th of
October.

Three days afterwards, a large force of Walloons and Germans was
despatched from Brussels to the assistance of Antwerp. The command of
these troops was entrusted to the Marquis of Havre, whose brother, the
Duke of Aerschot; had been recently appointed chief superintendent of
military affairs by the deputies assembled at Ghent. The miscellaneous
duties comprehended under this rather vague denomination did not permit
the Duke to take charge of the expedition in person, and his younger
brother, a still more incompetent and unsubstantial character, was
accordingly appointed to the post. A number of young men, of high rank
but of lamentably low capacity, were associated with him. Foremost among
them was Philip, Count of Egmont, a youth who had inherited few of his
celebrated father's qualities, save personal courage and a love of
personal display. In character and general talents he was beneath
mediocrity. Beside these were the reckless but unstable De Heze, who had
executed the coup; d'etat against the State Council, De Berselen, De
Capres, D'Oyngies, and others, all vaguely desirous of achieving
distinction in those turbulent times, but few of them having any
political or religious convictions, and none of them possessing
experience or influence enough, to render them useful--at the impending
crisis.

On Friday morning, the 2nd of November, the troops appeared under the
walls of Antwerp. They consisted of twenty-three companies of infantry
and fourteen of cavalry, amounting to five thousand foot and twelve
hundred horse. They were nearly all Walloons, soldiers who had already
seen much active service, but unfortunately of a race warlike and fiery
indeed, but upon whose steadiness not much more dependence could be
placed at that day than in the age of Civilis. Champagny, brother of
Granvelle, was Governor of the city. He was a sincere Catholic, but a
still more sincere hater of the Spaniards. He saw in the mutiny a means
of accomplishing their expulsion, and had already offered to the Prince
of Orange his eager co-operation towards this result. In other matters
there could be but small sympathy between William the Silent and the
Cardinal's brother; but a common hatred united them, for a time at least,
in a common purpose.

When the troops first made their appearance before the walls, Champagny
was unwilling to grant them admittance. The addle-brained Oberstein had
confessed to him the enormous blunder which he had committed in his
midnight treaty, and at the same time ingenuously confessed his intention
of sending it to the winds. The enemy had extorted from his dulness or
his drunkenness a promise, which his mature and sober reason could not
consider binding. It is needless to say that Champagny rebuked him for
signing, and applauded him for breaking the treaty. At the same time its
ill effects were already seen in the dissensions which existed among the
German troops. Where all had been tampered with, and where the commanders
had set the example of infidelity, it would have been strange if all had
held firm. On the whole, however, Oberstein thought he could answer for
his own troops: Upon Van Ende's division, although the crafty colonel
dissembled his real intentions; very little reliance was placed. Thus
there was distraction within the walls. Among those whom the burghers had
been told to consider their defenders, there were probably many who were
ready to join with their mortal foes at a moment's warning. Under these
circumstances, Champagny hesitated about admitting these fresh troops
from Brussels. He feared lest the Germans, who knew themselves doubted,
might consider themselves doomed. He trembled, lest an irrepressible
outbreak should occur within the walls, rendering the immediate
destruction of the city by the Spaniards from without inevitable.
Moreover, he thought it more desirable that this auxiliary force should
be disposed at different points outside, in order to intercept the
passage of the numerous bodies of Spaniards and other mutineers, who from
various quarters would soon be on their way to the citadel. Havre,
however, was so peremptory, and the burghers were so importunate, that
Champagny was obliged to recede from his opposition before twenty-four
hours had elapsed. Unwilling to take the responsibility of a farther
refusal, he admitted the troops through the Burgherhout gate, on
Saturday, the 3rd of November, at ten o'clock in the morning.

The Marquis of Havre, as commander-in-chief, called a council of war. It
assembled at Count Oberstein's quarters, and consulted at first
concerning a bundle of intercepted letters which Havre had brought with
him. These constituted a correspondence between Sancho d'Avila with the
heads of the mutiny at Alost, and many other places. The letters were all
dated subsequently to Don Sancho's treaty with Oberstein, and contained
arrangements for an immediate concentration of the whole available
Spanish force at the citadel.

The treachery was so manifest, that Oberstein felt all self-reproach for
his own breach of faith to be superfluous. It was however evident that
the attack was to be immediately expected. What was to be done? All the
officers counselled the immediate erection of a bulwark on the side of
the city exposed to the castle, but there were no miners nor engineers.
Champagny, however, recommended a skilful and experienced engineer to
superintend; the work in the city; and pledged himself that burghers
enough would volunteer as miners. In less than an hour, ten or twelve
thousand persons, including multitudes of women of all ranks, were at
work upon the lines marked out by the engineer. A ditch and breast-work
extending from the gate of the Beguins to the street of the Abbey Saint
Michael, were soon in rapid progress. Meantime, the newly arrived troops,
with military insolence, claimed the privilege of quartering themselves
in the best houses which they could find. They already began to, insult
and annoy the citizens whom they had been sent to defend; nor were they
destined to atone, by their subsequent conduct in the face of the enemy,
for the brutality with which they treated their friends. Champagny,
however; was ill-disposed to brook their licentiousness. They had been
sent to protect the city and the homes of Antwerp from invasion. They
were not to establish themselves, at every fireside on their first
arrival. There was work enough for them out of doors, and they were to do
that work at once. He ordered them to prepare for a bivouac in, the
streets, and flew from house to house, sword in hand; driving forth the
intruders at imminent peril of his life. Meantime, a number of Italian
and Spanish merchants fled from the city, and took refuge in the castle.
The Walloon soldiers were for immediately plundering their houses, as if
plunder had been the object for which they had been sent to Antwerp. It
was several hours before Champagny, with all his energy, was able to
quell these disturbances.

In the course of the day, Oberstein received a letter from Don Sandra
d'Avila, calling solemnly upon him to fulfil his treaty of the 29th of
October. The German colonels from the citadel had, on the previous
afternoon, held a personal interview with Oberstein beneath the walls,
which had nearly ended in blows, and they had been obliged to save
themselves by flight from the anger of the Count's soldiers, enraged at
the deceit by which their leader had been so nearly entrapped. This
summons of ridiculous solemnity to keep a treaty which had already been
torn to shreds by both parties, Oberstein answered with defiance and
contempt. The reply was an immediate cannonade from the batteries of the
citadel; which made the position of those erecting the ramparts
excessively dangerous. The wall was strengthened with bales of
merchandise, casks of earth, upturned wagons, and similar bulky objects,
hastily piled together. In, some places it was sixteen feet high; in
others less than six. Night fell before the fortification was nearly
completed. Unfortunately it was bright moonlight. The cannon from the
fortress continued to play upon the half-finished works. The Walloons,
and at last the citizens, feared to lift their heads above their frail
rampart. The senators, whom Champagny had deputed to superintend the
progress of the enterprise, finding the men so indisposed, deserted their
posts. They promised themselves that, in the darkest hour of the
following night, the work should be thoroughly completed. Alas! all hours
of the coming night were destined to be dark enough, but in them was to
be done no manner of work for defence. On Champagny alone seemed devolved
an the labor and all the responsibility. He did his duty well, but he was
but one man. Alone, with a heart full of anxiety, he wandered up and down
all the night. With his own hands, assisted only by a few citizens and
his own servants, he planted all the cannon with which they were
provided, in the "Fencing Court," at a point where the battery might tell
upon the castle. Unfortunately, the troops from Brussels had brought no
artillery with them, and the means of defence against the strongest
fortress in Europe were meagre indeed. The rampart had been left very
weak at many vital points. A single upturned wagon was placed across the
entrance to the important street of the Beguins. This negligence was to
cost the city dear. At daybreak, there was a council held in Oberstein's
quarters. Nearly all Champagny's directions had been neglected. He had
desired that strong detachments should be posted during the night at
various places of Security on the outskirts of the town, for the troops
which were expected to arrive in small bodies at the citadel from various
parts, might have thus been cut off before reaching their destination.
Not even scouts had been stationed in sufficient numbers to obtain
information of what was occurring outside. A thick mist hung over the
city that eventful morning. Through its almost impenetrable veil, bodies
of men had been seen moving into the castle, and the tramp of cavalry had
been distinctly heard, and the troops of Romero, Vargas, Oliveira, and
Valdez had already arrived from Lier, Breda, Maestricht, and from the
forts on the Scheld.

The whole available force in the city was mustered without delay. Havre
had claimed for his post the defence of the lines opposite the citadel,
the place of responsibility and honor. Here the whole body of Walloons
were stationed, together with a few companies of Germans. The ramparts,
as stated, were far from impregnable, but it was hoped that this living
rampart of six thousand men, standing on their own soil, and in front of
the firesides and altars of their own countrymen; would prove a
sufficient bulwark even against Spanish fury. Unhappily, the living
barrier proved more frail than the feeble breastwork which the hands of
burghers and women had constructed. Six thousand men were disposed along
the side of the city opposite the fortress. The bulk of the German troops
was stationed at different points on the more central streets and
squares. The cavalry was posted on the opposite side of the city, along
the Horse-market, and fronting the "New-town." The stars were still in
the sky when Champagny got on horseback and rode through the streets,
calling on the burghers to arm and assemble at different points. The
principal places of rendezvous were the Cattlemarket and the Exchange. He
rode along the lines of the Walloon regiments, conversing with the
officers, Egmont, De Heze, and others, and encouraging the men, and went
again to the Fencing Court, where he pointed the cannon with his own
hand, and ordered their first discharge at the fortress. Thence he rode
to the end of the Beguin street, where he dismounted and walked out upon
the edge of the esplanade which stretched between the city and the
castle. On this battle-ground a combat was even then occurring between a
band of burghers and a reconnoitring party from the citadel. Champagny
saw with satisfaction that the Antwerpers were victorious. They were
skirmishing well with their disciplined foe, whom they at last beat back
to the citadel. His experienced eye saw, however, that the retreat was
only the signal for a general onslaught, which was soon to follow; and he
returned into the city to give the last directions.

At ten o'clock, a moving wood was descried, approaching the citadel from
the south-west. The whole body of the mutineers from Alost, wearing green
branches in their helmets--had arrived under command of their Eletto,
Navarrete. Nearly three thousand in number, they rushed into the castle,
having accomplished their march of twenty-four miles since three o'clock
in the morning. They were received with open arms. Sancho d'Avila ordered
food and refreshments to be laid before them, but they refused everything
but a draught of wine. They would dine in Paradise, they said, or sup in
Antwerp. Finding his allies in such spirit, Don Sancho would not balk
their humor. Since early morning, his own veterans had been eagerly
awaiting his signal, "straining upon the start." The troops of Romero,
Vargas, Valdez, were no less impatient. At about an hour before noon,
nearly every living man in the citadel was mustered for the attack,
hardly men enough being left behind to guard the gates. Five thousand
veteran foot soldiers, besides six hundred cavalry, armed to the teeth,
sallied from the portals of Alva's citadel. In the counterscarp they fell
upon their knees, to invoke, according to custom, the blessing of God
upon the Devil's work, which they were about to commit. The Bletto bore a
standard, one side of which was emblazoned with the crucified Saviour,
and the other with the Virgin Mary. The image of Him who said, "Love-your
enemies," and the gentle face of the Madonna, were to smile from heaven
upon deeds which might cause a shudder in the depths of hell. Their brief
orisons concluded, they swept forward to the city. Three thousand
Spaniards, under their Eletto, were to enter by the street of Saint
Michael; the Germans, and the remainder of the Spanish foot, commanded by
Romero, through that of Saint George. Champagny saw them coming, and
spoke a last word of encouragement to the Walloons. The next moment the
compact mass struck the barrier, as the thunderbolt descends from the
cloud. There was scarcely a struggle. The Walloons, not waiting to look
their enemy in the face, abandoned the posts which whey had themselves
claimed. The Spaniards crashed through the bulwark, as though it had been
a wall of glass. The Eletto was first to mount the rampart; the next
instant he was shot dead, while his followers, undismayed, sprang over
his body, and poured into the streets. The fatal gap, due to timidity and
carelessness, let in the destructive tide. Champagny, seeing that the
enemies had all crossed the barrier; leaped over a garden wall, passed
through a house into a narrow lane, and thence to the nearest station of
the German troops. Hastily collecting a small force, he led them in
person to the rescue. The Germans fought well, died well, but they could
not reanimate the courage of the Walloons, and all were now in full
retreat, pursued by the ferocious Spaniards. In vain Champagny stormed
among them; in vain he strove to rally their broken ranks. With his own
hand he seized a banner from a retreating ensign, and called upon the
nearest soldiers to make's stand against the foe. It was to bid the
flying clouds pause before the tempest. Torn, broken, aimless, the
scattered troops whirled through the streets before the pursuing wrath.
Champagny, not yet despairing, galloped hither and thither, calling upon
the burghers everywhere to rise in defence of their homes, nor did he
call in vain. They came forth from every place of rendezvous, from every
alley, from every house. They fought as men fight to defend their hearths
and altars, but what could individual devotion avail, against the
compact, disciplined, resistless mass of their foes? The order of defence
was broken, there was no system, no concert, no rallying point, no
authority. So soon as it was known that the Spaniards had crossed the
rampart, that its six thousand defenders were in full retreat, it was
inevitable that a panic should seize the city.

Their entrance once effected, the Spanish force had separated; according
to previous arrangement, into two divisions, one half charging up the
long street of Saint Michael, the other forcing its way through the
Street of Saint Joris. "Santiago, Santiago! Espana, Espana! a sangre, a
carne, a fuego, a Sacco!" Saint James, Spain, blood, flesh, fire,
sack!!--such were the hideous cries which rang through every quarter of
the city, as the savage horde advanced. Van Ende, with his German troops,
had been stationed by the Marquis of Havre to defend the Saint Joris
gate, but no sooner, did the Spaniards under Vargas present themselves,
than he deserted to them instantly with his whole force. United with the
Spanish cavalry, these traitorous defenders of Antwerp dashed in pursuit
of those who had only been fainthearted. Thus the burghers saw themselves
attacked by many of their friends, deserted by more. Whom were they to
trust? Nevertheless, Oberstein's Germans were brave and faithful,
resisting to the last, and dying every man in his harness. The tide of
battle flowed hither and thither, through every street and narrow lane.
It poured along the magnificent Place de Meer, where there was an
obstinate contest. In front of the famous Exchange, where in peaceful
hours, five thousand merchants met daily, to arrange the commercial
affairs of Christendom, there was a determined rally, a savage slaughter.
The citizens and faithful Germans, in this broader space, made a stand
against their pursuers. The tesselated marble pavement, the graceful,
cloister-like arcades ran red with blood. The ill-armed burghers faced
their enemies clad in complete panoply, but they could only die for their
homes. The massacre at this point was enormous, the resistance at last
overcome.

Meantime, the Spanish cavalry had cleft its way through the city. On the
side farthest removed from the castle; along the Horse-market, opposite
the New-town, the states dragoons and the light horse of Beveren had been
posted, and the flying masses of pursuers and pursued swept at last
through this outer circle. Champagny was already there. He essayed, as
his last hope, to rally the cavalry for a final stand, but the effort was
fruitless. Already seized by the panic, they had attempted to rush from
the city through the gate of Eeker. It was locked; they then turned and
fled towards the Red-gate, where they were met face to face by Don Pedro
Tassis, who charged upon them with his dragoons. Retreat seemed hopeless.
A horseman in complete armor, with lance in rest, was seen to leap from
the parapet of the outer wall into the moat below, whence, still on
horseback, he escaped with life. Few were so fortunate. The confused mob
of fugitives and conquerors, Spaniards, Walloons, Germans, burghers,
struggling, shouting, striking, cursing, dying, swayed hither and thither
like a stormy sea. Along the spacious Horse-market, the fugitives fled
toward towards the quays. Many fell beneath the swords of the Spaniards,
numbers were trodden to death by the hoofs of horses, still greater
multitudes were hunted into the Scheld. Champagny, who had thought it
possible, even at the last moment, to make a stand in the Newtown, and to
fortify the Palace of the Hansa, saw himself deserted. With great daring
and presence of mind, he effected his escape to the fleet of the Prince
of Orange in the river. The Marquis of Havre, of whom no deeds of valor
on that eventful day have been recorded, was equally successful. The
unlucky Oberstein, attempting to leap into a boat, missed his footing,
and oppressed by the weight of his armor, was drowned.

Meantime, while the short November day was fast declining, the combat
still raged in the interior of the city. Various currents of conflict,
forcing their separate way through many streets, had at last mingled in
the Grande Place. Around this irregular, not very spacious square, stood
the gorgeous Hotel de Ville, and the tall, many storied, fantastically
gabled, richly decorated palaces of the guilds, Here a long struggle took
place. It was terminated for a time by the cavalry of Vargas, who,
arriving through the streets of Saint Joris, accompanied by the traitor
Van Ende, charged decisively into the melee. The masses were broken, but
multitudes of armed men found refuge in the buildings, and every house
became a fortress. From, every window and balcony a hot fire was poured
into the square, as, pent in a corner, the burghers stood at last at bay.
It was difficult to carry the houses by storm, but they were soon set on
fire. A large number of sutlers and other varlets had accompanied the
Spaniards from the citadel, bringing torches and kindling materials for
the express purpose of firing the town. With great dexterity, these means
were now applied, and in a brief interval, the City-hall, and other
edifices on the square were in flames. The conflagration spread with
rapidity, house after house, street after street, taking fire. Nearly a
thousand buildings, in the most splendid and wealthy quarter of the city,
were soon in a blaze, and multitudes of human beings were burned with
them. In the City-hall many were consumed, while others, leaped from the
windows to renew the combat below. The many tortuous, streets which led
down a slight descent from the rear of the Town house to the quays were
all one vast conflagration. On the other side, the magnificent cathedral,
separated from the Grande Place by a single row of buildings, was lighted
up, but not attacked by the flames. The tall spire cast its gigantic
shadow across the last desperate conflict. In the street called the Canal
au Sucre, immediately behind the Town-house, there was a fierce struggle,
a horrible massacre. A crowd of burghers; grave magistrates, and such of
the German soldiers as remained alive, still confronted the ferocious
Spaniards. There amid the flaming desolation, Goswyn Verreyck, the heroic
margrave of the city, fought with the energy of hatred and despair. The
burgomaster, Van der Meere, lay dead at his feet; senators, soldiers,
citizens, fell fast around him, and he sank at last upon a heap of slain.
With him effectual resistance ended. The remaining combatants were
butchered, or were slowly forced downward to perish in the Scheld. Women,
children, old men, were killed in countless numbers, and still, through
all this havoc, directly over the heads of the struggling throng,
suspended in mid-air above the din and smoke of the conflict, there
sounded, every half-quarter of every hour, as if in gentle mockery, from
the belfry of the cathedral, the tender and melodious chimes.

Never was there a more monstrous massacre, even in the blood-stained
history of the Netherlands. It was estimated that, in the course of this
and the two following days, not less than eight thousand human beings
were murdered. The Spaniards seemed to cast off even the vizard of
humanity. Hell seemed emptied of its fiends. Night fell upon the scene
before the soldiers were masters of the city; but worse horrors began
after the contest was ended. This army of brigands had come thither with
a definite, practical purpose, for it was not blood-thirst, nor lust, nor
revenge, which had impelled them, but it was avarice, greediness for
gold. For gold they had waded through all this blood and fire. Never had
men more simplicity of purpose, more directness in its execution. They
had conquered their India at last; its golden mines lay all before them,
and every sword should open a shaft. Riot and rape might be deferred;
even murder, though congenial to their taste, was only subsidiary to
their business. They had come to take possession of the city's wealth,
and they set themselves faithfully to accomplish their task. For gold,
infants were dashed out of existence in their mothers' arms; for gold,
parents were tortured in their children's presence; for gold, brides were
scourged to death before their husbands' eyes. Wherever, treasure was
suspected, every expedient which ingenuity; sharpened by greediness,
could suggest, was employed to-extort it from its possessors. The fire,
spreading more extensively and more rapidly than had been desired through
the wealthiest quarter of the city, had unfortunately devoured a vast
amount of property. Six millions, at least, had thus been swallowed; a
destruction by which no one had profited. There was, however, much left.
The strong boxes of the merchants, the gold, silver, and precious
jewelry, the velvets, satins, brocades, laces, and similar well
concentrated and portable plunder, were rapidly appropriated. So far the
course was plain and easy, but in private houses it was more difficult.
The cash, plate, and other valuables of individuals were not so easily
discovered. Torture was, therefore; at once employed to discover the
hidden treasures. After all had been, given, if the sum seemed too
little, the proprietors were brutally punished for their poverty or their
supposed dissimulation. A gentlewoman, named Fabry, with her aged mother
and other females of the family, had taken refuge in the cellar of her
mansion. As the day was drawing to a close, a band of plunderers entered,
who, after ransacking the house, descended to the cellarage. Finding the
door barred, they forced it open with gunpowder. The mother, who was
nearest the entrance, fell dead on the threshold. Stepping across her
mangled body, the brigands sprang upon her daughter, loudly demanding the
property which they believed to be concealed. They likewise insisted on
being informed where the master of the house had taken refuge.
Protestations of ignorance as to hidden treasure, or the whereabouts of
her husband, who, for aught she knew, was lying dead in the streets, were
of no avail. To make her more communicative, they hanged her on a beam in
the cellar, and after a few moments cut her down before life was extinct.
Still receiving no satisfactory reply, where a satisfactory reply was
impossible, they hanged her again. Again, after another brief interval
they gave her a second release, and a fresh interrogatory. This barbarity
they repeated several times, till they were satisfied that there was
nothing to be gained by it, while, on, the other hand, they were losing
much valuable time. Hoping to be more successful elsewhere, they left her
hanging for the last time, and trooped off to fresher fields. Strange to
relate, the person thus horribly tortured, survived. A servant in her
family, married to a Spanish soldier, providentially entered the house in
time to rescue her perishing mistress. She was restored to existence, but
never to reason. Her brain was hopelessly crazed, and she passed the
remainder of her life wandering about her house, or feebly digging in her
garden for the buried treasure which she had been thus fiercely solicited
to reveal.

A wedding-feast was rudely interrupted. Two young persons, neighbours of
opulent families, had been long betrothed, and the marriage day had been
fixed for Sunday, the fatal 4th of November. The guests were assembled,
the ceremony concluded, the nuptial banquet in progress, when the
horrible outcries in the streets proclaimed that the Spaniards had broken
loose. Hour after hour of trembling expectation succeeded. At last, a
thundering at the gate proclaimed the arrival of a band of brigands.
Preceded by their captain, a large number of soldiers forced their way
into the house, ransacking every chamber, no opposition being offered by
the family and friends, too few and powerless to cope with this band of
well-armed ruffians. Plate chests, wardrobes, desks, caskets of jewelry,
were freely offered, eagerly accepted, but not found sufficient, and to
make the luckless wretches furnish more than they possessed, the usual
brutalities were employed. The soldiers began by striking the bridegroom
dead. The bride fell shrieking into her mother's arms, whence she was
torn by the murderers, who immediately put the mother to death, and an
indiscriminate massacre then followed the fruitless attempt to obtain by
threats and torture treasure which did not exist. The bride, who was of
remarkable beauty, was carried off to the citadel. Maddened by this last
outrage, the father, who was the only man of the party left alive, rushed
upon the Spaniards. Wresting a sword from one of the crew, the old man
dealt with it so fiercely, that he stretched more than one enemy dead at
his feet, but it is needless to add that he was soon despatched.
Meantime, while the party were concluding the plunder of the mansion, the
bride was left in a lonely apartment of the fortress. Without wasting
time in fruitless lamentation, she resolved to quit the life which a few
hours had made so desolate. She had almost succeeded in hanging herself
with a massive gold chain which she wore, when her captor entered the
apartment. Inflamed, not with lust, but with avarice, excited not by her
charms, but by her jewelry; he rescued her from her perilous position. He
then took possession of her chain and the other trinkets with which her
wedding-dress was adorned, and caused her; to be entirely stripped of her
clothing. She was then scourged with rods till her beautiful body was
bathed in blood, and at last alone, naked, nearly mad, was sent back into
the city. Here the forlorn creature wandered up and down through the
blazing streets, among the heaps of dead and dying, till she was at last
put out of her misery by a gang of soldiers.

Such are a few isolated instances, accidentally preserved in their
details, of the general horrors inflicted on this occasion. Others
innumerable have sunk into oblivion. On the morning of the 5th of
November, Antwerp presented a ghastly sight. The magnificent marble
Town-house, celebrated as a "world's wonder," even in that age and
country, in which so much splendour was lavished on municipal palaces,
stood a blackened ruin--all but the walls destroyed, while its archives,
accounts, and other valuable contents, had perished. The more splendid
portion of the city had been consumed; at least five hundred palaces,
mostly of marble or hammered stone, being a smouldering mass of
destruction. The dead bodies of those fallen in the massacre were on
every side, in greatest profusion around the Place de Meer, among the
Gothic pillars of the Exchange, and in the streets near the Town-house.
The German soldiers lay in their armor, some with their heads burned from
their bodies, some with legs and arms consumed by the flames through
which they had fought. The Margrave Goswyn Verreyck, the burgomaster Van
der Meere, the magistrates Lancelot Van Urselen, Nicholas Van Boekholt,
and other leading citizens, lay among piles of less distinguished slain.
They remained unburied until the overseers of the poor, on whom the
living had then more importunate claims than the dead, were compelled by
Roda to bury them out of the pauper fund. The murderers were too thrifty
to be at funeral charges for their victims. The ceremony was not hastily
performed, for the number of corpses had not been completed. Two days
longer the havoc lasted in the city. Of all the crimes which men can
commit, whether from deliberate calculation or in the frenzy of passion,
hardly one was omitted, for riot, gaming, rape, which had been postponed
to the more stringent claims of robbery and murder, were now rapidly
added to the sum of atrocities. History has recorded the account
indelibly on her brazen tablets; it can be adjusted only at the
judgment-seat above.

Of all the deeds of darkness yet compassed in the Netherlands, this was
the worst. It was called The Spanish Fury, by which dread name it has
been known for ages. The city, which had been a world of wealth and
splendor, was changed to a charnel-house, and from that hour its
commercial prosperity was blasted. Other causes had silently girdled the
yet green and flourishing tree, but the Spanish Fury was the fire which
consumed it to ashes. Three thousand dead bodies were discovered in the
streets, as many more were estimated to have perished in the Scheld, and
nearly an equal number were burned or destroyed in other ways. Eight
thousand persons undoubtedly were put to death. Six millions of property
were destroyed by the fire, and at least as much more was obtained by the
Spaniards. In this enormous robbery no class of people was respected.
Foreign merchants, living under the express sanction and protection of
the Spanish monarch, were plundered with as little reserve as Flemings.
Ecclesiastics of the Roman Church were compelled to disgorge their wealth
as freely as Calvinists. The rich were made to contribute all their
abundance, and the poor what could be wrung from their poverty. Neither
paupers nor criminals were safe. Captain Caspar Ortis made a brilliant
speculation by taking possession of the Stein, or city prison, whence he
ransomed all the inmates who could find means to pay for their liberty.
Robbers, murderers, even Anabaptists, were thus again let loose. Rarely
has so small a band obtained in three days' robbery so large an amount of
wealth. Four or five millions divided among five thousand soldiers made
up for long arrearages, and the Spaniards had reason to congratulate
themselves upon having thus taken the duty of payment into their own
hands. It is true that the wages of iniquity were somewhat unequally
distributed, somewhat foolishly squandered. A private trooper was known
to lose ten thousand crowns in one day in a gambling transaction at the
Bourse, for the soldiers, being thus handsomely in funds, became desirous
of aping the despised and plundered merchants, and resorted daily to the
Exchange, like men accustomed to affairs. The dearly purchased gold was
thus lightly squandered by many, while others, more prudent, melted their
portion into sword-hilts, into scabbards, even into whole suits of armor,
darkened, by precaution, to appear made entirely of iron. The brocades,
laces, and jewelry of Antwerp merchants were converted into coats of mail
for their destroyers. The goldsmiths, however, thus obtained an
opportunity to outwit their plunderers, and mingled in the golden armor
which they were forced to furnish much more alloy than their employers
knew. A portion of the captured booty was thus surreptitiously redeemed.

In this Spanish Fury many more were massacred in Antwerp than in the
Saint Bartholomew at Paris. Almost as many living human beings were
dashed out of existence now as there had been statues destroyed in the
memorable image-breaking of Antwerp, ten years before, an event which had
sent such a thrill of horror through the heart of Catholic Christendom.
Yet the Netherlanders and the Protestants of Europe may be forgiven, if
they regarded this massacre of their brethren with as much execration as
had been bestowed upon that fury against stocks and stones. At least, the
image-breakers, had been actuated by an idea, and their hands were
polluted neither with blood nor rapine. Perhaps the Spaniards had been.
governed equally by religious fanaticism.--Might not they believe they
were meriting well of their Mother Church while they were thus
disencumbering infidels of their wealth and earth of its infidels? Had
not the Pope and his cardinals gone to church in solemn procession, to
render thanks unto God for the massacre of Paris? Had not cannon
thundered and beacons blazed to commemorate that auspicious event? Why
should not the Antwerp executioners claim equal commendation? Even if in
their delirium they had confounded friend with foe, Catholic with
Calvinist, and church property with lay, could they not point to an equal
number of dead bodies, and to an incredibly superior amount of plunder?

Marvellously few Spaniards were slain in these eventful days. Two hundred
killed is the largest number stated. The discrepancy seems monstrous, but
it is hardly more than often existed between the losses inflicted and
sustained by the Spaniards in such combats. Their prowess was equal to
their ferocity, and this was enough to make them seem endowed with
preterhuman powers. When it is remembered, also, that the burghers were
insufficiently armed, that many of their defenders turned against them,
that many thousands fled in the first moments of the encounter--and when
the effect of a sudden and awful panic is duly considered, the
discrepancy between the number of killed on the two sides will not seem
so astonishing.

A few officers of distinction were taken, alive and carried to the
castle. Among these were the Seigneur de Capres and young Count Egmont.
The councillor Jerome de Roda was lounging on a chair in an open gallery
when these two gentlemen were brought before him, and Capres was base
enough to make a low obeisance to the man who claimed to represent the
whole government of his Majesty. The worthy successor of Vargas replied
to his captive's greeting by a "kick in his stomach," adding, with a
brutality which his prototype might have envied, "Ah puto
tradidor,--whoreson traitor, let me have no salutations from such as
you." Young Egmont, who had been captured, fighting bravely at the head
of coward troops, by Julian Romero, who nine years before had stood on
his father's scaffold, regarded this brutal scene with haughty
indignation. This behaviour had more effect upon Roda than the suppleness
of Capres. "I am sorry for your misfortune, Count," said the councillor,
without however rising from his chair; "such is the lot of those who take
arms against their King." This was the unfortunate commencement of Philip
Egmont's career, which was destined to be inglorious, vacillating, base,
and on more than one occasion unlucky.

A shiver ran through the country as the news of the horrible crime was
spread, but it was a shiver of indignation, not of fear. Already the
negotiations at Ghent between the representatives of the Prince and of
Holland and Zealand with the deputies of the other provinces were in a
favorable train, and the effect of this event upon their counsels was
rather quickening than appalling. A letter from Jerome de Roda to the
King was intercepted, giving an account of the transaction. In that
document the senator gave the warmest praise to Sancho d'Avila, Julian
Romero, Alonzo de Vargas, Francis Verdugo, as well as to the German
colonels Fugger, Frondsberger, Polwiller, and others who had most exerted
themselves in the massacre. "I wish your Majesty much good of this
victory," concluded the councillor, "'tis a very great one, and the
damage to the city is enormous." This cynical view was not calculated to
produce a soothing effect on the exasperated minds of the people. On the
other hand, the estates of Brabant addressed an eloquent appeal to the
states-general, reciting their wrongs, and urging immediate action. "'Tis
notorious," said the remonstrants, "that Antwerp was but yesterday the
first and principal ornament of all Europe; the refuge of all the nations
of the world; the source and supply of countless treasure; the nurse of
all arts and industry; the protectress of the Roman Catholic religion;
the guardian of science and virtue; and, above all these preeminences;
more than faithful and obedient to her sovereign prince and lord. The
city is now changed to a gloomy cavern, filled with robbers and
murderers, enemies of God, the King, and all good subjects." They then
proceeded to recite the story of the massacre, whereof the memory shall
be abominable so long as the world stands, and concluded with an urgent
appeal for redress. They particularly suggested that an edict should
forthwith be passed, forbidding the alienation of property and the
exportation of goods in any form from Antwerp, together with concession
of the right to the proprietors of reclaiming their stolen property
summarily, whenever and wheresoever it might be found. In accordance with
these instructions, an edict was passed, but somewhat tardily, in the
hope of relieving some few of the evil consequences by which the Antwerp
Fury had been attended.

At about the same time the Prince of Orange addressed a remarkable letter
to the states-general then assembled at Ghent, urging them to hasten the
conclusion of the treaty. The news of the massacre, which furnished an
additional and most vivid illustration of the truth of his letter, had
not then reached him at Middelburg, but the earnestness of his views,
taken in connexion with this last dark deed, exerted a powerful and
indelible effect. The letter was a masterpiece, because it was necessary,
in his position, to inflame without alarming; to stimulate the feelings
which were in unison, without shocking those which, if aroused, might
prove discordant. Without; therefore, alluding in terms to the religious
question, he dwelt upon the necessity of union, firmness, and wariness.
If so much had been done by Holland and Zealand, how much more might be
hoped when all the provinces were united? "The principal flower of the
Spanish army has fallen," he said, "without having been able to conquer
one of those provinces from those whom they call, in mockery, poor
beggars; yet what is that handful of cities compared to all the provinces
which might join us in the quarrel?" He warned the states of the
necessity of showing a strong and united front; the King having been ever
led to consider the movement in the Netherlands a mere conspiracy of
individuals. "The King told me himself; in 1559," said Orange, "that if
the estates had no pillars to lean upon, they would not talk so loud." It
was, therefore, "necessary to show that prelates, abbots, monks,
seigniors, gentlemen, burghers, and peasants, the whole people in short,
now cried with one voice, and desired with one will. To such a
demonstration the King would not dare oppose himself. By thus preserving
a firm and united front, sinking all minor differences, they would,
moreover, inspire their friends and foreign princes with confidence. The
princes of Germany, the lords and gentlemen of France, the Queen of
England, although sympathizing with the misfortunes of the Netherlanders,
had been unable effectually to help them, so long as their disunion
prevented them from helping themselves; so long as even their appeal to
arms seemed merely a levy of bucklers, an emotion of the populace, which,
like a wave of the sea, rises and sinks again as soon as risen."

While thus exciting to union and firmness, he also took great pains to
instil the necessity of wariness. They were dealing with an artful foe.
Intercepted letters had already proved that the old dissimulation was
still to be employed; that while Don John of Austria was on his way, the
Netherlanders were to be lulled into confidence by glozing speeches. Roda
was provided by the King with a secret programme of instructions for the
new Governor's guidance and Don Sancho d'Avila, for his countenance to
the mutineers of Alost, had been applauded to the echo in Spain. Was not
this applause a frequent indication of the policy to be adopted by Don
John, and a thousand times more significative one than the unmeaning
phrases of barren benignity with which public documents might be crammed?
"The old tricks are again brought into service," said the Prince;
"therefore 'tis necessary to ascertain your veritable friends, to tear
off the painted masks from those who, under pretence-of not daring to
displease the King, are seeking to swim between two waters. 'Tis
necessary to have a touchstone; to sign a declaration in such wise that
you may know whom to trust, and whom to suspect."

The massacre at Antwerp and the eloquence of the Prince produced a most
quickening effect upon the Congress at Ghent. Their deliberations had
proceeded with decorum and earnestness, in the midst of the cannonading
against the citadel, and the fortress fell on the same day which saw the
conclusion of the treaty.

This important instrument, by which the sacrifices and exertions of the
Prince were, for a brief season, at least, rewarded, contained
twenty-five articles. The Prince of Orange, with the estates of Holland
and Zealand, on the one side, and the provinces signing, or thereafter to
sign the treaty, on the other, agreed that there should be a mutual
forgiving and forgetting, as regarded the past. They vowed a close and
faithful friendship for the future. They plighted a mutual promise to
expel the Spaniards from the Netherlands without delay. As soon as this
great deed should be done, there was to be a convocation of the
states-general, on the basis of that assembly before which the abdication
of the Emperor had taken place. By this congress, the affairs of religion
in Holland and Zealand should be regulated, as well as the surrender of
fortresses and other places belonging to his Majesty. There was to be
full liberty of communication and traffic between the citizens of the one
side and the other. It should not be legal, however, for those of Holland
and Zealand to attempt anything outside their own territory against the
Roman Catholic religion, nor for cause hereof to injure or irritate any
one, by deed or word. All the placards and edicts on the subject of
heresy, together with the criminal ordinances made by the Duke of Alva,
were suspended, until the states-general should otherwise ordain. The
Prince was to remain lieutenant, admiral, and general for his Majesty in
Holland, Zealand, and the associated places, till otherwise provided by
the states-general; after the departure of the Spaniards. The cities and
places included in the Prince's commission, but not yet acknowledging his
authority, should receive satisfaction from him, as to the point of
religion and other matters, before subscribing to the union. All
prisoners, and particularly the Comte de Bossu, should be released
without ransom. All estates and other property not already alienated
should be restored, all confiscations since 1566 being declared null and
void. The Countess Palatine, widow of Brederode, and Count de Buren, son
of the Prince of Orange, were expressly named in this provision. Prelates
and ecclesiastical persons; having property in Holland and Zealand,
should be reinstated, if possible; but in case of alienation, which was
likely to be generally the case; there should be reasonable compensation.
It was to be decided by the states-general whether the provinces should
discharge the debts incurred by the Prince of Orange in his two
campaigns. Provinces and cities should not have the benefit of this union
until they had signed the treaty, but they should be permitted to sign it
when they chose.

This memorable document was subscribed at Ghent, on the 8th of November,
by Saint Aldegonde, with eight other commissioners appointed by the
Prince of Orange and the estates of Holland on the one side, and by
Elbertus Leoninus and other deputies appointed by Brabant, Flanders,
Artois, Hainault, Valenciennes, Lille, Douay, Orchies, Namur, Tournay,
Utrecht, and Mechlin on the other side.

The arrangement was a masterpiece of diplomacy on the part of the Prince,
for it was as effectual a provision for the safety of the Reformed
religion as could be expected under the circumstances. It was much,
considering the change which had been wrought of late years in the
fifteen provinces, that they should consent to any treaty with their two
heretic sisters. It was much more that the Pacification should recognize
the new religion as the established creed of Holland and Zealand, while
at the same time the infamous edicts of Charles were formally abolished.
In the fifteen Catholic provinces, there was to be no prohibition of
private Reformed worship, and it might be naturally expected that with
time and the arrival of the banished religionists, a firmer stand would
be taken in favor of the Reformation. Meantime, the new religion was
formally established in two provinces, and tolerated, in secret, in the
other fifteen; the Inquisition was for ever abolished, and the whole
strength of the nation enlisted to expel the foreign soldiery from the
soil. This was the work of William the Silent, and the great Prince thus
saw the labor of years crowned with, at least, a momentary success. His
satisfaction was very great when it was announced to him, many days
before the exchange of the signatures, that the treaty had been
concluded. He was desirous that the Pacification should be referred for
approval, not to the municipal magistrates only, but to the people
itself. In all great emergencies, the man who, in his whole character,
least resembled a demagogue, either of antiquity or of modern times, was
eager for a fresh expression of the popular will. On this occasion,
however, the demand for approbation was superfluous. The whole country
thought with his thoughts, and spoke with his words, and the
Pacification, as soon as published, was received with a shout of joy.
Proclaimed in the marketplace of every city and village, it was ratified,
not by votes, but by hymns of thanksgiving, by triumphal music, by
thundering of cannon, and by the blaze of beacons, throughout the
Netherlands. Another event added to the satisfaction of the hour. The
country so recently, and by deeds of such remarkable audacity, conquered
by the Spaniards in the north, was recovered almost simultaneously with
the conclusion of the Ghent treaty. It was a natural consequence of the
great mutiny. The troops having entirely deserted Mondragon, it became
necessary for that officer to abandon Zierickzee, the city which had been
won with so much valor. In the beginning of November, the capital, and
with it the whole island of Schouwen, together with the rest of Zealand,
excepting Tholen, was recovered by Count Hohenlo, lieutenant-general of
the Prince of Orange, and acting according to his instructions.

Thus, on this particular point of time, many great events had been
crowded. At the very same moment Zealand had been redeemed, Antwerp
ruined, and the league of all the Netherlands against the Spaniards
concluded. It now became known that another and most important event had
occurred at the same instant. On the day before the Antwerp massacre,
four days before the publication of the Ghent treaty, a foreign cavalier,
attended by a Moorish slave and by six men-at-arms, rode into the streets
of Luxemburg. The cavalier was Don Ottavio Gonzaga, brother of the Prince
of Melfi. The Moorish slave was Don John of Austria, the son of the
Emperor, the conqueror of Granada, the hero of Lepanto. The new
Governor-general had traversed Spain and France in disguise with great
celerity, and in the romantic manner which belonged to his character. He
stood at last on the threshold of the Netherlands, but with all his speed
he had arrived a few days too late.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A common hatred united them, for a time at least
     A most fatal success
     All claimed the privilege of persecuting
     Blessing of God upon the Devil's work
     Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
     Eight thousand human beings were murdered
     Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
     Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
     Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
     He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
     He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
     In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
     Indecision did the work of indolence
     Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
     King set a price upon his head as a rebel
     No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
     Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
     Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
     Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
     They could not invent or imagine toleration
     Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 26

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




PART V.

DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.
1576-1577  [CHAPTER I.]

   Birth and parentage of Don John--Barbara Blomberg--Early education
   and recognition by Philip--Brilliant military career--Campaign
   against the Moors--Battle of Lepanto--Extravagant ambition--Secret
   and rapid journey of the new Governor to the Netherlands--Contrast
   between Don John and William of Orange--Secret instructions of
   Philip and private purposes of the Governor--Cautious policy and
   correspondence of the Prince--Preliminary, negotiations with Don
   John at Luxemburg characterized--Union of Brussels--Resumption of
   negotiations with the Governor at Huy--The discussions analyzed and
   characterized--Influence of the new Emperor Rudolph II. and of his
   envoys--Treaty of Marche en Famine, or the Perpetual Edict, signed--
   Remarks upon that transaction--Views and efforts of Orange in
   opposition to the treaty--His letter, in name of Holland and
   Zealand, to the States-General--Anxiety of the royal government to
   gain over the Prince--Secret mission of Leoninus--His instructions
   from Don John--Fruitless attempts to corrupt the Prince--Secret
   correspondence between Don John and Orange--Don John at Louvain--His
   efforts to ingratiate himself with the Netherlanders--His incipient
   popularity--Departure of the Spanish troops--Duke of Aerschot
   appointed Governor of Antwerp citadel--His insincere character.

Don John of Austria was now in his thirty-second year, having been born
in Ratisbon on the 24th of February, 1545. His father was Charles the
Fifth, Emperor of Germany, King of Spain, Dominator of Asia, Africa, and
America; his mother was Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon.
Introduced to the Emperor, originally, that she might alleviate his
melancholy by her singing, she soon exhausted all that was harmonious in
her nature, for never was a more uncomfortable, unmanageable personage
than Barbara in her after life. Married to one Pyramus Kegell, who was
made a military commissary in the Netherlands, she was left a widow in
the beginning of Alva's administration. Placed under the especial
superintendence of the Duke, she became the torment of that warrior's
life. The terrible Governor, who could almost crush the heart out of a
nation of three millions, was unable to curb this single termagant.
Philip had expressly forbidden her to marry again, but Alva informed him
that she was surrounded by suitors. Philip had insisted that she should
go into a convent, but Alva, who, with great difficulty, had established
her quietly in Ghent, assured his master that she would break loose again
at the bare suggestion of a convent. Philip wished her to go to Spain,
sending her word that Don John was mortified by the life his mother was
leading, but she informed the Governor that she would be cut to pieces
before she would go to Spain. She had no objection to see her son, but
she knew too well how women were treated in that country. The Duke
complained most pathetically to his Majesty of the life they all led with
the ex-mistress of the Emperor. Never, he frequently observed, had woman
so terrible a head. She was obstinate, reckless, abominably extravagant.
She had been provided in Ghent with a handsome establishment: "with a
duenna, six other women, a major domo, two pages, one chaplain, an
almoner, and four men-servants," and this seemed a sufficiently liberal
scheme of life for the widow of a commissary. Moreover, a very ample
allowance had been made for the education of her only legitimate son,
Conrad, the other having perished by an accident on the day of his
father's death. While Don John of Austria was, gathering laurels in
Granada, his half-brother, Pyramus junior, had been ingloriously drowned
in a cistern at Ghent.

Barbara's expenses were exorbitant; her way of life scandalous. To send
her money, said Alva, was to throw it into the sea. In two days she would
have spent in dissipation and feasting any sums which the King might
choose to supply. The Duke, who feared nothing else in the world, stood
in mortal awe of the widow Kegell. "A terrible animal, indeed, is an
unbridled woman," wrote secretary Gayas, from Madrid, at the close of
Alva's administration for, notwithstanding every effort to entice, to
intimidate, and to kidnap her from the Netherlands, there she remained,
through all vicissitudes, even till the arrival of Don John. By his
persuasions or commands she was, at last, induced to accept an exile for
the remainder of her days, in Spain, but revenged herself by asserting.
that he was quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child; a
point, certainly, upon which her, authority might be thought conclusive.
Thus there was a double mystery about Don John. He might be the issue of
august parentage on one side; he was; possibly, sprung of most ignoble
blood. Base-born at best, he was not sure whether to look for the author
of his being in the halls of the Caesara or the booths of Ratisbon
mechanics.

   [Cabrera, xii. 1009. An absurd rumor had existed that Barbara
   Blomberg had only been employed to personate Don John's mother. She
   died at an estate called Arronjo de Molinos, four leagues from
   Madrid, some years after the death of Don John.]

Whatever might be the heart of the mystery, it is certain that it was
allowed to enwrap all the early life of Don John. The Emperor, who
certainly never doubted his responsibility for the infant's existence,
had him conveyed instantly to Spain, where he was delivered to Louis
Quixada, of the Imperial household, by whom he was brought up in great
retirement at Villa-garcia. Magdalen Ulloa, wife of Quixada, watched over
his infancy with maternal and magnanimous care, for her husband's extreme
solicitude for the infant's welfare had convinced her that he was its
father. On one occasion, when their house was in flames, Quixada rescued
the infant before he saved his wife, "although Magdalen knew herself to
be dearer to him than the apple of his eye." From that time forth she
altered her opinion, and believed the mysterious child to be of lofty
origin. The boy grew up full of beauty, grace, and agility, the leader of
all his companions in every hardy sport. Through the country round there
were none who could throw the javelin, break a lance, or ride at the ring
like little Juan Quixada. In taming unmanageable horses he was celebrated
for his audacity and skill. These accomplishments, however, were likely
to prove of but slender advantage in the ecclesiastical profession, to
which he had been destined by his Imperial father. The death of Charles
occurred before clerical studies had been commenced, and Philip, to whom
the secret had been confided at the close of the Emperor's life,
prolonged the delay thus interposed. Juan had already reached his
fourteenth year, when one day his supposed father Quixada invited him to
ride towards Valladolid to see the royal hunt. Two horses stood at the
door--a splendidly caparisoned charger and a common hackney. The boy
naturally mounted the humbler steed, and they set forth for the mountains
of Toro, but on hearing the bugles of the approaching huntsmen, Quixada
suddenly halted, and bade his youthful companion exchange horses with
himself. When this had been done, he seized the hand of the wondering boy
and kissing it respectfully, exclaimed, "Your Highness will be informed
as to the meaning of my conduct by his Majesty, who is even now
approaching." They had proceeded but a short distance before they
encountered the royal hunting party, when both Quixada and young Juan
dismounted, and bent the knee to their monarch. Philip, commanding the
boy to rise, asked him if he knew his father's name. Juan replied, with a
sigh, that he had at that moment lost the only father whom he had known,
for Quixada had just disowned him. "You have the same father as myself,"
cried the King; "the Emperor Charles was the august parent of us both."
Then tenderly embracing him, he commanded him to remount his horse, and
all returned together to Valladolid, Philip observing with a
sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal, that he had never brought
home such precious game from any hunt before.

This theatrical recognition of imperial descent was one among the many
romantic incidents of Don John's picturesque career, for his life was
never destined to know the commonplace. He now commenced his education,
in company with his two nephews, the Duchess Margaret's son, and Don
Carlos, Prince-royal of Spain. They were all of the same age, but the
superiority of Don John was soon recognized. It was not difficult to
surpass the limping, malicious, Carlos, either in physical graces or
intellectual accomplishments; but the graceful; urbane, and chivalrous
Alexander, destined afterwards to such wide celebrity, was a more
formidable rival, yet even the professed panegyrist of the Farnese
family, exalts the son of Barbara Blomberg over the grandson of Margaret
Van Geest.

Still destined for the clerical profession, Don John, at the age of
eighteen, to avoid compliance with Philip's commands, made his escape to
Barcelona. It was his intention to join the Maltese expedition. Recalled
peremptorily by Philip, he was for a short time in disgrace; but
afterwards made his peace with the monarch by denouncing some of the
mischievous schemes of Don Carlos. Between the Prince-royal and the
imperial bastard, there had always been a deep animosity, the Infante
having on one occasion saluted him with the most vigorous and offensive
appellation which his illegitimate birth could suggest. "Base-born or
not," returned Don John, "at any rate I had a better father than yours."
The words were probably reported to Philip and doubtless rankled in his
breast, but nothing appeared on the surface, and the youth rose rapidly
in favor. In his twenty-third year, he was appointed to the command of
the famous campaign against the insurgent Moors of Granada. Here he
reaped his first laurels, and acquired great military celebrity. It is
difficult to be dazzled by such glory. He commenced his operations by the
expulsion of nearly all the Moorish inhabitants of Granada, bed-ridden
men, women, and children, together, and the cruelty inflicted, the
sufferings patiently endured in that memorable deportation, were
enormous. But few of the many thousand exiles survived the horrid march,
those who were so unfortunate as to do so being sold into slavery by
their captors. Still a few Moors held out in their mountain fastnesses,
and two years long the rebellion of this handful made head against the
power of Spain. Had their envoys to the Porte succeeded in their
negotiation, the throne of Philip might have trembled; but Selim hated
the Republic of Venice as much as he loved the wine of Cyprus. While the
Moors were gasping out their last breath in Granada and Ronda, the Turks
had wrested the island of Venus from the grasp of the haughty Republic
Fainagosta had fallen; thousands of Venetians had been butchered with a
ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed; the famous
General Bragadino had been flayed; stuffed, and sent hanging on the
yard-arm of a frigate; to Constantinople, as a present to the Commander
of the Faithful; and the mortgage of Catherine Cornaro, to the exclusion
of her husband's bastards, had been thus definitely cancelled. With such
practical enjoyments, Selim was indifferent to the splendid but shadowy
vision of the Occidental caliphate--yet the revolt of the Moors was only
terminated, after the departure of Don John, by the Duke of Arcos.

The war which the Sultan had avoided in the West, came to seek him in the
East. To lift the Crucifix against the Crescent, at the head of the
powerful but quarrelsome alliance between Venice, Spain, and Rome, Don
John arrived at Naples. He brought with him more than a hundred ships and
twenty-three thousand men, as the Spanish contingent:--Three months long
the hostile fleets had been cruising in the same waters without an
encounter; three more were wasted in barren manoeuvres. Neither Mussulman
nor Christian had much inclination for the conflict, the Turk fearing the
consequences of a defeat, by which gains already secured might be
forfeited; the allies being appalled at the possibility of their own
triumph. Nevertheless, the Ottomans manoeuvred themselves at last into
the gulf of Lepanto, the Christians manoeuvred themselves towards its
mouth as the foe was coming forth again. The conflict thus rendered
inevitable, both Turk and Christian became equally eager for the fray,
equally confident of, victory. Six hundred vessels of war met face to
face. Rarely in history had so gorgeous a scene of martial array been
witnessed. An October sun gilded the thousand beauties of an Ionian
landscape. Athens and Corinth were behind the combatants, the mountains
of Alexander's Macedon rose in the distance; the rock of Sappho and the
heights of Actium, were before their eyes. Since the day when the world
had been lost and won beneath that famous promontory, no such combat as
the one now approaching had been fought upon the waves. The chivalrous
young commander despatched energetic messages to his fellow chieftains,
and now that it was no longer possible to elude the encounter, the
martial ardor of the allies was kindled. The Venetian High-Admiral
replied with words of enthusiasm. Colonna, lieutenant of the league,
answered his chief in the language of St. Peter; "Though I die, yet will
I not deny thee."

The fleet was arranged in three divisions. The Ottomans, not drawn up in
crescent form, as usual, had the same triple disposition. Barbarigo and
the other Venetians commanded on the left, John Andrew Doria on the
right, while Don John himself and Colonna were in the centre, Crucifix in
hand, the High-Admiral rowed from ship to ship exhorting generals and
soldiers to show themselves worthy of a cause which he had persuaded
himself was holy. Fired by his eloquence and by the sight of the enemy,
his hearers answered with eager shouts, while Don John returned to his
ship; knelt upon the quarter-deck, and offered a prayer. He then ordered
the trumpets to sound the assault, commanded his sailing-master to lay
him alongside the Turkish Admiral, and the battle began. The Venetians,
who were first attacked, destroyed ship after ship of their assailants
after a close and obstinate contest, but Barliarigo fell dead ere the
sunset, with an arrow through his brain. Meantime the action, immediately
after the first onset, had become general. From noon till evening the
battle raged, with a carnage rarely recorded in history. Don John's own
ship lay yard-arm and yard-arm with the Turkish Admiral, and exposed to
the fire of seven large vessels besides. It was a day when personal,
audacity, not skilful tactics, was demanded, and the imperial bastard
showed the metal he was made of. The Turkish Admiral's ship was
destroyed, his head exposed from Don John's deck upon a pike, and the
trophy became the signal for a general panic and a complete victory. By
sunset the battle had been won.

Of nearly three hundred Turkish galleys, but fifty made their escape.
From twenty-five to thirty thousand Turks were slain, and perhaps ten
thousand Christians. The galley-slaves on both sides fought well, and the
only beneficial result of the victory was the liberation of several
thousand Christian captives. It is true that their liberty was purchased
with the lives of a nearly equal number of Christian soldiers, and by the
reduction to slavery of almost as many thousand Mussulmen, duly
distributed among the Christian victors. Many causes--contributed to this
splendid triumph. The Turkish ships, inferior in number, were also worse
manned than those of their adversaries; and their men were worse armed.
Every bullet of the Christians told on muslin turbans and embroidered
tunics, while the arrows of the Moslems fell harmless on the casques and
corslets of their foes. The Turks, too, had committed the fatal error of
fighting upon a lee shore. Having no sea room, and being repelled in
their first onset, many galleys were driven upon the rocks, to be
destroyed with all their crews.

   [Cabrera says that thirty thousand Turks were slain, ten thousand
   made prisoners, ten thousand Christians killed, and fifteen thousand
   Christian prisoners liberated, ix. 693. De Thou's estimate is
   twenty-five thousand Turks killed, three thousand prisoners, and ten
   thousand Christians killed, vi. 247. Brantome states the number of
   Turks killed at thirty thousand, without counting those who were
   drowned or who died afterwards of their wounds; six thousand
   prisoners, twelve thousand Christian prisoners liberated, and ten
   thousand Christians killed. Hoofd, vi. 214, gives the figures at
   twenty-five thousand Turks and ten thousand Christians slain. Bor,
   v. 354, makes a minute estimate, on the authority of Pietro
   Contareno, stating the number of Christians killed at seven thousand
   six hundred and fifty, that of Turks at twenty-five thousand one
   hundred and fifty, Turkish prisoners at three thousand eight hundred
   and forty-six, and Christians liberated at twelve thousand; giving
   the number of Turkish ships destroyed at eighty, captured fifty.
   According to the "Relation cierta y verdadera," (which was drawn up
   a few days after the action,) the number of Turks slain was thirty
   thousand and upwards, besides many prisoners, that of Christians
   killed was seven thousand, of Christian slaves liberated twelve
   thousand, of Ottoman ships taken or destroyed two hundred and
   thirty. Documentos Ineditos, iii. 249. Philip sent an express
   order, forbidding the ransoming of even the captive officers. The
   Turkish slaves were divided among the victors in the proportion of
   one-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice. The other
   booty was distributed on the same principle. Out of the Pope's
   share Don John received, as a present, one hundred and seventy-four
   slaves (Documentos Ineditos, iii. 229). Alexander of Parma
   received thirty slaves; Requesens thirty. To each general of
   infantry was assigned six slaves; to each colonel four; to each
   ship's captain one. The number of "slaves in chains" (esclavos de
   cadena) allotted to Philip was thirty-six hundred (Documentoa
   Ineditos, 257). Seven thousand two hundred Turkish slaves,
   therefore, at least, were divided among Christians. This number of
   wretches, who were not fortunate enough to die with their twenty-
   five thousand comrades, must be set off against the twelve thousand
   Christian slaves liberated, in the general settlement of the account
   with Humanity.]

But whatever the cause of the victory, its consequence was to spread the
name and fame of Don John of Austria throughout the world. Alva wrote,
with enthusiasm, to congratulate him; pronouncing the victory the most
brilliant one ever achieved by Christians, and Don John the greatest
general since the death of Julius Caesar. At the same time, with a
sarcastic fling at the erection of the Escorial, he advised Philip to
improve this new success in some more practical way than by building a
house for the Lord and a sepulchre for the dead. "If," said the Duke,
"the conquests of Spain be extended in consequence of this triumph, then,
indeed, will the Cherubim and Seraphim sing glory to God." A courier,
despatched post haste to Spain, bore the glorious news, together with
the sacred, standard of the Prophet, the holy of holies, inscribed with
the name of Allah twenty-eight thousand nine hundred times, always kept
in Mecca during peace, and never since the conquest of Constantinople
lost in battle before. The King was at vespers in the Escorial. Entering
the sacred precincts, breathless, travel-stained, excited, the messenger
found Philip impassible as marble to the wondrous news. Not a muscle of
the royal visage was moved, not a syllable escaped the royal lips, save a
brief order to the clergy to continue the interrupted vespers. When the
service had been methodically concluded, the King made known the
intelligence and requested a Te Deum.

The youthful commander-in-chief obtained more than his full mead of
glory. No doubt he had fought with brilliant courage, yet in so close and
murderous a conflict, the valor of no single individual could decide the
day, and the result was due to the combined determination of all. Had Don
John remained at Naples, the issue might have easily been the same.
Barbarigo, who sealed the victory with his blood; Colonna, who celebrated
a solemn triumph on his return to Rome; Parma, Doria, Giustiniani,
Venieri, might each as well have claimed a monopoly of the glory, had not
the Pope, at Philip's entreaty, conferred the baton of command upon Don
John. The meagre result of the contest is as notorious as the victory.
While Constantinople was quivering with apprehension, the rival generals
were already wrangling with animosity. Had the Christian fleet advanced,
every soul would have fled from the capital, but Providence had ordained
otherwise, and Don John sailed westwardly with his ships. He made a
descent on the Barbary coast, captured Tunis, destroyed Biserta, and
brought King Amidas and his two sons prisoners to Italy. Ordered by
Philip to dismantle the fortifications of Tunis, he replied by repairing
them thoroughly, and by placing a strong garrison within the citadel.
Intoxicated with his glory, the young adventurer already demanded a
crown, and the Pope was disposed to proclaim him King of Tunis, for the
Queen of the Lybian seas was to be the capital of his Empire, the new
Carthage which he already dreamed.

Philip thought it time to interfere, for he felt that his own crown might
be insecure, with such a restless and ambitious spirit indulging in
possible and impossible chimeras. He removed John de Soto, who had been
Don John's chief councillor and emissary to the Pope, and substituted in
his place the celebrated and ill-starred Escovedo. The new secretary,
however, entered as heartily but secretly into all these romantic
schemes. Disappointed of the Empire which he had contemplated on the edge
of the African desert, the champion of the Cross turned to the cold
islands of the northern seas. There sighed, in captivity, the beauteous
Mary of Scotland, victim of the heretic Elizabeth. His susceptibility to
the charms of beauty--a characteristic as celebrated as his courage--was
excited, his chivalry aroused. What holier triumph for the conqueror of
the Saracens than the subjugation of these northern infidels? He would
dethrone the proud Elizabeth; he would liberate and espouse the Queen of
Scots, and together they would reign over, the two united realms. All
that the Pope could do with bulls and blessings, letters of
excommunication, and patents of investiture, he did with his whole heart.
Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland as soon as he
liked; all that was left to do was to conquer the kingdoms.

Meantime, while these schemes were flitting through his brain, and were
yet kept comparatively secret by the Pope, Escovedo, and himself, the
news reached him in Italy that he had been appointed Governor-General of
the Netherlands. Nothing could be more opportune. In the provinces were
ten thousand veteran Spaniards, ripe for adventure, hardened by years of
warfare, greedy for gold, audacious almost beyond humanity, the very
instruments for his scheme. The times were critical in the Netherlands,
it was true; yet he would soon pacify those paltry troubles, and then
sweep forward to his prize. Yet events were rushing forward with such
feverish rapidity, that he might be too late for his adventure. Many days
were lost in the necessary journey from Italy into Spain to receive the
final instructions of the King. The news from the provinces, grew more
and more threatening. With the impetuosity and romance of his
temperament, he selected his confidential friend Ottavio Gonzaga, six
men-at-arms, and an adroit and well-experienced Swiss courier who knew
every road of France. It was no light adventure for the Catholic
Governor-General of the Netherlands to traverse the kingdom at that
particular juncture. Staining his bright locks and fair face to the
complexion of a Moor, he started on his journey, attired as the servant
of Gonzaga. Arriving at Paris, after a rapid journey, he descended at a
hostelry opposite the residence of the Spanish ambassador, Don Diego de
Cuniga. After nightfall he had a secret interview with that functionary,
and learning, among other matters, that there was to be a great ball that
night at the Louvre, he determined to go thither in disguise. There,
notwithstanding his hurry, he had time to see and to become desperately
enamored of "that wonder of beauty," the fair and frail Margaret of
Valois, Queen of Navarre. Her subsequent visit to her young adorer at
Namur, to be recorded in a future page of this history, was destined to
mark the last turning point in his picturesque career. On his way to the
Netherlands he held a rapid interview with the Duke of Guise, to arrange
his schemes for the liberation and espousal of that noble's kinswoman,
the Scottish Queen; and on the 3rd of November he arrived at Luxemburg.

There stood the young conqueror of Lepanto, his brain full of schemes,
his heart full of hopes, on the threshhold of the Netherlands, at the
entrance to what he believed the most brilliant chapter of his
life--schemes, hopes, and visions--doomed speedily to fade before the
cold reality with which he was to be confronted. Throwing off his
disguise after reaching Luxemburg, the youthful paladin stood confessed.
His appearance was as romantic as his origin and his exploits. Every
contemporary chronicler, French, Spanish, Italian, Flemish, Roman, have
dwelt upon his personal beauty and the singular fascination of his
manner. Symmetrical features, blue eyes of great vivacity, and a
profusion of bright curling hair, were combined with a person not much
above middle height; but perfectly well proportioned. Owing to a natural
peculiarity of his head, the hair fell backward from the temples, and he
had acquired the habit of pushing it from his brows. The custom became a
fashion among the host of courtiers, who were but too happy to glass
themselves in so brilliant a mirror. As Charles the Fifth, on his journey
to Italy to assume the iron crown, had caused his hair to be clipped
close, as a remedy for the headaches with which, at that momentous epoch,
he was tormented, bringing thereby close shaven polls into extreme
fashion; so a mass of hair pushed backward from the temples, in the style
to which the name of John of Austria was appropriated, became the
prevailing mode wherever the favorite son of the Emperor appeared.

Such was the last crusader whom the annals of chivalry were to know; the
man who had humbled the crescent as it had not been humbled since the
days of the Tancreds, the Baldwins, the Plantagenets--yet, after all,
what was this brilliant adventurer when weighed against the tranquil
Christian champion whom he was to meet face to face? The contrast was
striking between the real and the romantic hero. Don John had pursued and
achieved glory through victories with which the world was ringing;
William was slowly compassing a country's emancipation through a series
of defeats. He moulded a commonwealth and united hearts with as much
contempt for danger as Don John had exhibited in scenes of slave driving
and carnage. Amid fields of blood, and through web's of tortuous
intrigue, the brave and subtle son of the Emperor pursued only his own
objects. Tawdry schemes of personal ambition, conquests for his own
benefit, impossible crowns for his own wearing, were the motives which
impelled, him, and the prizes which he sought. His existence was
feverish, fitful, and passionate. "Tranquil amid the raging billows,"
according to his favorite device, the father of his country waved aside
the diadem which for him had neither charms nor meaning. Their characters
were as contrasted as their persons. The curled-darling of chivalry
seemed a youth at thirty-one. Spare of figure, plain in apparel,
benignant, but haggard of countenance, with temples bared by anxiety as
much as by his helmet, earnest, almost devout in manner, in his own
words, "Calvus et Calvinists," William of Orange was an old man at
forty-three.

Perhaps there was as much good faith on the part of Don John, when he
arrived in Luxemburg, as could be expected of a man coming directly from
the cabinet of Philip. The King had secretly instructed him to conciliate
the provinces, but to concede nothing, for the Governor was only a new
incarnation of the insane paradox that benignity and the system of
Charles the Fifth were one. He was directed to restore the government, to
its state during the imperial epoch. Seventeen provinces, in two of which
the population were all dissenters, in all of which the principle of
mutual toleration had just been accepted by Catholics and Protestants,
were now to be brought back to the condition according to which all
Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive. So that the
Inquisition, the absolute authority of the monarch, and the exclusive
worship of the Roman Church were preserved intact, the King professed
himself desirous of "extinguishing the fires of rebellion, and of saving
the people from the last desperation." With these slight exceptions,
Philip was willing to be very benignant. "More than this," said he,
"cannot and ought not be conceded." To these brief but pregnant
instructions was added a morsel of advice, personal in its nature, but
very characteristic of the writer. Don John was recommended to take great
care of his soul, and also to be very cautious in the management of his
amours.

Thus counselled and secretly directed, the new Captain-General had been
dismissed to the unhappy Netherlands. The position, however, was
necessarily false. The man who was renowned for martial exploits, and
notoriously devoured by ambition, could hardly inspire deep confidence in
the pacific dispositions of the government. The crusader of Granada and
Lepanto, the champion of the ancient Church, was not likely to please the
rugged Zealanders who had let themselves be hacked to pieces rather than
say one Paternoster, and who had worn crescents in their caps at Leyden,
to prove their deeper hostility to the Pope than to the Turk. The
imperial bastard would derive but alight consideration from his paternal
blood, in a country where illegitimate birth was more unfavorably
regarded than in most other countries, and where a Brabantine edict,
recently issued in name of the King; deprived all political or civil
functionaries not born in wedlock; of their offices. Yet he had received
instructions, at his departure, to bring about a pacification, if
possible, always maintaining, however, the absolute authority of the
crown and the exclusive exercise of the Catholic religion. How the two
great points of his instructions were to be made entirely palatable, was
left to time and chance. There was a vague notion that with the new
Governor's fame, fascinating manners, and imperial parentage, he might
accomplish a result which neither fraud nor force--not the arts of
Granvelle, nor the atrocity of Alva, nor the licentiousness of a
buccaneering soldiery had been able to effect. As for Don John himself,
he came with no definite plans for the Netherlanders, but with very
daring projects of his own, and to pursue these misty visions was his
main business on arriving in the provinces. In the meantime he was
disposed to settle the Netherland difficulty in some showy, off-hand
fashion, which should cost him but little trouble, and occasion no
detriment to the cause of Papacy or absolutism. Unfortunately for these
rapid arrangements, William of Orange was in Zealand, and the
Pacification had just been signed at Ghent.

It was, naturally, with very little satisfaction that the Prince beheld
the arrival of Don John. His sagacious combinations would henceforth be
impeded, if not wholly frustrated. This he foresaw. He knew that there
could be no intention of making any arrangement in which Holland and
Zealand could be included. He was confident that any recognition of the
Reformed religion was as much out of the question now as ever. He doubted
not that there were many Catholic magnates, wavering politicians,
aspirants for royal favor, who would soon be ready to desert the cause
which had so recently been made a general cause, and who would soon be
undermining the work of their own hands. The Pacification of Ghent would
never be maintained in letter and spirit by the vicegerent of Philip; for
however its sense might be commented upon or perverted, the treaty, while
it recognized Catholicism as the state religion, conceded, to a certain
extent, liberty of conscience. An immense stride had been taken, by
abolishing the edicts, and prohibiting persecution. If that step were now
retraced, the new religion was doomed, and the liberties of Holland and
Zealand destroyed. "If they make an arrangement with Don John, it will be
for us of the religion to run," wrote the Prince to his brother, "for
their intention is to suffer no person of that faith to have a fixed
domicile in the Netherlands." It was, therefore, with a calm
determination to counteract and crush the policy of the youthful Governor
that William the Silent awaited his antagonist. Were Don John admitted to
confidence, the peace of Holland and Zealand was gone. Therefore it was
necessary to combat him both openly and secretly--by loud remonstrance
and by invisible stratagem. What chance had the impetuous and impatient
young hero in such an encounter with the foremost statesman of the age?
He had arrived, with all the self-confidence of a conqueror; he did not
know that he was to be played upon like a pipe--to be caught in meshes
spread by his own hands--to struggle blindly--to rage impotently--to die
ingloriously.

The Prince had lost no time in admonishing the states-general as to the
course which should now be pursued. He was of opinion that, upon their
conduct at this crisis depended the future destinies of the Netherlands.
"If we understand how to make proper use of the new Governor's arrival,"
said he, "it may prove very advantageous to us; if not, it will be the
commencement of our total ruin." The spirit of all his communications was
to infuse the distrust which he honestly felt, and which he certainly
took no pains to disguise; to impress upon his countrymen the importance
of improving the present emergency by the enlargement, instead of the
threatened contraction of their liberties, and to enforce with all his
energy the necessity of a firm union. He assured the estates that Don
John had been sent, in this simple manner, to the country, because the
King and cabinet had begun to despair of carrying their point by force.
At the same time he warned them that force would doubtless be replaced by
fraud. He expressed his conviction that so soon as Don John should attain
the ascendency which he had been sent to secure, the gentleness which now
smiled upon the surface would give place to the deadlier purposes which
lurked below. He went so far as distinctly to recommend the seizure of
Don John's person. By so doing, much bloodshed might be saved; for such
was the King's respect for the Emperor's son that their demands would be
granted rather than that his liberty should be permanently endangered. In
a very striking and elaborate letter which he addressed from Middelburg
to the estates-general, he insisted on the expediency of seizing the
present opportunity in order to secure and to expand their liberties, and
urged them to assert broadly the principle that the true historical
polity of the Netherlands was a representative, constitutional
government, Don John, on arriving at Luxemburg, had demanded hostages for
his own security, a measure which could not but strike the calmest
spectator as an infraction of all provincial rights. "He asks you to
disarm," continued William of Orange; "he invites you to furnish
hostages, but the time has been when the lord of the land came unarmed
and uncovered, before the estates-general, and swore to support the
constitutions before his own sovereignty could be recognized."

He reiterated his suspicions as to the honest intentions of the
government, and sought, as forcibly as possible, to infuse an equal
distrust into the minds of those he addressed. "Antwerp," said he, "once
the powerful and blooming, now the most forlorn and desolate city of
Christendom, suffered because she dared to exclude the King's troops. You
may be sure that you are all to have a place at the same banquet. We may
forget the past, but princes never forget, when the means of vengeance
are placed within their hands. Nature teaches them to arrive at their end
by fraud, when violence will not avail them. Like little children, they
whistle to the birds they would catch. Promises and pretences they will
furnish in plenty."

He urged them on no account to begin any negotiation with the Governor,
except on the basis of the immediate departure of the soldiery. "Make no
agreement with him; unless the Spanish and other foreign troops have been
sent away beforehand; beware, meantime, of disbanding your own, for that
were to put the knife into his hands to cut your own throats withal." He
then proceeded to sketch the out lines of a negotiation, such as he could
recommend. The plan was certainly sufficiently bold, and it could hardly
cause astonishment, if it were not immediately accepted by Don John; as
the basis of an arrangement. "Remember this is not play", said the
Prince, "and that you have to choose between the two, either total ruin
or manly self-defence. Don John must command the immediate departure of
the Spaniards. All our privileges must be revised, and an oath to
maintain them required. New councils of state and finance must be
appointed by the estates. The general assembly ought to have power to
come together twice or thrice yearly, and, indeed, as often as they
choose. The states-general must administer and regulate all affairs. The
citadels must be demolished everywhere. No troops ought to be enlisted,
nor garrisons established, without the consent of the estates."

In all the documents, whether public memorials or private letters, which
came at this period from the hand of the Prince, he assumed, as a matter
of course, that in any arrangement with the new Governor the Pacification
of Ghent was to be maintained. This, too, was the determination of almost
every man in the country. Don John, soon after his arrival at Luxemburg,
had despatched messengers to the states-general, informing them of his
arrival. It was not before the close of the month of November that the
negotiations seriously began. Provost Fonck, on the part of the Governor,
then informed them of Don John's intention to enter Namur, attended by
fifty mounted troopers. Permission, however, was resolutely refused, and
the burghers of Namur were forbidden to render oaths of fidelity until
the Governor should have complied with the preliminary demands of the
estates. To enunciate these demands categorically, a deputation of the
estates-general came to Luxemburg. These gentlemen were received with
courtesy by Don John, but their own demeanour was not conciliatory. A
dislike to the Spanish government; a disloyalty to the monarch with whose
brother and representative they were dealing, pierced through all their
language. On the other hand, the ardent temper of Don John was never slow
to take offence. One of the deputies proposed to the Governor, with great
coolness, that he should assume the government in his own name, and
renounce the authority of Philip. Were he willing to do so, the patriotic
gentleman pledged himself that the provinces would at once acknowledge
him as sovereign, and sustain his government. Don John, enraged at the
insult to his own loyalty which the proposition implied, drew his dagger
and rushed towards the offender. The deputy would, probably, have paid
for his audacity with his life had there not been by-standers enough to
prevent the catastrophe. This scene was an unsatisfactory prelude to the
opening negotiations.

On the 6th of December the deputies presented to the Governor at
Luxemburg a paper, containing their demands, drawn up in eight articles,
and their concessions in ten. The states insisted on the immediate
removal of the troops, with the understanding that they were never to
return, but without prohibition of their departure by sea; they demanded
the immediate release of all prisoners; they insisted on the maintenance
of the Ghent treaty, there being nothing therein which did not tend to
the furtherance of the Catholic religion; they claimed an act of amnesty;
they required the convocation of the states-general, on the basis of that
assembly before which took place the abdication of Charles the Fifth;
they demanded an oath, on the part of Don John, to maintain all the
charters and customs of the country.

Should these conditions be complied: with, the deputies consented on the
part of the estates, that he should be acknowledged as Governor, and that
the Catholic religion and the authority of his Majesty should be
maintained. They agreed that all foreign leagues should be renounced,
their own foreign soldiery disbanded, and a guard of honor, native
Netherlanders, such as his Majesty was contented with at his "Blythe
Entrance," provided. A truce of fifteen days, for negotiations, was
furthermore proposed.

Don John made answers to these propositions by adding a brief comment, as
apostille, upon each of the eighteen articles, in succession. He would
send away the troops, but, at the same time, the states must disband
their own. He declined engaging himself not to recal his foreign
soldiery, should necessity require their service. With regard to the
Ghent Pacification, he professed himself ready for a general peace
negotiation, on condition that the supremacy of the Catholic Church and
the authority of his Majesty were properly secured. He would settle upon
some act of amnesty after due consultation with the State Council. He was
willing that the states should be convoked in general assembly, provided
sufficient security were given him that nothing should be there
transacted prejudicial to the Catholic religion and the King's
sovereignty. As for their privileges, he would govern as had been done in
the time of his imperial father. He expressed his satisfaction with most
of the promises offered by the estates, particularly with their
expression in favor of the Church and of his Majesty's authority; the two
all-important points to secure which he had come thither unattended, at
the peril of his life, but he received their offer of a body-guard, by
which his hirelings were to be superseded, with very little gratitude. He
was on the point, he said, of advancing as far as Marche en Famine, and
should take with him as strong a guard as he considered necessary, and
composed of such troops as he had at hand. Nothing decisive came of this
first interview. The parties had taken the measures of their mutual
claims, and after a few days, fencing with apostilles, replies, and
rejoinders, they separated, their acrimony rather inflamed than appeased.

The departure of the troops and the Ghent treaty were the vital points in
the negotiation. The estates had originally been content that the troops
should go by sea. Their suspicions were, however, excited by the
pertinacity with which Don John held to this mode of removal. Although
they did not suspect the mysterious invasion of England, a project which
was the real reason why the Governor objected to their departure by land,
yet they soon became aware--that he had been secretly tampering with the
troops at every point. The effect of these secret negotiations with the
leading officers of the army was a general expression of their
unwillingness, on account of the lateness of the season, the difficult
and dangerous condition of the roads and mountain-passes, the plague in
Italy, and other pretexts, to undertake so long a journey by land. On the
other hand, the states, seeing the anxiety and the duplicity of Don John
upon this particular point, came to the resolution to thwart him at all
hazards, and insisted on the land journey. Too long a time, too much
money, too many ships would be necessary, they said, to forward so large
a force by sea, and in the meantime it would be necessary to permit them
to live for another indefinite period at the charge of the estates.

With regard to the Ghent Pacification, the estates, in the course of
December, procured: an express opinion from the eleven professors of
theology, and doctors utriusque juris of Louvain, that the treaty
contained nothing which conflicted with the supremacy of the Catholic
religion. The various bishops, deacons, abbots, and pastors of the
Netherlands made a similar decision. An elaborate paper, drawn, up by the
State-Council, at the request of the states-general, declared that there
was nothing in the Pacification derogatory to the supreme authority of
his Majesty. Thus fortified; with opinions which, it must be confessed,
were rather dogmatically than argumentatively drawn up, and which it
would have been difficult very logically to, defend, the states looked
forward confidently to the eventual acceptance by Don John of the terms
proposed. In the meantime, while there was still an indefinite pause in
the negotiations, a remarkable measure came to aid the efficacy of the
Ghent Pacification.

Early in January, 1577, the celebrated "Union of Brussels" was formed.
This important agreement was originally signed by eight leading
personages, the Abbot of Saint Gertrude, the Counts Lalain and Bossu, and
the Seigneur de Champagny being among the number. Its tenor was to engage
its signers to compass the immediate expulsion of the Spaniards and the
execution of the Ghent Pacification, to maintain the Catholic religion
and the King's authority, and to defend the fatherland and all its
constitutions. Its motive was to generalize the position assumed by the
Ghent treaty. The new act was to be signed, not by a few special deputies
alone, like a diplomatic convention, but by all the leading individuals
of all the provinces, in order to exhibit to Don John such an array of
united strength that he would find himself forced to submit to the
demands of the estates. The tenor, motive, and effect were all as had
been proposed and foreseen. The agreement to expel the Spaniards, under
the Catholic and loyal manifestations indicated, passed from hand to hand
through all the provinces. It soon received the signature and support of
all the respectability, wealth, and intelligence of the whole country.
Nobles, ecclesiastics, citizens, hastened to give to it their adhesion.
The states-general had sent it, by solemn resolution, to every province,
in order that every man might be forced to range himself either upon the
side of the fatherland or of despotism. Two copies of the signatures
procured in each province were ordered, of which one was to be deposited
in its archives, and the other forwarded to Brussels. In a short time,
every province, with the single exception of Luxemburg, had loaded the
document with signatures. This was a great step in advance. The Ghent
Pacification, which was in the nature of a treaty between the Prince and
the estates of Holland and Zealand on the one side, and a certain number
of provinces on the other, had only been signed by the envoys of the
contracting parties. Though received with deserved and universal
acclamation, it had not the authority of a popular document. This,
however, was the character studiously impressed upon the "Brussels
Union." The people, subdivided according to the various grades of their
social hierarchy, had been solemnly summoned to council, and had
deliberately recorded their conviction. No restraint had been put upon
their freedom of action, and there was hardly a difference of opinion as
to the necessity of the measure.

A rapid revolution in Friesland, Groningen, and the dependencies, had
recently restored that important country to the national party. The
Portuguese De Billy had been deprived of his authority as King's
stadholder, and Count Hoogstraaten's brother, Baron de Ville, afterwards
as Count Renneberg infamous for his, treason to the cause of liberty, had
been appointed by the estates in his room. In all this district the
"Union of Brussels" was eagerly signed by men of every degree. Holland
and Zealand, no less than the Catholic provinces of the south willingly
accepted the compromise which was thus laid down, and which was thought
to be not only an additional security for the past, not only a pillar
more for the maintenance of the Ghent Pacification, but also a sure
precursor of a closer union in the future. The Union of Brussels became,
in fact, the stepping-stone to the "Union of Utrecht," itself the
foundation-stone of a republic destined to endure more than two
centuries. On the other hand, this early union held the seed, of its own
destruction within itself. It was not surprising, however, that a strong
declaration in favor of the Catholic religion should be contained in a
document intended for circulation through all the provinces. The object
was to unite as large a force, and to make as striking a demonstration
before the eyes of the Governor General as was practicable under the
circumstances. The immediate purpose was answered, temporary union was
formed, but it was impossible that a permanent crystallization should
take place where so strong a dissolvent as the Catholic clause had been
admitted. In the sequel, therefore, the union fell asunder precisely at
this fatal flaw. The next union was that which definitely separated the
provinces into Protestant, and Catholic, into self-governing republics,
and the dependencies of a distant despotism. The immediate effect,
however, of the "Brussels Union" was to rally all lovers of the
fatherland and haters of a foreign tyranny upon one vital point--the
expulsion of the stranger from the land. The foot of the Spanish soldier
should no longer profane their soil. All men were forced to pronounce
themselves boldly and unequivocally, in order that the patriots might
stand shoulder to shoulder, and the traitors be held up to infamy. This
measure was in strict accordance with the advice given more than once by
the Prince of Orange, and was almost in literal fulfilment of the
Compromise, which he had sketched before the arrival of Don John.

The deliberations were soon resumed with the new Governor, the scene
being shifted from Luxemburg to Huy. Hither came a fresh deputation from
the states-general--many signers of the Brussels Union among them--and
were received by Don John with stately courtesy: They had, however, come,
determined to carry matters with a high and firm hand, being no longer
disposed to brook his imperious demeanour, nor to tolerate his dilatory
policy. It is not surprising, therefore, that the courtesy soon changed
to bitterness, and that attack and recrimination usurped the place of the
dignified but empty formalities which had characterized the interviews at
Luxemburg.

The envoys, particularly Sweveghem and Champagny, made no concealment of
their sentiments towards the Spanish soldiery and the Spanish nation, and
used a freedom of tone and language which the petulant soldier had not
been accustomed to hear. He complained, at the outset, that the
Netherlanders seemed new-born--that instead of bending the knee, they
seemed disposed to grasp the sceptre. Insolence had taken the place of
pliancy, and the former slave now applied the chain and whip to his
master. With such exacerbation of temper at the commencement of
negotiations, their progress was of necessity stormy and slow.

The envoys now addressed three concise questions to the Governor. Was he
satisfied that the Ghent Pacification contained nothing conflicting with
the Roman religion and the King's authority? If so, was he willing to
approve that treaty in all its articles? Was he ready to dismiss his
troops at once, and by land, the sea voyage being liable to too many
objections?

Don John answered these three questions--which, in reality, were but
three forms of a single question--upon the same day, the 24th of January.
His reply was as complex as the demand had been simple. It consisted of a
proposal in six articles, and a requisition in twenty-one, making in all
twenty-seven articles. Substantially he proposed to dismiss the foreign
troops--to effect a general pacification of the Netherlands--to govern on
the basis of the administration in his imperial father's reign--to
arrange affairs in and with regard to the assembly-general as the King
should judge to be fitting--to forgive and forget past offences--and to
release all prisoners. On the other hand he required the estates to pay
the troops before their departure, and to provide ships enough to
transport them, as the Spaniards did not choose to go by land, and as the
deputies, at Luxemburg had consented to their removal by sea.
Furthermore, he demanded that the states should dismiss their own troops.
He required ecclesiastical authority to prove the Ghent Pacification not
prejudicial to the Catholic religion; legal authority that it was not
detrimental to his Majesty's supremacy; and an oath from the
states-general to uphold both points inviolably, and to provide for their
maintenance in Holland and Zealand. He claimed the right to employ about
his person soldiers and civil functionaries of any nation he might
choose, and he exacted from the states a promise to prevent the Prince of
Orange from removing his son, Count van Buren, forcibly or fraudulently,
from his domicile in Spain.

The deputies were naturally indignant at this elaborate trifling. They
had, in reality, asked him but one question, and that a simple one--Would
he maintain the treaty of Ghent? Here were twenty-seven articles in
reply, and yet no answer to that question. They sat up all night,
preparing a violent protocol, by which the Governor's claims were to be
utterly demolished. Early in the morning, they waited upon his Highness,
presented the document, and at the same time asked him plainly, by word
of mouth, did he or did he not intend to uphold the treaty. Thus pressed
into a corner in presence of the deputies, the members of the State
Council who were in attendance from Brussels, and the envoys whom the
Emperor had recently sent to assist at these deliberations, the Governor
answered, No. He would not and could not maintain the treaty, because the
Spanish troops were in that instrument denounced as rebels, because he
would not consent to the release of Count Van Buren--and on account of
various other reasons not then specified. Hereupon ensued a fierce
debate, and all day long the altercation lasted, without a result being
reached. At ten o'clock in the evening, the deputies having previously
retired for a brief interval, returned with a protest that they were not
to be held responsible for the termination of the proceedings, and that
they washed their hands of the bloodshed which might follow the rupture.
Upon reading this document; Don John fell into a blazing passion. He
vehemently denounced the deputies as traitors. He swore that men who came
to him thus prepared with ready-made protests in their pockets, were
rebels from the commencement, and had never intended any agreement with
him. His language and gestures expressed unbounded fury. He was weary of
their ways, he said. They had better look to themselves, for the King
would never leave their rebellion unpunished. He was ready to draw the
sword at once--not his own, but his Majesty's, and they might be sure
that the war which they were thus provoking, should be the fiercest ever,
waged. More abusive language in this strain was uttered, but it was not
heard with lamb-like submission. The day had gone by when the deputies of
the states-general were wont to quail before the wrath of vicarious
royalty. The fiery words of Don John were not oil to troubled water, but
a match to a mine. The passions of the deputies exploded in their turn,
and from hot words they had nearly come to hard blows. One of the
deputies replied with so much boldness and vehemence that the Governor,
seizing a heavy silver bell which stood on the table, was about to hurl
it at the offender's head, when an energetic and providential
interference on the part of the imperial envoys, prevented the unseemly
catastrophe.

The day thus unprofitably spent, had now come to its close, and the
deputies left the presence of Don John with tempers as inflamed as his
own. They were, therefore, somewhat surprised at being awakened in their
beds, after midnight, by a certain Father Trigoso, who came to them with
a conciliatory message from the Governor. While they were still rubbing
their eyes with sleep and astonishment, the Duke of Aerschot, the Bishop
of Liege, and several councillors of state, entered the room. These
personages brought the news that Don John had at last consented to
maintain the Pacification of Ghent, as would appear by a note written in
his own hand, which was then delivered. The billet was eagerly read, but
unfortunately did not fulfil the anticipations which had been excited. "I
agree," said Don John, "to approve the peace made between the states and
the Prince of Orange, on condition that nothing therein may seem
detrimental to the authority of his Majesty and the supremacy of the
Catholic religion, and also with reservation of the points mentioned in
my last communication."

Men who had gone to bed in a high state of indignation were not likely to
wake in much better humour, when suddenly aroused in their first nap, to
listen to such a message as this. It seemed only one piece of trifling
the more. The deputies had offered satisfactory opinions of divines and
jurisconsults, as to the two points specified which concerned the Ghent
treaty. It was natural, therefore, that this vague condition concerning
them, the determination of which was for the Governor's breast alone,
should be instantly rejected, and that the envoys should return to their
disturbed slumbers with an increase of ill-humour.

On the morrow, as the envoys, booted and spurred, were upon the point of
departure for Brussels, another communication was brought to them from
Don John. This time, the language of the Governor seemed more to the
purpose. "I agree," said he, "to maintain the peace concluded between the
states and the Prince of Orange, on condition of receiving from the
ecclesiastical authorities, and from the University of Louvain,
satisfactory assurance that the said treaty contains nothing derogatory
to the Catholic religion--and similar assurance from the State Council,
the Bishop of Liege, and the imperial envoys, that the treaty is in no
wise prejudicial to the authority of his Majesty." Here seemed, at last,
something definite. These conditions could be complied with. They had, in
fact, been already complied with. The assurances required as to the two
points had already been procured, as the deputies and as Don John well
knew. The Pacification of Ghent was, therefore, virtually admitted. The
deputies waited upon the Governor accordingly, and the conversation was
amicable. They vainly endeavoured, however, to obtain his consent to the
departure of the troops by land--the only point then left in dispute. Don
John, still clinging to his secret scheme, with which the sea voyage of
the troops was so closely connected, refused to concede. He reproached
the envoys, on the contrary, with their importunity in making a fresh
demand, just as he had conceded the Ghent treaty, upon his entire
responsibility and without instructions. Mentally resolving that this
point should still be wrung from the Governor, but not suspecting his
secret motives for resisting it so strenuously, the deputies took an
amicable farewell of the Governor, promising a favorable report upon the
proceedings, so soon as they should arrive in Brussels.

Don John, having conceded so much, was soon obliged to concede the whole.
The Emperor Rudolph had lately succeeded his father, Maximilian. The
deceased potentate, whose sentiments on the great subject of religious
toleration were so much in harmony with those entertained by the Prince
of Orange, had, on the whole, notwithstanding the ties of relationship
and considerations of policy, uniformly befriended the Netherlands, so
far as words and protestations could go, at the court of Philip. Active
co-operation; practical assistance, he had certainly not rendered. He had
unquestionably been too much inclined to accomplish the impossibility of
assisting the states without offending the King--an effort which, in the
homely language of Hans Jenitz; was "like wishing his skin washed without
being wet." He had even interposed many obstacles to the free action of
the Prince, as has been seen in the course of this history, but
nevertheless, the cause of the Netherlands, of religion, and of humanity
had much to lose by his death. His eldest son and successor, Rudolph the
second, was an ardent Catholic, whose relations with a proscribed prince
and a reformed population could hardly remain long in a satisfactory
state. The New Emperor had, however, received the secret envoys of Orange
with bounty, and was really desirous of accomplishing the pacification of
the provinces. His envoys had assisted at all the recent deliberations
between the estates and Don John, and their vivid remonstrances removed,
at this juncture, the last objection on the part of the Governor-General.
With a secret sigh, he deferred the darling and mysterious hope which had
lighted him to the Netherlands, and consented to the departure of the
troops by land.

All obstacles having been thus removed, the memorable treaty called the
Perpetual Edict was signed at Marche en Famine on the 12th, and at
Brussels on the 17th of February, 1577. This document, issued in the name
of the King, contained nineteen articles. It approved and ratified the
Peace of Ghent, in consideration that the prelates and clergy, with the
doctors 'utriusque juris' of Louvain, had decided that nothing in that
treaty conflicted either with the supremacy of the Catholic Church or the
authority of the King, but, on the contrary, that it advanced the
interests of both. It promised that the soldiery should depart "freely,
frankly, and without delay; by land, never to return except in case of
foreign war"--the Spaniards to set forth within forty days, the Germans
and others so soon as arrangements had been made by the states-general
for their payment. It settled that all prisoners, on both sides, should
be released, excepting the Count Van Buren, who was to be set free so
soon as the states-general having been convoked, the Prince of Orange
should have fulfilled the resolutions to be passed by that assembly. It
promised the maintenance of all the privileges, charters, and
constitutions of the Netherlands. It required of the states all oath to
maintain the Catholic religion. It recorded their agreement to disband
their troops. It settled that Don John should be received as
Governor-General, immediately upon the departure of the Spaniards,
Italians, and Burgundians from the provinces.

These were the main provisions of this famous treaty, which was confirmed
a few weeks afterwards by Philip, in a letter addressed to the states of
Brabant, and by an edict issued at Madrid. It will be seen that
everything required by the envoys of the states, at the commencement of
their negotiations, had been conceded by Don John. They had claimed the
departure of the troops, either by land or sea. He had resisted the
demand a long time, but had at last consented to despatch them by sea.
Their departure by land had then been insisted upon. This again he had
most reluctantly conceded. The ratification of the Ghent treaty, he had
peremptorily refused. He had come to the provinces, at the instant of its
conclusion, and had, of course, no instructions on the subject.
Nevertheless, slowly receding, he had agreed, under certain reservations,
to accept the treaty. Those reservations relating to the great points of
Catholic and royal supremacy, he insisted upon subjecting to his own
judgment alone. Again he was overruled. Most unwillingly he agreed to
accept, instead of his own conscientious conviction, the dogmas of the
State Council and of the Louvain doctors. Not seeing very clearly how a
treaty which abolished the edicts of Charles the Fifth and the ordinances
of Alva--which removed the religious question in Holland and Zealand from
the King's jurisdiction to that of the states-general--which had caused
persecution to surcease--had established toleration--and which moreover,
had confirmed the arch rebel and heretic of all the Netherlands in the
government of the two rebellious and heretic provinces, as stadholder for
the King--not seeing very clearly how such a treaty was "advantageous
rather than prejudicial to royal absolutism and an exclusive
Catholicism," he naturally hesitated at first.

The Governor had thus disconcerted the Prince of Orange, not by the
firmness of his resistance, but by the amplitude of his concessions. The
combinations of William the Silent were, for an instant, deranged. Had
the Prince expected such liberality, he would have placed his demands
upon a higher basis, for it is not probable that he contemplated or
desired a pacification. The Duke of Aerschot and the Bishop of Liege in
vain essayed to prevail upon his deputies at Marche en Famine, to sign
the agreement of the 27th January, upon which was founded the Perpetual
Edict. They refused to do so without consulting the Prince and the
estates. Meantime, the other commissioners forced the affair rapidly
forward. The states sent a deputation to the Prince to ask his opinion,
and signed the agreement before it was possible to receive his reply.
This was to treat him with little courtesy, if not absolutely with bad
faith. The Prince was disappointed and indignant. In truth, as appeared
from all his language and letters, he had no confidence in Don John. He
believed him a consummate hypocrite, and as deadly a foe to the
Netherlands as the Duke of Alva, or Philip himself. He had carefully
studied twenty-five intercepted letters from the King, the Governor,
Jerome de Roda, and others, placed recently in his hands by the Duke of
Aerschot, and had found much to confirm previous and induce fresh
suspicion. Only a few days previously to the signature of the treaty, he
had also intercepted other letters from influential personages, Alonzo de
Vargas and others, disclosing extensive designs to obtain possession of
the strong places in the country, and then to reduce the land to absolute
Subjection. He had assured the estates, therefore, that the deliberate
intention of the Government, throughout the whole negotiation, was to
deceive, whatever might be the public language of Don John and his
agents. He implored them, therefore, to, have "pity upon the poor
country," and to save the people from falling into the trap which was
laid for them. From first to last, he had expressed a deep and wise
distrust, and justified it by ample proofs. He was, with reason,
irritated, therefore, at the haste with which the states had concluded
the agreement with Don John--at the celerity with which, as he afterwards
expressed it, "they had rushed upon the boar-spear of that sanguinary
heart." He believed that everything had been signed and Sworn by the
Governor, with the mental reservation that such agreements were valid
only until he should repent having made them. He doubted the good faith
and the stability of the grand seigniors. He had never felt confidence in
the professions of the time-serving Aerschot, nor did he trust even the
brave Champagny, notwithstanding his services at the sack of Antwerp. He
was especially indignant that provision had been made, not for
demolishing but for restoring to his Majesty those hateful citadels,
nests of tyranny, by which the flourishing cities of the land were kept
in perpetual anxiety. Whether in the hands of King, nobles, or
magistrates, they were equally odious to him, and he had long since
determined that they should be razed to the ground. In short, he believed
that the estates had thrust their heads into the lion's mouth, and he
foresaw the most gloomy consequences from the treaty which had just been
concluded. He believed, to use his own language, "that the only
difference between Don John and Alva or Requesens was, that he was
younger and more foolish than his predecessors, less capable of
concealing his venom, more impatient, to dip his hands in blood."

In the Pacification of Ghent, the Prince had achieved the prize of his
life-long labors. He had banded a mass of provinces by the ties of a
common history, language, and customs, into a league against a foreign
tyranny. He had grappled Holland and Zealand to their sister provinces by
a common love for their ancient liberties, by a common hatred to a
Spanish soldiery. He had exorcised the evil demon of religious bigotry by
which the body politic had been possessed so many years; for the Ghent
treaty, largely interpreted, opened the door to universal toleration. In
the Perpetual Edict the Prince saw his work undone. Holland and Zealand
were again cut adrift from the other fifteen provinces, and war would
soon be let loose upon that devoted little territory. The article
stipulating the maintenance of the Ghent treaty he regarded as idle wind;
the solemn saws of the State Council and the quiddities from Louvain
being likely to prove but slender bulwarks against the returning tide of
tyranny. Either it was tacitly intended to tolerate the Reformed
religion, or to hunt it down. To argue that the Ghent treaty, loyally
interpreted, strengthened ecclesiastical or royal despotism, was to
contend that a maniac was more dangerous in fetters than when armed with
a sword; it was to be blind to the difference between a private
conventicle and a public scaffold. The Perpetual Edict, while affecting
to sustain the treaty, would necessarily destroy it at a blow, while
during the brief interval of repose, tyranny would have renewed its youth
like the eagles. Was it possible, then, for William of Orange to sustain
the Perpetual Edict, the compromise with Don John? Ten thousand ghosts
from the Lake of Harlem, from the famine and plague-stricken streets of
Leyden, from the smoking ruins of Antwerp, rose to warn him against such
a composition with a despotism as subtle as it was remorseless.

It was, therefore, not the policy of William of Orange, suspecting, as he
did, Don John, abhorring Philip, doubting the Netherland nobles,
confiding only in the mass of the citizens, to give his support to the
Perpetual Edict. He was not the more satisfied because the states had
concluded the arrangement without his sanction, and against his express,
advice. He refused to publish or recognize the treaty in Holland and
Zealand. A few weeks before, he had privately laid before the states of
Holland and Zealand a series of questions, in order to test their temper,
asking them, in particular, whether they were prepared to undertake a new
and sanguinary war for the sake of their religion, even although their
other privileges should be recognised by the new government, and a long
and earnest debate had ensued, of a satisfactory nature, although no
positive resolution was passed upon the subject.

As soon as the Perpetual Edict had been signed, the states-general had
sent to the Prince, requesting his opinion and demanding his sanction.
Orange, in the name of Holland and Zealand, instantly returned an
elaborate answer, taking grave exceptions to the whole tenor of the
Edict. He complained that the constitution of the land was violated,
because the ancient privilege of the states-general to assemble at their
pleasure, had been invaded, and because the laws of every province were
set at nought by the continued imprisonment of Count Van Buren, who had
committed no crime, and whose detention proved that no man, whatever
might be promised, could expect security for life or liberty. The
ratification of the Ghent treaty, it was insisted, was in no wise
distinct and categorical, but was made dependent on a crowd of deceitful
subterfuges. He inveighed bitterly against the stipulation in the Edict,
that the states should pay the wages of the soldiers, whom they had just
proclaimed to be knaves and rebels, and at whose hands they had suffered
such monstrous injuries. He denounced the cowardice which could permit
this band of hirelings to retire with so much jewelry, merchandize, and
plate, the result of their robberies. He expressed, however, in the name
of the two provinces, a willingness to sign the Edict, provided the
states-general would agree solemnly beforehand, in case the departure of
the Spaniards did not take place within the stipulated tune, to abstain
from all recognition of, or communication with, Don John, and themselves
to accomplish the removal of the troops by force of arms.

Such was the first and solemn manifesto made by the Prince in reply to
the Perpetual Edict; the states of Holland and Zealand uniting heart and
hand in all that he thought, wrote, and said. His private sentiments were
in strict accordance with the opinions thus publicly recorded. "Whatever
appearance Don John may assume to the contrary," wrote the Prince to his
brother, "'tis by no means his intention to maintain the Pacification,
and less still to cause the Spaniards to depart, with whom he keeps up
the most strict correspondence possible."

On the other hand, the Governor was most anxious to conciliate the
Prince. He was most earnest to win the friendship of the man without whom
every attempt to recover Holland and Zealand, and to re-establish royal
and ecclesiastical tyranny, he knew to be hopeless. "This is the pilot,"
wrote Don John to Philip, "who guides the bark. He alone can destroy or
save it. The greatest obstacles would be removed if he could be gained."
He had proposed, and Philip had approved the proposition, that the Count
Van Buren should be clothed with his father's dignities, on condition
that the Prince should himself retire into Germany. It was soon evident,
however, that such a proposition would meet with little favor, the office
of father of his country and protector of her liberties not being
transferable.

While at Louvain, whither he had gone after the publication of the
Perpetual Edict, Don John had conferred with the Duke of Aerschot, and
they had decided that it would be well to send Doctor Leoninus on a
private mission to the Prince. Previously to his departure on this
errand, the learned envoy had therefore a full conversation with the
Governor. He was charged to represent to the Prince the dangers to which
Don John had exposed himself in coming from Spain to effect the
pacification of the Netherlands. Leoninus was instructed to give
assurance that the treaty just concluded should be maintained, that the
Spaniards should depart, that all other promises should be inviolably
kept, and that the Governor would take up arms against all who should
oppose the fulfilment of his engagements. He was to represent that Don
John, in proof of his own fidelity, had placed himself in the power of
the states. He was to intimate to the Prince that an opportunity was now
offered him to do the crown a service, in recompence for which he would
obtain, not only pardon for his faults, but the favor of the monarch, and
all the honors which could be desired; that by so doing he would assure
the future prosperity of his family; that Don John would be his good
friend, and, as such; would do more for him than he could imagine. The
envoy was also to impress upon the Prince, that if he persisted in his
opposition every man's hand would be against him, and the ruin of his
house inevitable. He was to protest that Don John came but to forgive and
to forget, to restore the ancient government and the ancient prosperity,
so that, if it was for those objects the Prince had taken up arms, it was
now his duty to lay them down, and to do his utmost to maintain peace and
the Catholic religion. Finally, the envoy was to intimate that if he
chose to write to Don John, he might be sure to receive a satisfactory
answer. In these pacific instructions and friendly expressions, Don John
was sincere. "The name of your Majesty," said he, plainly, in giving an
account of this mission to the King, "is as much abhorred and despised in
the Netherlands as that of the Prince of Orange is loved and feared. I am
negotiating with him, and giving him every security, for I see that the
establishment of peace, as well as the maintenance of the Catholic
religion, and the obedience to your Majesty, depend now upon him. Things
have reached that pass that 'tis necessary to make a virtue of necessity.
If he lend an ear to my proposals, it will be only upon very advantageous
conditions, but to these it will be necessary to submit, rather than to
lose everything."

Don John was in earnest; unfortunately he was not aware that the Prince
was in earnest also. The crusader, who had sunk thirty thousand paynims
at a blow, and who was dreaming of the Queen of Scotland and the throne
of England, had not room in his mind to entertain the image of a patriot.
Royal favors, family prosperity, dignities, offices, orders, advantageous
conditions, these were the baits with which the Governor angled for
William of Orange. He did not comprehend that attachment to a
half-drowned land and to a despised religion, could possibly stand in the
way of those advantageous conditions and that brilliant future. He did
not imagine that the rebel, once assured not only of pardon but of
advancement, could hesitate to refuse the royal hand thus amicably
offered. Don John had not accurately measured his great antagonist.

The results of the successive missions which he despatched to the Prince
were destined to enlighten him. In the course of the first conversation
between Leoninus and the Prince at Middelburg, the envoy urged that Don
John had entered the Netherlands without troops, that he had placed
himself in the power of the Duke of Aerschot, that he had since come to
Louvain without any security but the promise of the citizens and of the
students; and that all these things proved the sincerity of his
intentions. He entreated the Prince not to let slip so favorable an
opportunity for placing his house above the reach of every unfavorable
chance, spoke to him of Marius, Sylla, Julius Caesar, and other promoters
of civil wars, and on retiring for the day, begged him to think gravely
on what he had thus suggested, and to pray that God might inspire him
with good resolutions.

Next day, William informed the envoy that, having prayed to God for
assistance, he was more than ever convinced of his obligation to lay the
whole matter before the states, whose servant he was. He added, that he
could not forget the deaths of Egmont and Horn, nor the manner in which
the promise made to the confederate nobles by the Duchess of Parma, had
been visited, nor the conduct of the French monarch towards Admiral
Coligny. He spoke of information which he had received from all quarters,
from Spain, France, and Italy, that there was a determination to make war
upon him and upon the states of Holland and Zealand. He added that they
were taking their measures in consequence, and that they were well aware
that a Papal nuncio had arrived in the Netherlands, to intrigue against
them. In the evening, the Prince complained that the estates had been so
precipitate in concluding their arrangement with Don John. He mentioned
several articles in the treaty which were calculated to excite distrust;
dwelling particularly on the engagement entered into by the estates to
maintain the Catholic religion. This article he declared to be in direct
contravention to the Ghent treaty, by which this point was left to the
decision of a future assembly of the estates-general. Leoninus essayed,
as well as he could, to dispute these positions. In their last interview,
the Prince persisted in his intention of laying the whole matter before
the states of Holland and Zealand. Not to do so, he said, would be to
expose himself to ruin on one side, and on the other, to the indignation
of those who might suspect him of betraying them. The envoy begged to be
informed if any hope could be entertained of a future arrangement. Orange
replied that he had no expectation of any, but advised Doctor Leoninus to
be present at Dort when the estates should assemble.

Notwithstanding the unfavorable result, of this mission, Don John did not
even yet despair of bending the stubborn character of the Prince. He
hoped that, if a personal interview between them could be arranged, he
should be able to remove many causes of suspicion from the mind of his
adversary. "In such times as these," wrote the Governor to Philip, "we
can make no election, nor do I see any remedy to preserve the state from
destruction, save to gain over this man, who has so much influence with
the nation." The Prince had, in truth, the whole game in his hands. There
was scarcely a living creature in Holland and Zealand who was not willing
to be bound by his decision in every emergency. Throughout the rest of
the provinces, the mass of the people looked up to him with absolute
confidence, the clergy and the prominent nobles respecting and fearing
him, even while they secretly attempted to thwart his designs. Possessing
dictatorial power in two provinces, vast influences in the other fifteen,
nothing could be easier for him than to betray his country. The time was
singularly propitious. The revengeful King was almost on his knees to the
denounced rebel. Everything was proffered: pardon, advancement, power. An
indefinite vista was opened. "You cannot imagine," said Don John, "how
much it will be within my ability to do for you." The Governor was
extremely anxious to purchase the only enemy whom Philip feared. The
Prince had nothing personally to gain by a continuance of the contest.
The ban, outlawry, degradation, pecuniary ruin, assassination,
martyrdom--these were the only guerdons he could anticipate. He had much
to lose: but yesterday loaded with dignities, surrounded by pomp and
luxury, with many children to inherit his worldly gear, could he not
recover all; and more than all, to-day? What service had he to render in
exchange? A mere nothing. He had but to abandon the convictions of a
lifetime, and to betray a million or two of hearts which trusted him.

As to the promises made by the Governor to rule the country with
gentleness, the Prince could not do otherwise than commend the intention,
even while distrusting the fulfilment. In his reply to the two letters of
Don John, he thanked his Highness, with what seemed a grave irony, for
the benign courtesy and signal honor which he had manifested to him, by
inviting him so humanely and so carefully to a tranquil life, wherein,
according to his Highness, consisted the perfection of felicity in this
mortal existence, and by promising him so liberally favor and grace. He
stated, however, with earnestness, that the promises in regard to the
pacification of the poor Netherland people were much more important. He
had ever expected, he said, beyond all comparison, the welfare and
security of the public before his own; "having always placed his
particular interests under his foot, even as he was still resolved to do,
as long as life should endure."

Thus did William of Orange receive the private advances made by the
government towards himself. Meantime, Don John of Austria came to
Louvain. Until the preliminary conditions of the Perpetual Edict had been
fulfilled, and the Spanish troops sent out of the country, he was not to
be received as Governor-General, but it seemed unbecoming for him to
remain longer upon the threshold of the provinces. He therefore advanced
into the heart of the country, trusting himself without troops to the
loyalty of the people, and manifesting a show of chivalrous confidence
which he was far from feeling. He was soon surrounded by courtiers,
time-servers, noble office-seekers. They who had kept themselves
invisible, so long as the issue of a perplexed negotiation seemed
doubtful, now became obsequious and inevitable as his shadow. One grand
seignior wanted a regiment, another a government, a third a chamberlain's
key; all wanted titles, ribbons, offices, livery, wages. Don John
distributed favors and promises with vast liberality. The object with
which Philip had sent him to the Netherlands, that he might conciliate
the hearts of its inhabitants by the personal graces which he had
inherited from his imperial father, seemed in a fair way of
accomplishment, for it was not only the venal applause of titled
sycophants that he strove to merit, but he mingled gaily and familiarly
with all classes of citizens. Everywhere his handsome face and charming
manner produced their natural effect. He dined and supped with the
magistrates in the Town-house, honored general banquets of the burghers
with his presence, and was affable and dignified, witty, fascinating, and
commanding, by turns. At Louvain, the five military guilds held a solemn
festival. The usual invitations were sent to the other societies, and to
all the martial brotherhoods, the country round. Gay and gaudy
processions, sumptuous banquets, military sports, rapidly succeeded each
other. Upon the day of the great trial of skill; all the high
functionaries of the land were, according to custom, invited, and the
Governor was graciously pleased to honor the solemnity with his presence.
Great was the joy of the multitude when Don John, complying with the
habit of imperial and princely personages in former days, enrolled
himself, cross-bow in hand, among the competitors. Greater still was the
enthusiasm, when the conqueror of Lepanto brought down the bird, and was
proclaimed king of the year, amid the tumultuous hilarity of the crowd.
According to custom, the captains of the guild suspended a golden
popinjay around the neck of his Highness, and placing themselves in
procession, followed him to the great church. Thence, after the customary
religious exercises, the multitude proceeded to the banquet, where the
health of the new king of the cross-bowmen was pledged in deep potations.
Long and loud was the merriment of this initiatory festival, to which
many feasts succeeded during those brief but halcyon days, for the
good-natured Netherlanders already believed in the blessed advent of
peace. They did not dream that the war, which had been consuming the
marrow of their commonwealth for ten flaming years, was but in its
infancy, and that neither they nor their children were destined to see
its close.

For the moment, however, all was hilarity at Louvain. The Governor, by
his engaging deportment, awoke many reminiscences of the once popular
Emperor. He expressed unbounded affection for the commonwealth, and
perfect confidence in the loyalty of the inhabitants. He promised to
maintain their liberties, and to restore their prosperity. Moreover, he
had just hit the popinjay with a skill which his imperial father might
have envied, and presided at burgher banquets with a grace which Charles
could have hardly matched. His personal graces, for the moment, took the
rank of virtues. "Such were the beauty and vivacity of his eyes," says
his privy councillor, Tassis, "that with a single glance he made all
hearts his own," yet, nevertheless, the predestined victim secretly felt
himself the object of a marksman who had no time for painted popinjays,
but who rarely missed his aim. "The whole country is at the devotion of
the Prince, and nearly every one of its inhabitants;" such was his secret
language to his royal brother, at the very moment of the exuberant
manifestations which preceded his own entrance to Brussels.

While the Governor still tarried at Louvain, his secretary, Escovedo, was
busily engaged in arranging the departure of the Spaniards, for,
notwithstanding his original reluctance and the suspicions of Orange, Don
John loyally intended to keep his promise. He even advanced twenty-seven
thousand florins towards the expense of their removal, but to raise the
whole amount required for transportation and arrears, was a difficult
matter. The estates were slow in providing the one hundred and fifty
thousand florins which they had stipulated to furnish. The King's credit,
moreover, was at a very low, ebb. His previous bonds had not been duly
honored, and there had even been instances of royal repudiation, which by
no means lightened the task of the financier, in effecting the new loans
required. Escovedo was very blunt in his language upon this topic, and
both Don John and himself urged punctuality in all future payments. They
entreated that the bills drawn in Philip's name upon Lombardy bankers,
and discounted at a heavy rate of interest, by the Fuggers of Antwerp,
might be duly provided for at maturity. "I earnestly beg," said Escovedo,
"that your Majesty will see to the payment of these bills, at all
events;" adding, with amusing simplicity, "this will be a means of
recovering your Majesty's credit, and as for my own; I don't care to lose
it, small though it be." Don John was even more solicitous. "For the love
of God, Sire," he wrote, "do not be delinquent now. You must reflect upon
the necessity of recovering your credit. If this receives now the final
blow, all will desert your Majesty, and the soldiers too will be driven
to desperation."

By dint of great diligence on the part of Escovedo, and through the
confidence reposed in his character, the necessary funds were raised in
the course of a few weeks. There was, however, a difficulty among the
officers, as to the right of commanding the army on the homeward march.
Don Alonzo de Vargas, as chief of the cavalry, was appointed to the post
by the Governor, but Valdez, Romero, and other veterans, indignantly
refused to serve under one whom they declared their inferior officer.
There was much altercation and heartburning, and an attempt was made to
compromise the matter by the appointment of Count Mansfeld to the chief
command. This was, however, only adding fuel to the flames. All were
dissatisfied with the superiority accorded to a foreigner, and Alonzo de
Vargas, especially offended, addressed most insolent language to the
Governor. Nevertheless, the arrangement was maintained, and the troops
finally took their departure from the country, in the latter days of
April. A vast concourse of citizens witnessed their departure, and could
hardly believe their eyes, as they saw this incubus at last rolling off,
by which the land had so many years been crushed. Their joy, although
extravagant, was, however, limited by the reflection that ten thousand
Germans still remained in the provinces, attached to the royal service,
and that there was even yet a possibility that the departure of the
Spaniards was a feint. In truth, Escovedo, although seconding the orders
of Don John, to procure the removal of these troops, did not scruple to
express his regret to the King, and his doubts as to the result. He had
been ever in hopes that an excuse might be found in the condition of
affairs in France, to justify the retention of the forces near that
frontier. He assured the King that he felt very doubtful as to what turn
matters might take, after the soldiers were gone, seeing the great
unruliness which even their presence had been insufficient completely to
check. He had hoped that they might be retained in the neighbourhood,
ready to seize the islands at the first opportunity. "For my part," he
wrote, "I care nothing for the occupation of places within the interior,
but the islands must be secured. To do this," he continued, with a
deceitful allusion to the secret projects of Don John, "is, in my
opinion, more difficult than to effect the scheme upon England. If the
one were accomplished, the other would be easily enough managed, and
would require but moderate means. Let not your Majesty suppose that I say
this as favoring the plan of Don John, for this I put entirely behind
me."

Notwithstanding these suspicions on the part of the people, this
reluctance on the part of then government, the troops readily took up
their line of march, and never paused till they reached Lombardy. Don
John wrote repeatedly to the King, warmly urging the claims of these
veterans, and of their distinguished officers, Romero, Avila, Valdez,
Montesdocca, Verdugo, Mondragon, and others, to his bountiful
consideration. They had departed in very ill humour, not having received
any recompense for their long and arduous services. Certainly, if
unflinching endurance, desperate valor, and congenial cruelty, could
atone in the monarch's eyes for the mutiny, which had at last compelled
their withdrawal, then were these laborers worthy of their hire. Don John
had pacified them by assurances that they should receive adequate rewards
on their arrival in Lombardy, and had urged the full satisfaction of
their claims and his promises in the strongest language. Although Don
Alonzo de Vargas had abused him "with-flying colors," as he expressed
himself, yet he hastened to intercede for him with the King in the most
affectionate terms. "His impatience has not surprised me," said the
Governor, "although I regret that he has been offended, far I love and
esteem him much. He has served many years with great distinction, and I
can certify that his character for purity and religion is something
extraordinary."

The first scene in the withdrawal of the troops had been the evacuation
of the citadel of Antwerp, and it had been decided that the command of
this most important fortress should be conferred upon the Duke of
Aerschot. His claims as commander-in-chief, under the authority of the
State Council, and as chief of the Catholic nobility, could hardly be
passed over, yet he was a man whom neither party trusted. He was too
visibly governed by interested motives. Arrogant where he felt secure of
his own, or doubtful as to another's position, he could be supple and
cringing when the relations changed. He refused an interview with William
of Orange before consulting with Don John, and solicited one afterwards
when he found that every effort was to be made to conciliate the Prince.
He was insolent to the Governor-General himself in February, and
respectful in March. He usurped the first place in the church, before Don
John had been acknowledged Governor, and was the first to go forth to
welcome him after the matter had been arranged. He made a scene of
virtuous indignation in the State Council, because he was accused of
place-hunting, but was diligent to secure an office of the highest
dignity which the Governor could bestow. Whatever may have been his
merits, it is certain that he inspired confidence neither in the
adherents of the King nor of the Prince; while he by turns professed the
warmest regard both to the one party and the other. Spaniards and
patriots, Protestants and Catholics, suspected the man at the same
moment, and ever attributed to his conduct a meaning which was the
reverse of the apparent. Such is often the judgment passed upon those who
fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets.

The Duke, however, was appointed Governor of the citadel. Sancho d'Avila,
the former constable, refused, with Castillian haughtiness, to surrender
the place to his successor, but appointed his lieutenant, Martin d'Oyo,
to perform that ceremony. Escovedo, standing upon the drawbridge with
Aerschot, administered the oath: "I, Philip, Duke of Aerschot," said the
new constable, "solemnly swear to hold this castle for the King, and for
no others." To which Escovedo added, "God help you, with all his angels,
if you keep your oath; if not, may the Devil carry you away, body and
soul." The few bystanders cried Amen; and with this hasty ceremony, the
keys were delivered, the prisoners, Egmont, Capres, Goignies, and others,
liberated, and the Spaniards ordered to march forth.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
     Agreements were valid only until he should repent
     All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
     Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
     Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
     Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
     Believed in the blessed advent of peace
     Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
     Don John of Austria
     Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
     Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
     Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
     His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
     Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
     One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
     Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
     Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
     She knew too well how women were treated in that country
     Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
     Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 27

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855
1577  [CHAPTER II.]

   Triumphal entrance of Don John into Brussels--Reverse of the picture
   --Analysis of the secret correspondence of Don John and Escovedo
   with Antonio Perez--Plots against the Governor's liberty--His
   desponding language and gloomy anticipations--Recommendation of
   severe measures--Position and principles of Orange and his family--
   His private views on the question of peace and war--His toleration
   to Catholics and Anabaptists censured by his friends--Death of
   Viglius--New mission from the Governor to Orange--Details of the
   Gertruydenberg conferences--Nature and results of these
   negotiations--Papers exchanged between the envoys and Orange--Peter
   Panis executed for heresy--Three parties in the Netherlands--
   Dissimulation of Don John--His dread of capture.

As already narrated, the soldiery had retired definitely from the country
at the end of April, after which Don John made his triumphal entrance
into Brussels on the 1st of May. It was long since so festive a May-day
had gladdened the hearts of Brabant. So much holiday magnificence had not
been seen in the Netherlands for years. A solemn procession of burghers,
preceded by six thousand troops, and garnished by the free companies of
archers and musketeers, in their picturesque costumes, escorted the young
prince along the streets of the capital. Don John was on horseback,
wrapped in a long green cloak, riding between the Bishop of Liege and the
Papal nuncio. He passed beneath countless triumphal arches. Banners waved
before him, on which the battle of Lepanto, and other striking scenes in
his life, were emblazoned. Minstrels sang verses, poets recited odes,
rhetoric clubs enacted fantastic dramas in his honor, as he rode along.
Young virgins crowned him with laurels. Fair women innumerable were
clustered at every window, roof, and balcony, their bright robes floating
like summer clouds above him. "Softly from those lovely clouds," says a
gallant chronicler, "descended the gentle rain of flowers." Garlands were
strewed before his feet, laurelled victory sat upon his brow. The same
conventional enthusiasm and decoration which had characterized the
holiday marches of a thousand conventional heroes were successfully
produced. The proceedings began with the church, and ended with the
banquet, the day was propitious, the populace pleased, and after a
brilliant festival, Don John of Austria saw himself Governor-General of
the provinces.

Three days afterwards, the customary oaths, to be kept with the customary
conscientiousness, were rendered at the Town House, and for a brief
moment all seemed smiling and serene.

There was a reverse to the picture. In truth, no language can describe
the hatred which Don John entertained for the Netherlands and all the
inhabitants. He had come to the country only as a stepping-stone to the
English throne, and he never spoke, in his private letters, of the
provinces or the people but in terms of abhorrence. He was in a "Babylon
of disgust," in a "Hell," surrounded by "drunkards," "wineskins,"
"scoundrels," and the like. From the moment of his arrival he had
strained every nerve to retain the Spanish troops, and to send them away
by sea when it should be no longer feasible to keep them. Escovedo shared
in the sentiments and entered fully into the schemes of his chief. The
plot, the secret enterprise, was the great cause of the advent of Don
John in the uncongenial clime of Flanders. It had been, therefore, highly
important, in his estimation, to set, as soon as possible, about the
accomplishment of this important business. He accordingly entered into
correspondence with Antonio Perez, the King's most confidential Secretary
of State at that period. That the Governor was plotting no treason is
sufficiently obvious from the context of his letters: At the same time,
with the expansiveness of his character, when he was dealing with one
whom he deemed has close and trusty friend, he occasionally made use of
expressions which might be made to seem equivocal. This was still more
the case with poor Escovedo. Devoted to his master, and depending most
implicitly upon the honor of Perez, he indulged in language which might
be tortured into a still more suspicious shape when the devilish arts of
Perez and the universal distrust of Philip were tending steadily to that
end. For Perez--on the whole, the boldest, deepest, and most unscrupulous
villain in that pit of duplicity, the Spanish court--was engaged at that
moment with Philip, in a plot to draw from Don John and Escovedo, by
means of this correspondence, the proofs of a treason which the King and
minister both desired to find. The letters from Spain were written with
this view--those from Flanders were interpreted to that end. Every
confidential letter received by Perez was immediately laid by him before
the King, every letter which the artful demon wrote was filled with hints
as to the danger of the King's learning the existence of the
correspondence, and with promises of profound secrecy upon his own part,
and was then immediately placed in Philip's hands, to receive his
comments and criticisms, before being copied and despatched to the
Netherlands. The minister was playing a bold, murderous, and treacherous
game, and played it in a masterly manner. Escovedo was lured to his
destruction, Don John was made to fret his heart away, and Philip--more
deceived than all--was betrayed in what he considered his affections, and
made the mere tool of a man as false as himself and infinitely more
accomplished.

Almost immediately after the arrival of Don John in the Netherlands; he
had begun to express the greatest impatience for Escovedo, who had not
been able to accompany his master upon his journey, but without whose
assistance the Governor could accomplish none of his undertakings. "Being
a man, not an angel, I cannot do all which I have to do," said he to
Perez, "without a single person in whom I can confide." He protested that
he could do no more than he was then doing. He went to bed at twelve and
rose at seven, without having an hour in the day in which to take his
food regularly; in consequence of all which he had already had three
fevers. He was plunged into a world of distrust. Every man suspected him,
and he had himself no confidence in a single individual throughout that
whole Babylon of disgusts. He observed to Perez that he was at liberty to
show his letters to the King, or to read them in the Council, as he meant
always to speak the truth in whatever he should write. He was sure that
Perez would do all for the best; and there is something touching in these
expressions of an honest purpose towards Philip, and of generous
confidence in Perez, while the two were thus artfully attempting to
inveigle him into damaging revelations. The Netherlanders certainly had
small cause to love or trust their new Governor, who very sincerely
detested and suspected them, but Philip had little reason to complain of
his brother. "Tell me if my letters are read in Council, and what his
Majesty says about them," he wrote; "and, above all, send money. I am
driven to desperation at finding myself sold to this people, utterly
unprovided as I am, and knowing the slow manner in which all affairs are
conducted in Spain."

He informed the King that there was but one man in the Netherlands, and
that he was called the Prince of Orange. To him everything was
communicated, with him everything was negotiated, opinions expressed by
him were implicitly followed. The Governor vividly described the
misgivings with which he had placed himself in the power of the states by
going to Louvain, and the reluctance with which he had consented to send
away the troops. After this concession, he complained that the insolence
of the states had increased. "They think that they can do and undo what
they like, now that I am at their mercy," he wrote to Philip.
"Nevertheless, I do what you command without regarding that I am sold,
and that I am in great danger of losing, my liberty, a loss which I dread
more than anything in the world, for I wish to remain justified before
God and men." He expressed, however, no hopes as to the result.
Disrespect and rudeness could be pushed no further than it had already
gone, while the Prince of Orange, the actual governor of the country,
considered his own preservation dependent upon maintaining things as they
then were. Don John, therefore, advised the King steadily to make
preparations for "a rude and terrible war," which was not to be avoided,
save by a miracle, and which ought not--to find him in this unprepared
state. He protested that it was impossible to exaggerate the boldness
which the people felt at seeing him thus defenseless. "They say
publicly," he continued, "that your Majesty is not to be feared, not
being capable of carrying on a war, and having consumed and exhausted
every resource. One of the greatest injuries ever inflicted upon us was
by Marquis Havre, who, after his return from Spain, went about publishing
everywhere the poverty of the royal exchequer. This has emboldened them
to rise, for they believe that, whatever the disposition, there is no
strength to chastise them. They see a proof of the correctness of their
reasoning in the absence of new levies, and in the heavy arrearages due
to the old troops."

He protested that he desired, at least, to be equal to the enemy, without
asking, as others had usually done, for double the amount of the hostile
force. He gave a glance at the foreign complications of the Netherlands,
telling Philip that the estates were intriguing both with France and
England. The English envoy had expressed much uneasiness at the possible
departure of the Spanish troops from the Netherlands by sea, coupling it
with a probable attempt to liberate the Queen of Scots. Don John, who had
come to the provinces for no other purpose, and whose soul had been full
of that romantic scheme, of course stoutly denied and ridiculed the idea.
"Such notions," he had said to the envoy, "were subjects for laughter. If
the troops were removed from the country, it was to strengthen his
Majesty's force in the Levant." Mr. Rogers, much comforted, had expressed
the warm friendship which Elizabeth entertained both for his Majesty and
his Majesty's representative; protestations which could hardly seem very
sincere, after the series of attempts at the Queen's life, undertaken so
recently by his Majesty and his Majesty's former representative.
Nevertheless, Don John had responded with great cordiality, had begged
for Elizabeth's portrait, and had expressed the intention, if affairs
went as he hoped, to go privately to England for the purpose of kissing
her royal hand. Don John further informed the King, upon the envoy's
authority, that Elizabeth had refused assistance to the estates, saying,
if she stirred it would be to render aid to Philip, especially if France
should meddle in the matter. As to France, the Governor advised Philip to
hold out hopes to Alencon of espousing the Infanta, but by no means ever
to fulfil such a promise, as the Duke, "besides being the shield of
heretics, was unscrupulously addicted to infamous vices."

A month later, Escovedo described the downfall of Don John's hopes and
his own in dismal language.--"You are aware," he wrote to Perez, "that a
throne--a chair with a canopy--is our intention and our appetite, and all
the rest is good for nothing. Having failed in our scheme, we are
desperate and like madmen. All is now weariness and death." Having
expressed himself in such desponding accents, he continued, a few days
afterwards, in the same lugubrious vein, "I am ready to hang myself,"
said he, "and I would have done it already, if it were not for keeping
myself as executioner for those who have done us so much harm. Ah, Senor
Antonio Perez!" he added, "what terrible pertinacity have those devils
shown in making us give up our plot. It seems as though Hell were opened
and had sent forth heaps of demons to oppose our schemes." After these
vigorous ejaculations he proceeded to inform his friend that the English
envoy and the estates, governed by the Prince of Orange, in whose power
were the much-coveted ships, had prevented the departure of the troops by
sea. "These devils complain of the expense," said he; "but we would
willingly swallow the cost if we could only get the ships." He then
described Don John as so cast down by his disappointment as to be fit for
nothing, and most desirous of quitting the Netherlands as soon as
possible. He had no disposition to govern these wineskins. Any one who
ruled in the provinces was obliged to do exactly what they ordered him to
do. Such rule was not to the taste of Don John. Without any comparison, a
woman would answer the purpose better than any man, and Escovedo
accordingly suggested the Empress Dowager, or Madame de Parma, or even
Madame de Lorraine. He further recommended that the Spanish troops, thus
forced to leave the Netherlands by land, should be employed against the
heretics in France. This would be a salve for the disgrace of removing
them. "It would be read in history," continued the Secretary, "that the
troops went to France in order to render assistance in a great religious
necessity; while, at the same time, they will be on hand to chastise
these drunkards, if necessary. To have the troops in France is almost as
well as to keep them here." He begged to be forgiven if he spoke
incoherently. 'T was no wonder that he should do so, for his reason had
been disordered by the blow which had been received. As for Don John, he
was dying to leave the country, and although the force was small for so
great a general, yet it would be well for him to lead these troops to
France in person. "It would sound well in history," said poor Escovedo,
who always thought of posterity, without ever dreaming that his own
private letters would be destined, after three centuries, to comment and
earnest investigation; "it would sound well in history, that Don John
went to restore, the French kingdom and to extirpate heretics, with six
thousand foot and two thousand horse. 'Tis a better employment, too, than
to govern such vile creatures as these."

If, however, all their plans should fail, the Secretary suggested to his
friend Antonio, that he must see and make courtiers of them. He suggested
that a strong administration might be formed in Spain, with Don John, the
Marquis de Los Velez, and the Duke of Sesa. "With such chiefs, and with
Anthony and John--[Viz., John of Escovedo and Antony Perez.]--for
acolytes," he was of opinion that much good work might be done, and that
Don John might become "the staff for his Majesty's old age." He implored
Perez, in the most urgent language, to procure Philip's consent that his
brother should leave the provinces. "Otherwise," said he, "we shall see
the destruction of the friend whom we so much love! He will become
seriously ill, and if so, good night to him! His body is too delicate."
Escovedo protested that he would rather die himself. "In the catastrophe
of Don John's death," he continued, "adieu the court, adieu the world!"
He would incontinently bury himself among the mountains of San Sebastian,
"preferring to dwell among wild animals than among courtiers." Escovedo,
accordingly, not urged by the most disinterested motives certainly, but
with as warm a friendship for his master as princes usually inspire,
proceeded to urge upon Perez the necessity of, aiding the man who was
able to help them. The first step was to get him out of the Netherlands.
That was his constant thought, by day and night. As it would hardly be
desirable for him to go alone, it seemed proper that Escovedo should,
upon some pretext, be first sent to Spain. Such a pretext would be easily
found, because, as Don John had accepted the government, "it would be
necessary for him to do all which the rascals bade him." After these
minute statements, the Secretary warned his correspondent of the
necessity of secrecy, adding that he especially feared "all the court
ladies, great and small, but that he in everything confided entirely in
Perez."

Nearly at the same time, Don John wrote to Perez in a similar tone. "Ah,
Senor Antonio," he exclaimed, "how certain is my disgrace and my
misfortune. Ruined is our enterprise, after so much labor and such
skilful management." He was to have commenced the work with the very
Spanish soldiers who were now to be sent off by land, and he had nothing
for it but to let them go, or to come to an open rupture with the states.
"The last, his conscience, his duty, and the time, alike forbade." He was
therefore obliged to submit to the ruin of his plans, and "could think of
nothing save to turn hermit, a condition in which a man's labors, being
spiritual, might not be entirely in vain." He was so overwhelmed by the
blow, he said, that he was constantly thinking of an anchorite's life.
That which he had been leading had become intolerable. He was not fitted
for the people of the Netherlands, nor they for him. Rather than stay
longer than was necessary in order to appoint his successor, there was no
resolution he might not take, even to leaving everything and coming upon
them when they least expected him, although he were to receive a bloody
punishment in consequence. He, too, suggested the Empress, who had all
the qualities which he lacked himself, or Madame de Parma, or Madame de
Lorraine, as each of them was more fit to govern the provinces than he
pretended to be. "The people," said he, plainly, "are beginning to abhor
me, and I abhor them already." He entreated Perez to get him out of the
country by fair means or foul, "per fas aut per nefas." His friends ought
to procure his liberation, if they wished to save him from the sin of
disobedience, and even of infamy. He expressed the most unbounded
confidence in the honor of his correspondent, adding that if nothing else
could procure his release, the letter might be shown to the King. In
general, the Governor was always willing that Perez should make what
changes he thought advisable in the letters for his Majesty, altering or
softening whatever seemed crude or harsh, provided always the main
point--that of procuring his recal--were steadily kept in view, in this,
said the Governor, vehemently, my life, my honor, and my soul are all at
stake; for as to the two first, I shall forfeit them both certainly, and,
in my desperate condition, I shall run great risk of losing the last.

On the other hand, Perez was profuse in his professions of friendship
both to Don John and to Escovedo; dilating in all his letters upon the
difficulty of approaching the King upon the subject of his brother's
recal, but giving occasional information that an incidental hint had been
ventured which might not remain without effect. All these letters, were,
however, laid before Philip, for his approval, before being despatched,
and the whole subject thoroughly and perpetually discussed between them,
about which Perez pretended that he hardly dared breathe a syllable to
his Majesty. He had done what he could, he said, while reading, piece by
piece, to the King, during a fit of the gout, the official despatches
from the Netherlands, to insinuate such of the arguments used by the
Governor and Escovedo as might seem admissible, but it was soon obvious
that no impression could be made upon the royal mind. Perez did not urge
the matter, therefore, "because," said he, "if the King should suspect
that we had any other object than his interests, we should all be lost."
Every effort should be made by Don John and all his friends to secure his
Majesty's entire confidence, since by that course more progress would be
made in their secret plans, than by proceedings concerning which the
Governor wrote "with such fury and anxiety of heart." Perez warned his
correspondent, therefore, most solemnly, against the danger of "striking
the blow without hitting the mark," and tried to persuade him that his
best interests required him to protract his residence in the provinces
for a longer period. He informed Don John that his disappointment as to
the English scheme had met with the warmest sympathy of the King, who had
wished his brother success. "I have sold to him, at as high a price as I
could," said Perez, "the magnanimity with which your Highness had
sacrificed, on that occasion, a private object to his service."

The minister held the same language, when writing, in a still more
intimate and expansive style, to Escovedo. "We must avoid, by a
thousand--leagues, the possibility of the King's thinking us influenced
by private motives," he observed; "for we know the King and the delicacy
of these matters. The only way to gain the good-will of the man is
carefully to accommodate ourselves to his tastes, and to have the
appearance of being occupied solely with his interests." The letter, like
all the rest, being submitted to "the man" in question before being sent,
was underlined by him at this paragraph and furnished with the following
annotation: "but you must enlarge upon the passage which I have
marked--say more, even if you are obliged to copy the letter, in order
that we may see the nature of the reply."

In another letter to Escovedo, Perez enlarged upon the impropriety, the
impossibility of Don John's leaving the Netherlands at that time. The
King was so resolute upon that point, he said, that 'twas out of the
question to suggest the matter. "We should, by so doing, only lose all
credit with him in other things. You know what a terrible man he is; if
he should once suspect us of having a private end in view, we should
entirely miss our mark." Especially the secretary was made acquainted
with the enormous error which would be committed by Don John in leaving
his post.

Perez "had ventured into the water" upon the subject, he said, by
praising the Governor warmly to his Majesty. The King had responded by a
hearty eulogium, adding that the greatest comfort in having such a
brother was, that he might be where his Majesty could not be. Therefore,
it was out of the question for Don John to leave the provinces. The
greatest tact was necessary, urged Perez, in dealing with the King. If he
should once "suspect that we have a private purpose, we are lost, and no
Demosthenes or Cicero would be able to influence him afterwards." Perez
begged that his ardent attachment to Don John might be represented in the
strongest colors to that high personage, who was to be assured that every
effort would be made to place him at the head of affairs in Spain,
according to the suggestion of Escovedo. "It would never do, however," he
continued, "to let our man see that we desire it, for then we should
never succeed. The only way to conquer him is to make him believe that
things are going on as he wishes, not as his Highness may desire, and
that we have none of us any will but the King's." Upon this passage the
"terrible man" made a brief annotation: "this paragraph does admirably,"
he said, adding, with characteristic tautology, "and what you say in it
is also excellent."

"Therefore," continued the minister, "God forbid, Master Escovedo, that
you should come hither now; for we should all be lost. In the English
matter, I assure you that his Majesty was extremely anxious that the plan
should succeed, either through the Pope, or otherwise. That puts me in
mind," added Perez, "to say, body of God! Senor Escovedo! how the devil
came you to send that courier to Rome about the English plot without
giving me warning?" He then proceeded to state that the papal nuncio in
Spain had been much troubled in mind upon the subject, and had sent for
him. "I went," said Perez, "and after he, had closed the door, and looked
through the keyhole to see that there were no listeners, he informed me
that he had received intelligence from the Pope as to the demands made by
Don John upon his Holiness for bulls, briefs, and money to assist him in
his English scheme, and that eighty thousand ducats had already been sent
to him in consequence." Perez added that the nuncio was very anxious to
know how the affair should best be communicated to the King, without
prejudice to his Highness. He had given him the requisite advice, he
continued, and had himself subsequently told the King that, no doubt,
letters had been written by Don John to his Majesty, communicating these
negotiations at Rome, but that probably the despatches had been
forgotten. Thus, giving himself the appearance of having smoothed the
matter with the King, Perez concluded with a practical suggestion of much
importance--the necessity, namely, of procuring the assassination of the
Prince of Orange as soon as possible. "Let it never be absent from your
mind," said he, "that a good occasion must be found for finishing Orange,
since, besides the service which will thus be rendered to our master, and
to the states, it will be worth something to ourselves."

No apology is necessary for laying a somewhat extensive analysis of this
secret correspondence before the reader. If there be any value in the
examples of history, certainly few chronicles can furnish a more
instructive moral. Here are a despotic king and his confidential minister
laying their heads together in one cabinet; the viceroy of the most
important provinces of the realm, with his secretary, deeply conferring
in another, not as to the manner of advancing the great interests, moral
or material, of the people over whom God has permitted them to rule, but
as to the best means of arranging conspiracies against the throne and
life of a neighboring sovereign, with the connivance and subsidies of the
Pope. In this scheme, and in this only, the high conspirators are agreed.
In every other respect, mutual suspicion and profound deceit characterize
the scene. The Governor is filled with inexpressible loathing for the
whole nation of "drunkards and wineskins" who are at the very moment
strewing flowers in his path, and deafening his ears with shouts of
welcome; the king, while expressing unbounded confidence in the viceroy,
is doing his utmost, through the agency of the subtlest intriguer in the
world, to inveigle him into confessions of treasonable schemes, and the
minister is filling reams of paper with protestations of affection for
the governor and secretary, with sneers at the character of the King, and
with instructions as to the best method of deceiving him, and then laying
the despatches before his Majesty for correction and enlargement. To
complete the picture, the monarch and his minister are seen urging the
necessity of murdering the foremost man of the age upon the very dupe
who, within a twelvemonth, was himself to be assassinated by the
self-same pair; while the arch-plotter who controls the strings of all
these complicated projects is equally false to King, Governor, and
Secretary, and is engaging all the others in these blind and tortuous
paths, for the accomplishment of his own secret and most ignoble aims.

In reply to the letters of Perez, Don John constantly expressed the
satisfaction and comfort which he derived from them in the midst of his
annoyances. "He was very disconsolate," he said, "to be in that hell, and
to be obliged to remain in it," now that the English plot had fallen to
the ground, but he would nevertheless take patience, and wait for a more
favorable conjuncture.

Escovedo expressed the opinion, however, notwithstanding all the
suggestions of Perez, that the presence of Don John in the provinces had
become entirely superfluous. "An old woman with her distaff," suggested
the Secretary, "would be more appropriate; for there would be nothing to
do, if the states had their way, save to sign everything which they
should command." If there should be war, his Highness would, of course,
not abandon his post; even if permitted to do so; but otherwise, nothing
could be gained by a prolonged residence. As to the scheme of
assassinating the Prince of Orange, Escovedo prayed Perez to believe him
incapable of negligence on the subject. "You know that the finishing of
Orange is very near my heart," wrote the poor dupe to the man by whom he
was himself so soon to be finished. "You may believe that I have never
forgotten it, and never will forget it, until it be done. Much, and very
much artifice is, however, necessary to accomplish this object. A proper
person to undertake a task fraught with such well-known danger, is hard
to find. Nevertheless, I will not withdraw my attention from the subject
till such a person be procured, and the deed be done."

A month later, Escovedo wrote that he was about to visit Spain. He
complained that he required rest in his old age, but that Perez could
judge how much rest he could get in such a condition of affairs. He was,
unfortunately, not aware, when he wrote, how soon his correspondent was
to give him a long repose. He said, too, that the pleasure of visiting
his home was counterbalanced by the necessity of travelling back to the
Netherlands; but he did not know that Perez was to spare him that
trouble, and to send him forth upon a much longer journey.

The Governor-General, had, in truth, not inspired the popular party or
its leader with confidence, nor did he place the least reliance upon
them. While at Louvain, he had complained that a conspiracy had been
formed against his life and liberty. Two French gentlemen, Bonnivet and
Bellangreville, had been arrested on suspicion of a conspiracy to secure
his person, and to carry him off a prisoner to Rochelle. Nothing came of
the examination which followed; the prisoners were released, and an
apology was sent by the states-general to the Duke of Alencon, as well
for the indignity which had been offered to two of his servants, as for
the suspicion which had been cast upon himself, Don John, however, was
not satisfied. He persisted in asserting the existence of the conspiracy,
and made no secret of his belief that the Prince of Orange was acquainted
with the arrangement. As may be supposed, nothing was discovered in the
course of the investigation to implicate that astute politician. The
Prince had indeed secretly recommended that the Governor should be taken
into custody on his first arrival, not for the purpose of assassination
or personal injury, but in order to extort better terms from Philip,
through the affection or respect which he might be supposed to entertain
for his brother. It will be remembered that unsuccessful attempts had
also been made to capture the Duke of Alva and the Commander Requesens.
Such achievements comported with the spirit of the age, and although it
is doubtful whether any well-concerted plot existed against the liberty
of the Governor, it is certain that he entertained no doubt on the
subject himself. In addition to these real or suspected designs, there
was an ever-present consciousness in the mind of Don John that the
enthusiasm which greeted his presence was hollow, that no real attachment
was felt for his person, that his fate was leading him into a false
position, that the hearts of the people were fixed upon another, and that
they were never to be won by himself. Instinctively he seemed to feel a
multitude of invisible threads twining into a snare around him, and the
courageous heart and the bounding strength became uneasily conscious of
the act in which they were to be held captive till life should be wasted
quite away.

The universal affection for the rebel Prince, and the hopeless
abandonment of the people to that deadliest of sins, the liberty of
conscience, were alike unquestionable. "They mean to remain free, sire,"
wrote Escovedo to Philip, "and to live as they please. To that end they
would be willing that the Turk should come to be master of the country.
By the road which they are travelling, however, it will be the Prince of
Orange--which comes to quite the same thing." At the same time, however,
it was hoped that something might be made of this liberty of conscience.
All were not equally sunk in the horrible superstition, and those who
were yet faithful to Church and King might be set against their besotted
brethren. Liberty of conscience might thus be turned to account. While
two great parties were "by the ears, and pulling out each other's hair,
all might perhaps be reduced together." His Majesty was warned,
nevertheless, to expect the worst, and to believe that the country could
only be cared with fire and blood. The position of the Governor was
painful and perplexing. "Don John," said Escovedo, "is thirty years old.
I promise your Majesty nothing, save that if he finds himself without
requisite assistance, he will take himself off when your Majesty is least
thinking of such a thing."

Nothing could be more melancholy than the tone of the Governor's letters.
He believed himself disliked, even in the midst of affectionate
demonstrations. He felt compelled to use moderate counsels, although he
considered moderation of no avail. He was chained to his post, even
though the post could, in his opinion, be more advantageously filled by
another. He would still endeavour to gain the affections of the people,
although he believed them hopelessly alienated. If patience would cure
the malady of the country, he professed himself capable of applying the
remedy, although the medicine had so far done but little good, and
although he had no very strong hopes as to its future effects. "Thus far,
however," said he, "I am but as one crying in the wilderness." He took
occasion to impress upon his Majesty, in very strong language, the
necessity of money. Secret agents, spies, and spies upon spies, were more
necessary than ever, and were very expensive portions of government
machinery. Never was money more wanted. Nothing could be more important
than, to attend faithfully to the financial suggestions of Escovedo, and
Don John, therefore, urged his Majesty, again and again, not to dishonor
their drafts. "Money is the gruel," said he, "with which we must cure
this sick man;" and he therefore prayed all those who wished well to his
efforts, to see that his Majesty did not fail him in this important
matter. Notwithstanding, however, the vigor of his efforts, and the
earnestness of his intentions, he gave but little hope to his Majesty of
any valuable fruit from the pacification just concluded. He saw the
Prince of Orange strengthening himself, "with great fury," in Holland and
Zealand; he knew that the Prince was backed by the Queen of England, who,
notwithstanding her promises to Philip and himself, had offered her
support to the rebels in case the proposed terms of peace were rejected
in Holland, and he felt that "nearly the whole people was at the devotion
of the Prince."

Don John felt more and more convinced, too, that a conspiracy was on foot
against his liberty. There were so many of the one party, and so few of
the other, that if he were once fairly "trussed," he affirmed that not a
man among the faithful would dare to budge an inch. He therefore informed
his Majesty that he was secretly meditating a retreat to some place of
security; judging very properly that, if he were still his own master, he
should be able to exert more influence over those who were still well
disposed, than if he should suffer himself to be taken captive. A
suppressed conviction that he could effect nothing, except with his
sword, pierced through all his more prudent reflections. He maintained
that, after all, there was no remedy for the body but to cut off the
diseased parts at once, and he therefore begged his Majesty for the means
of performing the operation handsomely. The general expressions which he
had previously used in favor of broths and mild treatment hardly tallied
with the severe amputation thus recommended. There was, in truth, a
constant struggle going on between the fierceness of his inclinations and
the shackles which had been imposed upon him. He already felt entirely
out of place, and although he scorned to fly from his post so long as it
seemed the post of danger, he was most anxious that the King should grant
him his dismissal, so soon as his presence should no longer be
imperiously required. He was sure that the people would never believe in
his Majesty's forgiveness until the man concerning whom they entertained
so much suspicion should be removed; for they saw in him only the
"thunderbolt of his Majesty's wrath." Orange and England confirmed their
suspicions, and sustained their malice. Should he be compelled, against
his will, to remain, he gave warning that he might do something which
would be matter of astonishment to everybody.

Meantime, the man in whose hands really lay the question of war and
peace, sat at Middelburg, watching the deep current of events as it
slowly flowed towards the precipice. The whole population of Holland and
Zealand hung on his words. In approaching the realms of William the
Silent, Don John felt that he had entered a charmed, circle, where the
talisman of his own illustrious name lost its power, where his valor was
paralyzed, and his sword rusted irrevocably in its sheath. "The people
here," he wrote, "are bewitched by the Prince of Orange. They love him,
they fear him, and wish to have him for their master. They inform him of
everything, and take no resolution without consulting him."

While William was thus directing and animating the whole nation with his
spirit, his immediate friends became more and more anxious concerning the
perils to which he was exposed. His mother, who had already seen her
youngest-born, Henry, her Adolphus, her chivalrous Louis, laid in their
bloody graves for the cause of conscience, was most solicitous for the
welfare of her "heart's-beloved lord and son," the Prince of Orange.
Nevertheless, the high-spirited old dame was even more alarmed at the
possibility of a peace in which that religious liberty for which so much
dear blood had been, poured forth should be inadequately secured. "My
heart longs for certain tidings from my lord," she wrote to William, "for
methinks the peace now in prospect will prove but an oppression for soul
and conscience. I trust my heart's dearly-beloved lord and son will be
supported by Divine grace to do nothing against God and his own soul's
salvation. 'Tis better to lose the temporal than the eternal." Thus wrote
the mother of William, and we can feel the sympathetic thrill which such
tender and lofty words awoke in his breast. His son, the ill-starred
Philip, now for ten years long a compulsory sojourner in Spain, was not
yet weaned from his affection for his noble parent, but sent messages of
affection to him whenever occasion offered, while a less commendable
proof of his filial affection he had lately afforded, at the expense of
the luckless captain of his Spanish guard. That officer having dared in
his presence to speak disrespectfully of his father, was suddenly seized
about the waist by the enraged young Count, hurled out of the window, and
killed stone-dead upon the spot. After this exhibition of his natural
feelings, the Spanish government thought it necessary to take more subtle
means to tame so turbulent a spirit. Unfortunately they proved
successful.

Count John of Nassau, too, was sorely pressed for money. Six hundred
thousand florins; at least, had been advanced by himself and brothers to
aid the cause of Netherland freedom. Louis and himself had,
unhesitatingly and immediately, turned into that sacred fund the hundred
thousand crowns which the King of France had presented them for their
personal use, for it was not the Prince of Orange alone who had
consecrated his wealth and his life to the cause, but the members of his
family, less immediately interested in the country, had thus furnished
what may well be called an enormous subsidy, and one most disproportioned
to their means. Not only had they given all the cash which they could
command by mortgaging their lands and rents, their plate and furniture,
but, in the words of Count John himself, "they had taken the chains and
jewels from the necks of their wives, their children, and their mother,
and had hawked them about, as if they had themselves been traders and
hucksters." And yet, even now, while stooping under this prodigious debt,
Count John asked not for present repayment. He only wrote to the Prince
to signify his extreme embarrassment, and to request some obligation or
recognition from the cities of Holland and Zealand, whence hitherto no
expression of gratitude or acknowledgment had proceeded.

The Prince consoled and assured, as best he could, his mother, son, wife,
and brother, even at the same moment that he comforted his people. He
also received at this time a second and more solemn embassy from Don
John. No sooner had the Governor exchanged oaths at Brussels, and been
acknowledged as the representative of his Majesty, than he hastened to
make another effort to conciliate the Prince. Don John saw before him
only a grand seignior of lofty birth and boundless influence, who had
placed himself towards the Crown in a false position, from which he might
even yet be rescued; for to sacrifice the whims of a reforming and
transitory religious fanaticism, which had spun itself for a moment about
so clear a brain, would, he thought, prove but a trifling task for so
experienced a politician as the Prince. William of Orange, on the other
hand, looked upon his young antagonist as the most brilliant
impersonation which had yet been seen of the foul spirit of persecution.

It will be necessary to follow, somewhat more in detail than is usually
desirable, the interchange of conversations, letters, and protocols, out
of which the brief but important administration of Don John was composed;
for it was exactly in such manifestations that the great fight was really
proceeding. Don John meant peace, wise William meant war, for he knew
that no other issue was possible. Peace, in reality, was war in its worst
shape. Peace would unchain every priestly tongue, and unsheath every
knightly sword in the fifteen provinces against little Holland and
Zealand. He had been able to bind all the provinces together by the
hastily forged chain of the Ghent treaty, and had done what he could to
strengthen that union by the principle of mutual religious respect. By
the arrival of Don John that work had been deranged. It had, however,
been impossible for the Prince thoroughly to infuse his own ideas on the
subject of toleration into the hearts of his nearest associates. He could
not hope to inspire his deadly enemies with a deeper sympathy. Was he not
himself the mark of obloquy among the Reformers, because of his leniency
to Catholics? Nay more, was not his intimate councillor, the accomplished
Saint Aldegonde, in despair because the Prince refused to exclude the
Anabaptists of Holland from the rights of citizenship? At the very moment
when William was straining every nerve to unite warring sects, and to
persuade men's hearts into a system by which their consciences were to be
laid open to God alone--at the moment when it was most necessary for the
very existence of the fatherland that Catholic and Protestant should
mingle their social and political relations, it was indeed a bitter
disappointment for him to see wise statesmen of his own creed unable to
rise to the idea of toleration. "The affair of the Anabaptists," wrote
Saint Aldegonde, "has been renewed. The Prince objects to exclude them
from citizenship. He answered me sharply, that their yea was equal to our
oath, and that we should not press this matter, unless we were willing to
confess that it was just for the Papists to compel us to a divine service
which was against our conscience." It seems hardly credible that this
sentence, containing so sublime a tribute to the character of the Prince,
should have been indited as a bitter censure, and that, too, by an
enlightened and accomplished Protestant. "In short," continued Saint
Aldegonde, with increasing vexation, "I don't see how we can accomplish
our wish in this matter. The Prince has uttered reproaches to me that our
clergy are striving to obtain a mastery over consciences. He praised
lately the saying of a monk who was not long ago here, that our pot had
not gone to the fire as often as that of our antagonists, but that when
the time came it would be black enough. In short, the Prince fears that
after a few centuries the clerical tyranny on both sides will stand in
this respect on the same footing."

Early in the month of May, Doctor Leoninus and Caspar Schetz, Seigneur de
Grobbendonck, had been sent on a mission from the states-general to the
Prince of Orange. While their negotiations were still pending, four
special envoys from Don John arrived at Middelburg. To this commission
was informally adjoined Leoninus, who had succeeded to the general
position of Viglius. Viglius was dead. Since the memorable arrest of the
State Council, he had not appeared on the scene of public affairs. The
house-arrest, to which he had been compelled by a revolutionary
committee, had been indefinitely prolonged by a higher power, and after a
protracted illness he had noiselessly disappeared from the stage of life.
There had been few more learned doctors of both laws than he. There had
been few more adroit politicians, considered from his point of view. His
punning device was "Vita mortalium vigilia," and he acted accordingly,
but with a narrow interpretation. His life had indeed been a vigil, but
it must be confessed that the vigils had been for Viglius.

   [Bor, x. 812. Meteren, vi. 120.--Another motto of his was, "En
   groot Jurist een booser Christ;" that is to say, A good lawyer is a
   bad Christian.--Unfortunately his own character did not give the lie
   satisfactorily to the device.]

The weatherbeaten Palinurus, as he loved to call himself, had conducted
his own argosy so warily that he had saved his whole cargo; and perished
in port at last, while others, not sailing by his compass, were still
tossed by the tempest.

The agents of Don John were the Duke of Aerschot, the Seigneur de
Hierges, Seigneur de Willerval, and Doctor Meetkercke, accompanied by
Doctor Andrew Gaill, one of the imperial commissioners. The two envoys
from the states-general, Leoninus and Schetz, being present at
Gertruydenberg were added to the deputation. An important conference took
place, the details of which have been somewhat minutely preserved. The
Prince of Orange, accompanied by Saint Aldegonde and four other
councillors, encountered the seven champions from Brussels in a long
debate, which was more like a passage of arms or a trial of skill than a
friendly colloquy with a pacific result in prospect; for it must be
remembered that the Prince of Orange did not mean peace. He had devised
the Pacification of Ghent as a union of the other provinces with Holland
and Zealand, against Philip. He did not intend that it should be
converted into a union of the other provinces with Philip, against
Holland and Zealand.

Meetkercke was the first to speak. He said that the Governor had
despatched them to the Prince, to express his good intentions, to
represent the fidelity with which his promises had thus far been
executed, and to entreat the Prince, together with the provinces of
Holland and Zealand, to unite with their sister provinces in common
allegiance to his Majesty. His Highness also proposed to advise with them
concerning the proper method of convoking the states-general. As soon as
Meetkercke had finished his observations, the Prince demanded that the
points and articles should be communicated to him in writing. Now this
was precisely what the envoys preferred to omit. It was easier, and far
more agreeable to expatiate in a general field of controversy,--than to
remain tethered to distinct points. It was particularly in these confused
conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere, that the volatile
word was thought preferable to the permanent letter. Already so many
watery lines had been traced, in the course of these fluctuating
negotiations, that a few additional records would be if necessary, as
rapidly effaced as the rest.

The commissioners, after whispering in each other's, ears for a few
minutes, refused to put down anything in writing. Protocols, they said,
only engendered confusion.

"No, no," said the .Prince, in reply, "we will have nothing except in
black and white. Otherwise things will be said on both sides, which will
afterwards be interpreted in different ways. Nay, it will be denied that
some important points have been discussed at all. We know that by
experience. Witness the solemn treaty of Ghent, which ye have tried to
make fruitless, under pretence that some points, arranged by word of
mouth, and not stated particularly in writing, had been intended in a
different sense from the obvious one. Governments given by royal
commission, for example; what point could be clearer? Nevertheless, ye
have hunted up glosses and cavils to obscure the intention of the
contracting parties. Ye have denied my authority over Utrecht, because
not mentioned expressly in the treaty of Ghent."

"But," said one of the envoys, interrupting at this point, "neither the
Council of State nor the Court of Mechlin consider Utrecht as belonging
to your Excellency's government."

"Neither the Council of State," replied the Prince, "nor the Court of
Mechlin have anything to do with the matter. 'Tis in my commission, and
all the world knows it." He added that instead of affairs being thrown
into confusion by being reduced to writing, he was of opinion, on the
contrary, that it was by that means alone they could be made perfectly
clear.

Leoninus replied, good naturedly, that there should be no difficulty upon
that score, and that writings should be exchanged. In the meantime,
however, he expressed the hope that the Prince would honor them with some
preliminary information as to the points in which he felt aggrieved, as
well as to the pledges which he and the states were inclined to demand.

"And what reason have we to hope," cried the Prince, "that your pledges,
if made; will be redeemed? That which was promised so solemnly at Ghent,
and ratified by Don John and his Majesty, has not been fulfilled."

"Of what particular point do you complain?" asked Schetz. "Wherein has
the Pacification been violated?"

Hereupon the Prince launched forth upon a flowing stream of invective. He
spoke to them of his son detained in distant captivity--of his own
property at Breda withheld--of a thousand confiscated estates--of
garrisons of German mercenaries--of ancient constitutions annihilated--of
the infamous edicts nominally suspended, but actually in full vigor. He
complained bitterly that the citadels, those nests and dens of tyranny,
were not yet demolished. "Ye accuse me of distrust," he cried; "but while
the castles of Antwerp, Ghent, Namur, and so many more are standing, 'tis
yourselves who show how utterly ye are without confidence in any
permanent and peaceful arrangement."

"And what," asked a deputy, smoothly, "is the point which touches you
most nearly? What is it that your Excellency most desires? By what means
will it be possible for the government fully to give you contentment?"

"I wish," he answered, simply, "the full execution of the Ghent
Pacification. If you regard the general welfare of the land, it is well,
and I thank you. If not, 'tis idle to make propositions, for I regard my
country's profit, not my own."

Afterwards, the Prince simply repeated his demand that the Ghent treaty
should be executed; adding, that after the states-general should have
been assembled, it would be time to propose the necessary articles for
mutual security.

Hereupon Doctor Leoninus observed that the assembly of the states-general
could hardly be without danger. He alluded to the vast number of persons
who would thus be convoked, to the great discrepancy of humors which
would thus be manifested. Many men would be present neither discreet nor
experienced. He therefore somewhat coolly suggested that it might be
better to obviate the necessity of holding any general assembly at all.
An amicable conference, for the sake of settling doubtful questions,
would render the convocation superfluous, and save the country from the
dangers by which the step would be attended. The Doctor concluded by
referring to the recent assemblies of France, the only result of which
had been fresh dissensions. It thus appeared that the proposition on the
part of Don John meant something very different from its apparent
signification. To advise with the Prince as to the proper method of
assembling the estates really meant, to advise with him as to the best
means of preventing any such assembly. Here, certainly, was a good reason
for the preference expressed by the deputies, in favor of amicable
discussions over formal protocols. It might not be so easy in a written
document to make the assembly, and the prevention of the assembly, appear
exactly the same thing.

The Prince replied that there was a wide difference between the condition
of France and of the Netherlands. Here, was one will and one intention.
There, were many factions, many partialities, many family intrigues.
Since it had been agreed by the Ghent treaty that certain points should
be provisionally maintained and others settled by a speedy convocation of
the states-general, the plainest course was to maintain the provisional
points, and to summon the states-general at once. This certainly was
concise and logical. It is doubtful, however, whether he were really as
anxious for the assembly-general as he appeared to be. Both parties were
fencing at each other, without any real intention of carrying their
points, for neither wished the convocation, while both affected an
eagerness for that event. The conversation proceeded.

"At least," said an envoy, "you can tell beforehand in what you are
aggrieved, and what you have to propose."

"We are aggrieved in nothing, and we have nothing to propose," answered
the Prince, "so long as you maintain the Pacification. We demand no other
pledge, and are willing to refer everything afterwards to the assembly."

"But," asked Schetz, "what security do you offer us that you will
yourselves maintain the Pacification?"

"We are not bound to give assurances," answered the Prince. "The
Pacification is itself an assurance. 'Tis a provisional arrangement, to
be maintained by both parties, until after the decision of the assembly.
The Pacification must therefore be maintained or disavowed. Choose
between the two. Only, if you mean still to acknowledge it, you must keep
its articles. This we mean to do, and if up to the present time you have
any complaint to make of our conduct, as we trust you have not, we are
ready to give you satisfaction."

"In short," said an envoy, "you mean, after we shall have placed in your
hands the government of Utrecht, Amsterdam: and other places, to deny us
any pledges on your part to maintain the Pacification."

"But," replied the Prince, "if we are already accomplishing the
Pacification, what more do you wish?"

"In this fashion," cried the others, "after having got all that you ask,
and having thus fortified yourselves more than you were ever fortified
before, you will make war upon us."

"War?" cried the Prince, "what are you afraid of? We are but a handful of
people; a worm compared to the King of Spain. Moreover, ye are fifteen
provinces to two. What have you to fear?"

"Ah," said Meetkercke, "we have seen what you could do, when you were
masters of the sea. Don't make yourselves out quite so little."

"But," said the Prince, "the Pacification of Ghent provides for all this.
Your deputies were perfectly satisfied with the guarantees it furnished.
As to making war upon you, 'tis a thing without foundation or appearance
of probability. Had you believed then that you had anything to fear, you
world not have forgotten to demand pledges enough. On the contrary, you
saw how roundly we were dealing with you then, honestly disgarnishing the
country, even before the peace had been concluded. For ourselves,
although we felt the right to demand guarantees, we would not do it, for
we were treating with you on terms of confidence. We declared expressly
that had we been dealing with the King, we should have exacted stricter
pledges. As to demanding them of us at the moment, 'tis nonsense. We have
neither the means of assailing you, nor do we deem it expedient to do
so."

"To say the truth," replied Schetz, "we are really confident that you
will not make war upon us. On the other hand, however, we see you
spreading your religion daily, instead of keeping it confined within your
provinces. What assurance do you give us that, after all your demand
shall have been accorded, you will make no innovation in religion."

"The assurance which we give you," answered the Prince, "is that we will
really accomplish the Pacification."

"But," persisted Schetz, "do you fairly, promise to submit to all which
the states-general shall ordain, as well on this point of religious
exercise in Holland and Zealand, as on all the others?"

This was a home thrust. The Prince parried it for a while. In his secret
thoughts he had no expectation or desire that the states-general,
summoned in a solemn manner by the Governor-General, on the basis of the
memorable assembly before which was enacted the grand ceremony of the
imperial abdication, would ever hold their session, and although he did
not anticipate the prohibition by such assembly, should it take place, of
the Reformed worship in Holland and Zealand, he did not intend to submit
to it, even should it be made.

"I cannot tell," said he, accordingly, in reply to the last question,
"for ye have yourselves already broken and violated the Pacification;
having made an accord with Don John without our consent, and having
already received him as Governor."

"So that you don't mean," replied Schetz, "to accept the decision of the
states?"

"I don't say that," returned the Prince, continuing to parry; "it is
possible that we might accept it; it is possible that we might not. We
are no longer in our entire rights, as we were at the time of our first
submission at Ghent."

"But we will make you whole," said Schetz.

"That you cannot do," replied the Prince, "for you have broken the
Pacification all to pieces. We have nothing, therefore, to expect from
the states, but to be condemned off-hand.

"You don't mean, then," repeated Schetz, "to submit to the estates
touching the exercise of religion?"

"No, we do not!" replied the Prince, driven into a corner at last, and
striking out in his turn. "We certainly do not. To tell you the truth, we
see that you intend our extirpation, and we don't mean to be extirpated."

"Ho!" said the Duke of Aerschot, "there is nobody who wishes that."

"Indeed, but you do," said the Prince. "We have submitted ourselves to
you in good faith, and you now would compel us and all the world to
maintain exclusively the Catholic religion. This cannot be done except by
extirpating us."

A long, learned, vehement discussion upon abstract points, between Saint
Aldegonde, Leoninus, and Doctor Gaill, then ensued, during which the
Prince, who had satisfied himself as to the result of the conference,
retired from the apartment. He afterwards had a private convention with
Schetz and Leoninus, in which he reproached them with their inclination
to reduce their fatherland to slavery. He also took occasion to remark to
Hiergea, that it was a duty to content the people; that whatever might be
accomplished for them was durable, whereas the will of kings was
perishing. He told the Duke of Aerschot that if Utrecht were not
restored, he would take it by force. He warned the Duke that to trust the
King was to risk his head. He, at least, would never repose confidence in
him, having been deceived too often. The King cherished the maxim,
'hereticis non est servanda fides;' as for himself he was 'calbo y
calbanista,' and meant to die so.

The formal interchange of documents soon afterwards took place. The
conversation thus held between the different parties shows, however, the
exact position of, affairs. There was no change in the intentions of
either; Reformers or Royalists. Philip and his representatives still
contended for two points, and claimed the praise of moderation that their
demands were so few in number. They were willing to concede everything,
save the unlimited authority of the King and the exclusive maintenance of
the Catholic religion. The Prince of Orange, on his side, claimed two
points also--the ancient constitutions of the country and religious
freedom. It was obvious enough that the contest was, the same in reality,
as it had ever been. No approximation had been made towards reconciling
absolutism with national liberty, persecution with toleration. The
Pacification of Ghent had been a step in advance. That Treaty opened the
door to civil and religious liberty, but it was an agreement among the
provinces, not a compact between the people and the monarch. By the
casuists of Brussels and the licentiates of Louvain, it had, to be sure,
been dogmatically pronounced orthodox, and had been confirmed by royal
edict. To believe, however, that his Catholic Majesty had faith in the
dogmas propounded, was as absurd as to believe in the dogmas themselves.
If the Ghent Pacification really had made no breach in royal and Roman
infallibility, then the efforts of Orange and the exultation of the
Reformers had indeed been idle.

The envoys accordingly, in obedience to their instructions, made a formal
statement to the Prince of Orange and the states of Holland and Zealand,
on the part of Don John. They alluded to the departure of the Spaniards,
as if that alone had fulfilled every duty and authorized every claim.
They therefore demanded the immediate publication in Holland and Zealand
of the Perpetual Edict. They insisted on the immediate discontinuance of
all hostile attempts to reduce Amsterdam to the jurisdiction of Orange;
required the Prince to abandon his pretensions to Utrecht, and denounced
the efforts making by him and his partisans to diffuse their heretical
doctrines through the other provinces. They observed, in conclusion, that
the general question of religion was not to be handled, because reserved
for the consideration of the states-general, according to the treaty of
Ghent.

The reply, delivered on the following day by the Prince of Orange and the
deputies, maintained that the Perpetual Edict was widely different from
the Pacification of Ghent, which it affected to uphold; that the promises
to abstain from all violation of the ancient constitutions had not been
kept; that the German troops had not been dismissed, that the property of
the Prince in the Netherlands and Burgundy had not been restored, that
his son was detained in captivity, that the government of Utrecht was
withheld from him, that the charters and constitution of the country,
instead of being extended, had been contracted, and that the Governor had
claimed the right to convoke the states-general at his pleasure, in
violation of the ancient right to assemble at their own. The document
further complained that the adherents of the Reformed religion were not
allowed to frequent the different provinces in freedom, according to the
stipulations of Ghent; that Don John, notwithstanding all these
short-comings, had been acknowledged as Governor-General, without the
consent of the Prince; that he was surrounded with a train of Spaniards
Italians, and other foreigners--Gonzaga, Escovedo, and the like--as well
as by renegade Netherlanders like Tassis, by whom he was unduly
influenced against the country and the people, and by whom a "back door
was held constantly open" to the admission of evils innumerable. Finally,
it was asserted that, by means of this last act of union, a new form of
inquisition had been introduced, and one which was much more cruel than
the old system; inasmuch as the Spanish Inquisition did not take
information against men: except upon suspicion, whereas, by the new
process, all the world would be examined as to their conscience and
religion, under pretence of maintaining the union.

Such was the result of this second mission to the Prince of Orange on the
part of the Governor-General. Don John never sent another. The swords
were now fairly measured between the antagonists, and the scabbard was
soon to be thrown away. A few weeks afterwards, the Governor wrote to
Philip that there was nothing in the world which William of Orange so
much abhorred as his Majesty; adding, with Castillian exaggeration, that
if the Prince could drink the King's blood he would do so with great
pleasure.

Don John, being thus seated in the saddle, had a moment's leisure to look
around him. It was but a moment, for he had small confidence in the
aspect of affairs, but one of his first acts after assuming the
government afforded a proof of the interpretation which he had adopted of
the Ghent Pacification. An edict was issued, addressed to all bishops,
"heretic-masters," and provincial councils, commanding the strict
enforcement of the Canons of Trent, and other ecclesiastical decrees.
These authorities were summoned instantly to take increased heed, of the
flocks under their charge, "and to protect them from the ravening wolves
which were seeking to devour them."

The measure bore instant fruit. A wretched tailor of Mechlin, Peter Penis
by name, an honest man, but a heretic, was arrested upon the charge of
having preached or exhorted at a meeting in that city. He confessed that
he had been present at the meeting, but denied that he had preached. He
was then required to denounce the others who had been present, and the
men who had actually officiated. He refused, and was condemned to death.
The Prince of Orange, while the process was pending, wrote an earnest
letter to the Council of Mechlin, imploring them not now to rekindle the
fires of religious persecution. His appeal was in vain. The poor tailor
was beheaded at Mechlin on the 15th of June, the Conqueror of Lepanto
being present at the execution, and adding dignity to the scene. Thus, at
the moment when William of Orange was protecting the Anabaptists of
Middelburg in their rights of citizenship, even while they refused its
obligations, the son of the Emperor was dipping his hands in the blood of
a poor wretch who had done no harm but to listen to a prayer without
denouncing the preacher. The most intimate friends of the Prince were
offended with his liberality. The imperial shade of Don John's father
might have risen to approve the son who had so dutifully revived his
bloody edicts and his ruthless policy.

Three parties were now fairly in existence: the nobles, who hated the
Spaniards, but who were disposed to hold themselves aloof from the
people; the adherents of Don John, commonly called "Johanists;" and the
partisans of the Prince of Orange--for William the Silent had always felt
the necessity of leaning for support on something more substantial than
the court party, a reed shaken by the wind, and failing always when most
relied upon. His efforts were constant to elevate the middle class, to
build up a strong third party which should unite much of the substantial
wealth and intelligence of the land, drawing constantly from the people,
and deriving strength from national enthusiasm--a party which should
include nearly all the political capacity of the country; and his efforts
were successful. No doubt the Governor and his Secretary were right when
they said the people of the Netherlands were inclined to brook the Turk
as easily as the Spaniard for their master, and that their hearts were in
reality devoted to the Prince of Orange.

As to the grandees, they were mostly of those who "sought to swim between
two waters," according to the Prince's expression. There were but few
unswerving supporters of the Spanish rule, like the Berlaymont and the
Tassis families. The rest veered daily with the veering wind. Aerschot,
the great chief of the Catholic party, was but a cringing courtier, false
and fawning both to Don John and the Prince. He sought to play a leading
part in a great epoch; he only distinguished himself by courting and
betraying all parties, and being thrown away by all. His son and brother
were hardly more respectable. The Prince knew how little dependence could
be placed on such allies, even although they had signed and sworn the
Ghent Pacification. He was also aware how little it was the intention of
the Governor to be bound by that famous Treaty. The Spanish troops had
been, indeed, disbanded, but there were still, between ten and fifteen
thousand German mercenaries in the service of the King; these were
stationed in different important places, and held firm possession of the
citadels. The great keys of the country were still in the hands of the
Spaniards. Aerschot, indeed, governed the castle of Antwerp, in room of
Sancho d'Avila, but how much more friendly would Aerschot be than Avila,
when interest prompted him to sustain Don John against the Prince?

Meanwhile; the estates, according to their contract, were straining every
nerve to raise the requisite sum for the payment of the German troops.
Equitable offers were made, by which the soldiers were to receive a
certain proportion of the arrears due to them in merchandize, and the
remainder in cash. The arrangement was rejected, at the secret instance
of Don John. While the Governor affected an ingenuous desire to aid the
estates in their efforts to free themselves from the remaining portion of
this incumbrance, he was secretly tampering with the leading German
officers, in order to prevent their acceptance of any offered terms. He
persuaded these military chiefs that a conspiracy existed, by which they
were not only to be deprived of their wages but of their lives. He warned
them to heed no promises, to accept no terms. Convincing them that he,
and he only, was their friend, he arranged secret plans by which they
should assist him in taking the fortresses of the country into still more
secure possession, for he was not more inclined to trust to the Aerschots
and the Havres than was the Prince himself.

The Governor lived in considerable danger, and in still greater dread of
capture, if not of assassination. His imagination, excited by endless
tales of ambush and half-discovered conspiracies, saw armed soldiers
behind every bush; a pitfall in every street. Had not the redoubtable
Alva been nearly made a captive? Did not Louis of Nassau nearly entrap
the Grand Commander? No doubt the Prince of Orange was desirous of
accomplishing a feat by which he would be placed in regard to Philip on
the vantage ground which the King had obtained by his seizure of Count
Van Buren, nor did Don John need for warnings coming from sources far
from obscure. In May, the Viscount De Gand had forced his way to his
bedside in the dead of night; and wakening him from his sleep, had
assured him, with great solemnity, that his life was not worth a pin's
purchase if he remained in Brussels. He was aware, he said, of a
conspiracy by which both his liberty and his life were endangered, and
assured him that in immediate flight lay his only safety.

The Governor fled to Mechlin, where the same warnings were soon
afterwards renewed, for the solemn sacrifice of Peter Panis, the poor
preaching tailor of that city, had not been enough to strike terror to
the hearts of all the Netherlanders. One day, toward the end of June, the
Duke of Aerschot, riding out with Don John, gave him a circumstantial
account of plots, old and new, whose existence he had discovered or
invented, and he showed a copy of a secret letter, written by the Prince
of Orange to the estates, recommending the forcible seizure of his
Highness. It is true that the Duke was, at that period and for long
after, upon terms of the most "fraternal friendship" with the Prince, and
was in the habit of signing himself "his very affectionate brother and
cordial friend to serve him," yet this did not prevent him from
accomplishing what he deemed his duty, in secretly denouncing his plans,
It is also true that he, at the same time, gave the Prince private
information concerning the government, and sent him intercepted letters
from his enemies, thus easing his conscience on both sides, and trimming
his sails to every wind which might blow. The Duke now, however, reminded
his Highness of the contumely with which he had been treated at Brussels,
of the insolent threats with which the citizens had pursued his servants
and secretaries even to the very door of his palace. He assured him that
the same feeling existed at Mechlin, and that neither himself nor family
were much safer there than in the capital, a plot being fully organized
for securing his person. The conspirators, he said, were openly supported
by a large political party who called themselves anti-Johanists, and who
clothed themselves in symbolic costume, as had been done by the
disaffected in the days of Cardinal Granvelle. He assured the Governor
that nearly all the members of the states-general were implicated in
these schemes. "And what becomes, then, of their promises?" asked Don
John. "That for their promises!" cried the Duke, snapping his fingers;
"no man in the land feels bound by engagements now." The Governor
demanded the object of the states in thus seeking to deprive him of his
liberty. The Duke informed him that it was to hold him in captivity until
they had compelled him to sign every paper which they chose to lay before
him. Such things had been done in the Netherlands in former days, the
Duke observed, as he proceeded to narrate how a predecessor of his
Highness and a prince of the land, after having been compelled to sign
innumerable documents, had been, in conclusion, tossed out of the windows
of his own palace, with all his retinue, to perish upon the pikes of an
insurgent mob below. The Governor protested that it did not become the
son of Charles the Fifth and the representative of his Catholic Majesty
to hear such intimations a second time. After his return, he brooded over
what had been said to him for a few days, and he then broke up his
establishment at Mechlin, selling off his superfluous furniture and even
the wine in his cellars. Thus showing that his absence, both from
Brussels and Mechlin, was to be a prolonged one, he took advantage of an
unforeseen occurrence again to remove his residence.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A good lawyer is a bad Christian
     Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
     Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
     Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
     Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
     I regard my country's profit, not my own
     Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
     Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
     Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
     Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
     Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
     Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 28

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




CHAPTER III.

   The city of Namur--Margaret of Valois--Her intrigues in Hainault in
   favour of Alencon--Her reception by Don John at Namur--Festivities
   in her, honor--Seizure of Namur citadel by Don John--Plan for
   seizing that of Antwerp--Letter of the estates to Philip, sent by
   Escovedo--Fortunes and fate of Escovedo in Madrid--Repairing of
   dykes--The Prince's visit to Holland--His letter to the estates--
   general on the subject of Namur citadel--His visit to Utrecht--
   Correspondence and commissioners between Don John and the estates--
   Acrimonious and passionate character of these colloquies--Attempt of
   Treslong upon Antwerp citadel frustrated by De Bourse--Fortunate
   panic of the German mercenaries--Antwerp evacuated by the foreign
   troops--Renewed correspondence--Audacity of the Governor's demands--
   Letters of Escovedo and others intercepted--Private schemes of Don
   John not understood by the estates--His letter to the Empress
   Dowager--More correspondence with the estates--Painful and false
   position of the Governor--Demolition, in part, of Antwerp citadel,
   and of other fortresses by the patriots Statue of Alva--Letter of
   estates-general to the King.

There were few cities of the Netherlands more picturesque in situation,
more trimly built, and more opulent of aspect than the little city of
Namur. Seated at the confluence of the Sombre with the Meuse, and
throwing over each river a bridge of solid but graceful structure, it lay
in the lap of a most fruitful valley. Abroad crescent-shaped plain,
fringed by the rapid Meuse, and enclosed by gently rolling hills
cultivated to their crests, or by abrupt precipices of limestone crowned
with verdure, was divided by numerous hedgerows, and dotted all over with
corn-fields, vineyards, and flower gardens. Many eyes have gazed with
delight upon that well-known and most lovely valley, and many torrents of
blood have mingled with those glancing waters since that long buried and
most sanguinary age which forms our theme; and still placid as ever is
the valley, brightly as ever flows the stream. Even now, as in that
vanished, but never-forgotten time, nestles the little city in the angle
of the two rivers; still directly over its head seems to hang in mid-air
the massive and frowning fortress, like the gigantic helmet-in the
fiction, as if ready to crush the pigmy town below.

It was this famous citadel, crowning an abrupt precipice five hundred
feet above the river's bed, and placed near the frontier of France, which
made the city so important, and which had now attracted Don John's
attention in this hour of his perplexity. The unexpected visit of a
celebrated personage, furnished him with the pretext which he desired.
The beautiful Margaret of Valois, Queen of Navarre, was proceeding to the
baths of Spa, to drink the waters. Her health was as perfect as her
beauty, but she was flying from a husband whom she hated, to advance the
interest of a brother whom she loved with a more than sisterly
fondness--for the worthless Duke of Alencon was one of the many
competitors for the Netherland government; the correspondence between
himself and his brother with Orange and his agents being still continued.
The hollow truce with the Huguenots in France had, however, been again
succeeded by war. Henry of Valois had already commenced operations in
Gascony against Henry of Navarre, whom he hated, almost as cordially as
Margaret herself could do, and the Duke of Alencon was besieging Issoire.
Meantime, the beautiful Queen came to mingle he golden thread of her
feminine intrigues with the dark woof of the Netherland destinies.

Few spirits have been more subtle, few faces so fatal as hers. True child
of the Medicean mother, worthy sister of Charles, Henry; and
Francis--princes for ever infamous in the annals of France--she possessed
more beauty and wit than Mary of Scotland, more learning and
accomplishments than Elizabeth of England. In the blaze of her beauty,
according to the inflated language of her most determined worshiper, the
wings of all rivals were melted. Heaven required to be raised higher and
earth made wider, before a full sweep could be given to her own majestic
flight. We are further informed that she was a Minerva for eloquence,
that she composed matchless poems which she sang most exquisitely to the
sound of her lute, and that her familiar letters were so full of genius,
that "poor Cicero" was but a fool to her in the same branch of
composition. The world has shuddered for ages at the dark tragedy of her
nuptials. Was it strange that hatred, incest, murder, should follow in
the train of a wedding thus hideously solemnized?

Don John, as in his Moorish disguise he had looked upon her perfections,
had felt in danger of becoming really the slave he personated--"her
beauty is more divine than human," he had cried, "but fitter to destroy
men's souls than to bless them;" and now the enchantress was on her way
to his dominions. Her road led through Namur to Liege, and gallantry
required that he should meet her as she passed. Attended by a select band
of gentlemen and a few horsemen of his body-guard, the Governor came to
Namur.

Meantime the Queen crossed the frontier, and was courteously received at
Cambray. The bishop-of the loyal house of Berlaymont--was a stanch
supporter of the King, and although a Fleming, was Spanish to the core.
On him the cajolery of the beautiful Queen was first essayed, but was
found powerless. The prelate gave her a magnificent ball, but resisted
her blandishments. He retired with the appearance of the confections, but
the governor of the citadel, the Seigneur d'Inchy remained, with whom
Margaret was more successful. She found him a cordial hater of Spain, a
favorer of France, and very impatient under the authority of the bishop.
He obtained permission to accompany the royal visitor a few stages of her
journey, and returned to Cambray, her willing slave; holding the castle
in future, neither for king nor bishop, but for Margaret's brother,
Alencon, alone. At Mons she was received with great state by the Count
Lalain, who was governor of Hainault, while his Countess governed him. A
week of festivities graced the advent of the Queen, during which period
the hearts of both Lalain and his wife were completely subjugated. They
agreed that Flanders had been too long separated from the parental France
to which it of right belonged. The Count was a stanch Catholic, but he
hated Spain. He was a relative of Egmont, and anxious to avenge his
death, but he was no lover of the people, and was jealous of Orange.
Moreover, his wife had become entirely fascinated by the designing.
Queen. So warm a friendship had sprung up between the two fair ladies as
to make it indispensable that Flanders and Hainault should be annexed to
France. The Count promised to hold his whole government at the service of
Alencon, and recommended that an attempt should be made to gain over the
incorruptible Governor of Cambray. Margaret did not inform him that she
had already turned that functionary round her finger, but she urged
Lalain and his wife to seduce him from his allegiance, if possible.

The Count, with a retinue of mounted men, then accompanied her on her way
towards Namur, but turned as the distant tramp of Don John's cavalcade
was heard approaching, for it was not desirable for Lalain, at that
moment, to find himself face to face with the Governor. Don John stood a
moment awaiting the arrival of the Queen. He did not dream of her
political intrigues, nor see in the fair form approaching him one mortal
enemy the more. Margaret travelled in a splendid litter with gilt
pillars, lined with scarlet velvet, and entirely enclosed in glass, which
was followed by those of the Princess de la Roche sur Yon, and of Madame
de Tournon. After these came ten ladies of honor on horseback, and six
chariots filled with female domestics. These, with the guards and other
attendants, made up the retinue. On meeting the Queen's litter, Don John
sprang from his horse and presented his greetings. The Queen returned his
salutation, in the French fashion, by offering her cheek to his embrace,
extending the same favor to the Duke of Aerschot and the Marquis of
Havre. The cavaliers then remounted and escorted the Queen to Namur, Don
John riding by the side of the litter and conversing with her all the
way. It was late in the evening when the procession arrived in the city.
The streets had, however, been brilliantly illuminated; houses and shops,
though it was near midnight, being in a blaze of light. Don John
believing that no attentions could be so acceptable at that hour as to
provide for the repose of his guest, conducted the Queen at once to the
lodgings prepared for her. Margaret was astonished at the magnificence of
the apartments into which she was ushered. A spacious and stately hall,
most gorgeously furnished, opened into a series of chambers and cabinets,
worthy, in their appointments, of a royal palace. The tent and bed
coverings prepared for the Queen were exquisitely embroidered in
needlework with scenes representing the battle of Lepanto. The great hall
was hung with gorgeous tapestry of satin and velvet, ornamented with
columns of raised silver work, and with many figures in antique costume,
of the same massive embroidery. The rest of the furniture was also of
satin, velvet, cloth of gold, and brocade. The Queen was dazzled with so
much magnificence, and one of the courtiers could not help expressing
astonishment at the splendor of the apartments and decorations, which, as
he observed to the Duke of Aerschot; seemed more appropriate to the
palace of a powerful monarch than to the apartments of a young bachelor
prince. The Duke replied by explaining that the expensive embroidery
which they saw was the result, not of extravagance, but of valor and
generosity. After the battle of Lepanto, Don John had restored the two
sons, who had been taken prisoners, of a powerful Turkish bashaw. The
father; in gratitude had sent this magnificent tapestry as a present to
the conqueror, and Don John had received it, at Milan; in which city,
celebrated for the taste of its upholsterers; it had been arranged for
furniture.

The next morning a grand mass with military music was performed, followed
by a sumptuous banquet in the grand hall. Don John and the Queen sat at a
table three feet apart from the rest, and Ottavio Gonzaga served them
wine upon his knees. After the banquet came, as usual; the ball, the
festivities continuing till late in the night, and Don John scarcely
quitting his fair guest for a moment. The next afternoon, a festival had
been arranged upon an island in the river. The company embarked upon the
Meuse, in a fleet of gaily-scarfed; and painted vessels, many of which
were filled with musicians. Margaret reclined in her gilded barge, under
a richly embroidered canopy. A fairer and falser Queen than "Egypt," had
bewitched the famous youth who had triumphed not, lost the world, beneath
the heights of Actium. The revellers landed on the island, where the
banquet was already spread within a spacious bower of ivy, and beneath
umbrageous elms. The dance upon the sward was protracted to a late hour,
and the summer stars had been long in the sky when the company returned
to their barges.

Don John, more than ever enthralled by the bride of St. Bartholomew, knew
not that her sole purpose in visiting his dominion had been to corrupt
his servants and to undermine his authority. His own purpose, however,
had been less to pay court to the Queen than to make, use of her presence
to cover his own designs. That purpose he proceeded instantly to execute.
The Queen next morning pursued her voyage by the river to Liege, and
scarcely had she floated out of his sight than he sprang upon his horse
and, accompanied by a few trusty attendants, galloped out of the gate and
across the bridge which led to the citadel. He had already despatched the
loyal Berlaymont, with his four equally loyal sons, the Seigneurs de
Meghen, Floyon, Hierges, and Haultepenne to that fortress. These
gentlemen had informed the castellan that the Governor was about to ride
forth hunting, and that it would be proper to offer him the hospitalities
of the castle as he passed on his way. A considerable number of armed men
had been concealed in the woods and thickets of the neighbourhood. The
Seigneur de Froymont, suspecting nothing, acceded to the propriety of the
suggestion made by the Berlaymonts. Meantime, with a blast of his horn,
Don John appeared at the castle gate. He entered the fortress with the
castellan, while one of the gentlemen watched outside, as the ambushed
soldiers came toiling up the precipice. When all was ready the gentleman
returned to the hall, and made a signal to Don John, as he sat at
breakfast with the constable. The Governor sprang from the table and drew
his sword; Berlaymont and his four sons drew their pistols, while at the
same instant, the soldiers entered. Don John, exclaiming that this was
the first day of his government, commanded the castellan to surrender. De
Froymont, taken by surprise, and hardly understanding this very
melo-dramatic attack upon a citadel by its own lawful governor, made not
much difficulty in complying. He was then turned out of doors, along with
his garrison, mostly feeble old men and invalids. The newly arrived
soldiers took their places, at command of the Governor, and the
stronghold of Namur was his own.

There was little doubt that the representative of Philip had a perfect
right to possess himself of any fortress within his government; there
could be as little that the sudden stratagem by which he had thus made
himself master of this citadel would prove offensive to the estates,
while it could hardly be agreeable to the King; and yet it is not certain
that he could have accomplished his purpose in any other way. Moreover,
the achievement was one of a projected series by which he meant to
re-vindicate his dwindling authority. He was weary of playing the
hypocrite, and convinced that he and his monarch were both abhorred by
the Netherlanders. Peace was impossible--war was forbidden him. Reduced
almost to a nullity by the Prince of Orange, it was time for him to make
a stand, and in this impregnable fastness his position at least was a
good one. Many months before, the Prince of Orange had expressed his
anxious desire that this most important town and citadel should be
secured-for the estates. "You know," he had written to Bossu in December,
"the evil and the dismay which the loss of the city and fortress of Namur
would occasion to us. Let me beseech you that all possible care be taken
to preserve them." Nevertheless, their preservation had been entrusted to
a feeble-minded old constable, at the head of a handful of cripples.

We know how intense had been the solicitude of the Prince, not only to
secure but to destroy these citadels, "nests of tyranny," which had been
built by despots to crush, not protect, the towns at their feet. These
precautions had been neglected, and the consequences were displaying
themselves, for the castle of Namur was not the only one of which Don
John felt himself secure. Although the Duke of Aerschot seemed so very
much his humble servant, the Governor did not trust him, and wished to
see the citadel of Antwerp in more unquestionable keeping. He had
therefore withdrawn, not only the Duke, but his son, the Prince of
Chimay, commander of the castle in his father's absence, from that
important post, and insisted upon their accompanying him to Namur. So
gallant a courtier as Aerschot could hardly refuse to pay his homage to
so illustrious a princess as Margaret of Valois, while during the absence
of the Duke and Prince the keys of Antwerp-citadel had been, at the
command of Don John, placed in the keeping of the Seigneur de Treslong,
an unscrupulous and devoted royalist. The celebrated Colonel Van Ende,
whose participation, at the head of his German cavalry, in the terrible
sack of that city, which he had been ordered to defend, has been
narrated, was commanded to return to Antwerp. He was to present himself
openly to the city authorities, but he was secretly directed by the
Governor-General to act in co-operation with the Colonels Fugger,
Frondsberger, and Polwiller, who commanded the forces already stationed
in the city. These distinguished officers had been all summer in secret
correspondence with Don John, for they were the instruments with which he
meant by a bold stroke to recover his almost lost authority. While he had
seemed to be seconding the efforts of the states-general to pay off and
disband these mercenaries, nothing had in reality been farther from his
thoughts; and the time had now come when his secret plans were to be
executed, according to the agreement between himself and the German
colonels. He wrote to them, accordingly, to delay no longer the
accomplishment of the deed--that deed being the seizure of Antwerp
citadel, as he had already successfully mastered that of Namur. The Duke
of Aerschot, his brother, and son, were in his power, and could do
nothing to prevent the co-operation of the colonels in the city with
Treslong in the castle; so that the Governor would thus be enabled,
laying his head tranquilly upon "the pillow of the Antwerp citadel,"
according to the reproachful expression subsequently used by the estates,
to await the progress of events.

The current of his adventurous career was not, however, destined to run
thus smoothly. It is true that the estates had not yet entirely lost
their confidence in his character; but the seizure of Namur, and the
attempt upon Antwerp, together with the contents of the intercepted
letters written by himself and Escovedo to Philip, to Perez, to the
Empress, to the Colonels Frondsberger and Fugger, were soon destined to
open their eyes. In the meantime, almost exactly at the moment when Don
John was executing his enterprise against Namur, Escovedo had taken an
affectionate farewell of the estates at Brussels for it had been thought
necessary, as already intimated, both for the apparent interests and the
secret projects of Don John; that the Secretary should make a visit to
Spain. At the command of the Governor-General he had offered to take
charge of any communication for his Majesty which the estates might be
disposed to entrust to him, and they had accordingly addressed a long
epistle to the King, in which they gave ample expression to their
indignation and their woe. They remonstrated with the King concerning the
continued presence of the German mercenaries, whose knives were ever at
their throats, whose plunder and insolence impoverished and tortured the
people. They reminded him of the vast sums which the provinces had
contributed in times past to the support of government, and they begged
assistance from his bounty now. They recalled to his vision the
melancholy spectacle of Antwerp, but lately the "nurse of Europe, the
fairest flower in his royal garland, the foremost and noblest city of the
earth, now quite desolate and forlorn," and with additional instructions
to Escovedo, that he should not fail, in his verbal communications, to
represent the evil consequences of the course hitherto pursued by his
Majesty's governors in the Netherlands, they dismissed him with good
wishes, and with "crowns for convoy" in his purse to the amount of a
revenue of two thousand yearly. His secret correspondence was intercepted
and made known a few weeks after his departure for that terrible Spain
whence so few travellers returned.

For a moment we follow him thither. With a single word in anticipation,
concerning the causes and the consummation of this celebrated murder,
which was delayed till the following year, the unfortunate Escovedo may
be dismissed from these pages. It has been seen how artfully Antonio
Perez, Secretary of State, paramour of Princess Eboli, and ruling
councillor at that day of Philip, had fostered in the King's mind the
most extravagant suspicions as to the schemes of Don John, and of his
confidential secretary. He had represented it as their fixed and secret
intention, after Don John should be finally established on the throne of
England, to attack Philip himself in Spain, and to deprive him of his
crown, Escovedo being represented as the prime instigator and controller
of this astounding plot, which lunatics only could have engendered, and
which probably never had existence.

No proof of the wild design was offered. The language which Escovedo was
accused by Perez of having held previously to his departure for
Flanders--that it was the intention of Don John and himself to fortify
the rock of Mogio, with which, and with the command of the city of
Santander, they could make themselves masters of Spain after having
obtained possession of England,--is too absurd to have been uttered by a
man of Escovedo's capacity. Certainly, had Perez been provided with the
least scrap of writing from the hands of Don John or Escovedo which could
be tortured into evidence upon this point, it would have been
forthcoming, and would have rendered such fictitious hearsay superfluous.
Perez in connivance with Philip, had been systematically conducting his
correspondence with Don John and Escovedo, in order to elicit some
evidence of the imputed scheme. "'T was the only way," said Perez to
Philip, "to make them unbare their bosoms to the sword."--"I am quite of
the same opinion," replied Philip to Perez, "for, according to my
theology, you would do your duty neither to God nor the world, unless you
did as you are doing." Yet the excellent pair of conspirators at Madrid
could wring no damning proofs from the lips of the supposititious
conspirators in Flanders, save that Don John, after Escovedo's arrival in
Madrid, wrote, impatiently and frequently, to demand that he should be
sent back, together with the money which he had gone to Spain to procure.
"Money, more money, and Escovedo," wrote the Governor, and Philip was
quite willing to accept this most natural exclamation as evidence of his
brother's designs against his crown. Out of these shreds and patches--the
plot against England, the Pope's bull, the desire expressed by Don John
to march into France as a simple adventurer, with a few thousand men at
his back--Perez, according to his own statement, drew up a protocol,
afterwards formally approved by Philip, which concluded with the
necessity of taking Escovedo's life, instantly but privately, and by
poison. The Marquis de Los Velos, to whom the memorial was submitted for
his advice, averred that if the death-bed wafer were in his own lips, he
should vote for the death of the culprit. Philip had already jumped to
the same conclusion; Perez joyfully undertook the business, having
received carte blanche from the King, and thus the unfortunate secretary
was doomed. Immediately after the arrival of Escovedo in Madrid, he
addressed a letter to the King. Philip filed it away among other
despatches, with this annotation: "the 'avant courier' has arrived--it is
necessary to make great haste, and to despatch him before he murders us."

The King, having been thus artfully inflamed against his brother and his
unfortunate secretary, became clamorous for the blood of Escovedo. At the
same time, that personage, soon after his return to Spain, was shocked by
the discovery of the amour of Perez with the Princess Eboli. He
considered it his duty, both towards the deceased Prince and the living
King, to protest against this perfidy. He threatened to denounce to the
King, who seemed the only person about the court ignorant of the affair,
this double treason of his mistress and his minister. Perez and Anna of
Eboli, furious at Escovedo's insolence, and anxious lest he should
execute his menace determined to disembarrass themselves of so meddlesome
a person. Philip's rage against Don John was accordingly turned to
account, and Perez received the King's secret orders to procure
Escovedo's assassination. Thus an imaginary conspiracy of Don John
against, the crown of Philip was the pretext, the fears and rage of Eboli
and her paramour were the substantial reason, for the crime now
projected.

The details of the murder were arranged and executed by Perez, but it
must be confessed in justice to Philip, with much inferior nicety to that
of his, own performances in the same field. Many persons were privy to
the plot. There was much blundering, there was great public scandal in
Madrid, and no one ever had a reasonable doubt as to the instigators and
the actual perpetrators of the crime. Two attempts to poison Escovedo
were made by Perez, at his own table, through the agency of Antonio
Enriquez, a confidential servant or page. Both were unsuccessful. A third
was equally so, but suspicions were aroused. A female slave in the
household of Escovedo, was in consequence arrested, and immediately
hanged in the public square, for a pretended attempt to murder her
master. A few days afterwards (on the 31st of March, 1578) the deed was
accomplished at nightfall in the streets of Madrid, by six conspirators.
They consisted of the majordomo of Perez, a page in his household, the
page's brother from the country, an ex-scullion from the royal kitchens,
Juan Rubio by name, who had been the unsuccessful agent in the poisoning
scheme, together with two professional bravos, hired for the occasion. It
was Insausti, one of this last-mentioned couple, who despatched Escovedo
with a single stab, the others aiding and abetting, or keeping watch in
the neighbourhood.

The murderers effected their escape, and made their report to Perez, who
for the sake of appearances, was upon a visit in the country. Suspicion
soon tracked the real culprits, who were above the reach of justice; nor,
as to the motives which had prompted the murders, were many ignorant,
save only the murderer himself. Philip had ordered the assassination;
but he was profoundly deceived as to the causes of its accomplishment. He
was the dupe of a subtler villain than himself, and thought himself
sacrificing a conspirator against his crown, while he had really only
crushed a poor creature who had been but too solicitous for what he
thought his master's honor.

The assassins were, of course, protected from prosecution, and duly
recompensed. Miguel Bosque, the country boy, received one hundred crowns
in gold, paid by a clerk of Perez. Mesa, one of the bravos, was rewarded
with a gold chain, fifty doubloons of eight, and a silver cup, besides
receiving from the fair hand of Princess Eboli herself a certificate as
under-steward upon her estates. The second bravo, Insausti, who had done
the deed, the page Enriquez, and the scullion, were all appointed ensigns
in his Majesty's army, with twenty gold crowns of annual pension besides.
Their commissions were signed by Philip on the 19th of April, 1578. Such
were the wages of murder at that day in Spain; gold chains, silver cups,
doubloons, annuities, and commissions in the army! The reward of
fidelity, as in poor Escovedo's case, was oftener the stiletto. Was it
astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?

With the subsequent career of Antonio Perez--his famous process, his
banishment, his intrigues, his innuendos, his long exile, and his
miserable death, this history has no concern. We return from our brief
digression.

Before narrating the issue of the plot against Antwerp citadel, it is
necessary to recur for a moment to the Prince of Orange. In the deeds and
the written words of that one man are comprised nearly all the history of
the Reformation in the Netherlands--nearly the whole progress of the
infant Republic. The rest, during this period, is made up of the
plottings and counter-plottings, the mutual wranglings and recriminations
of Don John and the estates.

In the brief breathing-space now afforded them, the inhabitants of
Holland and Zealand had been employing themselves in the extensive
repairs of their vast system of dykes. These barriers, which protected
their country against the ocean, but which their own hands had destroyed
to preserve themselves against tyranny, were now thoroughly
reconstructed, at a great expense, the Prince everywhere encouraging the
people with his presence, directing them by his experience, inspiring
them with his energy. The task accomplished was stupendous and worthy,
says a contemporary, of eternal memory.

At the popular request, the Prince afterwards made a tour through the
little provinces, honoring every city with a brief visit. The spontaneous
homage which went up to him from every heart was pathetic and simple.
There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, no banners, no
theatrical pageantry nothing but the choral anthem from thousands of
grateful hearts. "Father William has come! Father William has come!"
cried men, women, and children to each other, when the news of his
arrival in town or village was announced. He was a patriarch visiting his
children, not a conqueror, nor a vulgar potentate displaying himself to
his admirers. Happy were they who heard his voice, happier they who
touched his hands, for his words were full of tenderness, his hand was
offered to all. There were none so humble as to be forbidden to approach
him, none so ignorant as not to know his deeds. All knew that to combat
in their cause he had descended from princely station, from luxurious
ease, to the position of a proscribed and almost beggared outlaw. For
them he had impoverished himself and his family, mortgaged his estates,
stripped himself of jewels, furniture, almost of food and raiment.
Through his exertions the Spaniards had been banished from their little
territory, the Inquisition crushed within their borders, nearly all the
sister provinces but yesterday banded into a common cause.

He found time, notwithstanding congratulating crowds who thronged his
footsteps, to direct the labors of the states-general, who still looked
more than ever to his guidance, as their relations with Don John became
more complicated and unsatisfactory. In a letter addressed to them, on
the 20th of June from Harlem, he warned them most eloquently to hold to
the Ghent Pacification as to their anchor in the storm. He assured them,
if it was, torn from them, that their destruction was inevitable. He
reminded them that hitherto they had got but the shadow, not the
substance of the Treaty; that they had been robbed of that which was to
have been its chief fruit--union among themselves. He and his brothers,
with their labor, their wealth, and their blood, had laid down the bridge
over which the country had stepped to the Pacification of Ghent. It was
for the nation to maintain what had been so painfully won; yet he
proclaimed to them that the government were not acting in good faith,
that secret, preparations were making to annihilate the authority of the
states; to restore the edicts, to put strangers into high places, and to
set up again the scaffold and the whole machinery of persecution.

In consequence of the seizure of Namur Castle, and the accusations made
by Don John against Orange, in order to justify that act, the Prince had
already despatched Taffin and Saint Aldegonde to the states-general with
a commission to declare his sentiments upon the subject. He addressed,
moreover, to the same body a letter full of sincere and simple eloquence.
"The Seigneur Don John," said he, "has accused me of violating the peace,
and of countenancing attempts against his life, and in endeavouring to
persuade you into joining him in a declaration of war against me and
against Holland and Zealand; but I pray you, most affectionately, to
remember our mutual and solemn obligations to maintain the treaty of
Ghent." He entreated the states, therefore, to beware of the artifices
employed to seduce them from the only path which led to the tranquillity
of their common country, and her true splendor and prosperity. "I believe
there is not one of you," he continued, "who can doubt me, if he will
weigh carefully all my actions, and consider closely the course which I
am pursuing and have always pursued. Let all these be confronted with the
conduct of Don John, and any man will perceive that all my views of
happiness, both for my country and myself, imply a peaceable enjoyment of
the union, joined with the legitimate restoration of our liberties, to
which all good patriots aspire, and towards which all my designs have
ever tended. As all the grandeur of Don John, on the contrary, consists
in war, as there is nothing which he so much abhors as repose, as he has
given ample proof of these inclinations in all his designs and
enterprises, both before and after the Treaty of Marche en Famine, both
within the country and beyond its borders, as it is most manifest that
his purpose is, and ever has been, to embroil us with our neighbours of
England and Scotland in new dissensions, as it must be evident to every
one of you that his pretended accusations against me are but colors and
shadows to embellish and to shroud his own desire for war, his appetite
for vengeance, and his hatred not only to me but to yourselves, and as
his determination is, in the words of Escovedo, to chastise some of us by
means of the rest, and to excite the jealousy of one portion of the
country against the other--therefore, gentlemen, do I most affectionately
exhort you to found your decision, as to these matters, not upon words
but upon actions. Examine carefully my conduct in the points concerning
which the charges are made; listen attentively to what my envoys will
communicate to you in my behalf; and then, having compared it with all
the proceedings of Seigneur Don John, you will be able to form a
resolution worthy the rank which you occupy, and befitting your
obligations to the whole people, of whom you have been chosen chiefs and
protectors, by God and by men. Put away all considerations which might
obscure your clear eye-sight; maintain with magnanimity, and like men,
the safety of yourselves, your wives, your children, your estates, your
liberties; see that this poor people, whose eyes are fixed upon you, does
not perish; preserve them from the greediness of those who would grow
great at your expense; guard them from the yoke of miserable servitude;
let not all our posterity lament that, by our pusillanimity, they have
lost the liberties which our ancestors had conquered for them, and
bequeathed to them as well as to us, and that they have been subjugated
by the proud tyranny of strangers.

"Trusting," said the Prince, in conclusion, "that you will accord faith
and attention to my envoys, I will only add an expression of my sincere
determination to employ myself incessantly in your service, and for the
welfare of the whole people, without sparing any means in my power, nor
my life itself."

The vigilant Prince was indeed not slow to take advantage of the
Governor's false move. While in reality intending peace, if it were
possible, Don John had thrown down the gauntlet; while affecting to deal
openly and manfully, like a warrior and an emperor's son, he had involved
himself in petty stratagems and transparent intrigues, by all which he
had gained nothing but the character of a plotter, whose word could not
be trusted. Saint Aldegonde expressed the hope that the seizure of Namur
Castle would open the eyes of the people, and certainly the Prince did
his best to sharpen their vision.

While in North Holland, William of Orange received an urgent invitation
from the magistracy and community of Utrecht to visit that city. His
authority, belonging to him under his ancient commission, had not yet
been recognized over that province, but there was no doubt that the
contemplated convention of "satisfaction" was soon to be; arranged, for
his friends there were numerous and influential. His princess, Charlotte
de Bourbon, who accompanied him on his tour, trembled at the danger to
which her husband would expose himself by venturing thus boldly into a
territory which might be full of his enemies, but the Prince determined
to trust the loyalty of a province which he hoped would be soon his own.
With anxious forebodings, the Princess followed her husband to the
ancient episcopal city. As they entered its gates, where an immense
concourse was waiting to receive him, a shot passed through the carriage
window, and struck the Prince upon the breast. The affrighted lady threw
her arms about his neck; shrieking that they were betrayed, but the
Prince, perceiving that the supposed shot was but a wad from one of the
cannon, which were still roaring their welcome to him, soon succeeded in
calming her fears. The carriage passed lowly through the streets,
attended by the vociferous greetings of the multitude; for the whole
population had come forth to do him honor. Women and children clustered
upon every roof and balcony, but a painful incident again marred the
tranquillity of the occasion. An apothecary's child, a little girl of ten
years, leaning eagerly from a lofty balcony, lost her balance and fell to
the ground, directly before the horses of the Prince's carriage. She was
killed stone dead by the fall. The procession stopped; the Prince
alighted, lifted the little corpse in his arms, and delivered it, with
gentle words and looks of consolation, to the unhappy parents. The day
seemed marked with evil omens, which were fortunately destined to prove
fallacious. The citizens of Utrecht became more than ever inclined to
accept the dominion of the Prince, whom they honored and whom they
already regarded as their natural chief. They entertained him with
banquets and festivities during his brief visit, and it was certain
before he took his departure that the treaty of "Satisfaction" would not
be long delayed. It was drawn up, accordingly, in the autumn of the same
year, upon the basis of that accepted by Harlem and Amsterdam--a basis
wide enough to support both religions, with a nominal supremacy to the
ancient Church.

Meantime, much fruitless correspondence had taken place between Don John
and the states Envoys; despatched by the two parties to each other, had
indulged in bitterness and recrimination. As soon as the Governor, had
taken: possession of Namur Castle, he had sent the Seigneur, de
Rassinghem to the states-general. That gentleman carried with him copies
of two anonymous letters, received by Don John upon the 19th and 21st of
July, 1577, in which a conspiracy against his life and liberty was
revealed. It was believed by the Governor that Count Lalain, who had
secretly invited him to a conference, had laid an ambush for him. It was
known that the country was full of disbanded soldiers, and the Governor
asserted confidently that numbers of desperadoes were lying in wait for
him in every village alehouse of Hainault and Flanders. He called on the
states to ferret out these conspirators, and to inflict condign
punishment upon their more guilty chiefs; he required that the soldiers,
as well as the citizens, should be disarmed at Brussels and throughout
Brabant, and he justified his seizure of Namur, upon the general ground
that his life was no longer safe, except in a fortress.

In reply to the letter of the Governor, which was dated the 24th of July,
the states despatched Marolles, Archdeacon of Ypres, and the Seigneur de
Bresse, to Namur, with a special mission to enter into the whole subject
of these grievances. These gentlemen, professing the utmost devotion to
the cause of his Majesty's authority and the Catholic religion, expressed
doubts as to the existence of the supposed conspiracy. They demanded that
Don John should denounce the culprits, if any such were known, in order
that proper chastisement might be instantly inflicted. The conversation
which ensued was certainly unsatisfactory. The Governor used lofty and
somewhat threatening language, assuring Marolles that he was at that
moment in possession, not only of Namur but of Antwerp citadel; and the
deputies accordingly departed, having accomplished very little by their
journey. Their backs were scarcely turned, when Don John, on his part,
immediately appointed another commission, consisting of Rassinghem and
Grobbendonck, to travel from Namur to Brussels. These envoys carried a
long letter of grievances, enclosing a short list of demands. The letter
reiterated his complaints about conspiracies, and his protestations of
sincerity. It was full of censure upon the Prince of Orange; stigmatized
his intrigues to obtain possession of Amsterdam without a proper
"Satisfaction," and of Utrecht, to which he had no claim at all. It
maintained that the Hollanders and Zealanders were bent upon utterly
exterminating the Catholic religion, and that they avowed publicly their
intention to refuse obedience to the assembly-general, should it decree
the maintenance of the ancient worship only. His chief demands were that
the states should send him a list of persons qualified to be members of
the general assembly, that he might see whether there were not
individuals among them whom he might choose to reject. He further
required that, if the Prince of Orange did not instantly fulfil the
treaty of Ghent, the states should cease to hold any communication with
him. He also summoned the states to provide him forthwith with a suitable
body-guard.

To these demands and complaints, the estates replied by a string of
resolutions. They made their usual protestations of attachment to his
Majesty and the Catholic faith, and they granted willingly a foot-guard
of three hundred archers. They, however, stoutly denied the Governor's
right to make eliminations in their lists of deputies, because, from time
immemorial, these representatives had been chosen by the clergy, nobles,
cities, and boroughs. The names might change daily, nor were there any
suspicious ones among them, but it was a matter with which the Governor
had no concern. They promised that every effort should be made to bring
about the execution of the treaty by the Prince of Orange. They begged
Don John; however, to abandon the citadel of Namur, and gave him to
understand that his secret practices had been discovered, a large packet
of letters having recently been intercepted in the neighbourhood of
Bourdeaux, and sent to the Prince of Orange. Among them were some of the
despatches of Don John and Escovedo, to his Majesty and to Antonio Perez,
to which allusion has already been made.

Count Bossu, De Bresse, and Meetkercke were the envoys deputed to convey
these resolutions to Namur. They had a long and bitter conversation with
Don John, who complained, more furiously than ever of the conspiracies
against his person, and of the intrigues of Orange. He insisted that this
arch-traitor had been sowing the seed of his damnable doctrines broadcast
through the Netherlands; that the earth was groaning with a daily
ripening harvest of rebellion and heresy. It was time, he cried, for the
states to abandon the Prince, and rally round their King. Patience had
been exhausted. He had himself done all, and more than could have been
demanded. He had faithfully executed the Ghent Pacification, but his
conduct had neither elicited gratitude nor inspired confidence.

The deputies replied, that to the due execution of the Ghent treaty it
was necessary that he should disband the German troops, assemble the
states-general, and carry out their resolutions. Until these things, now
undone, had been accomplished, he had no right to plead his faithful
fulfilment of the Pacification. After much conversation--in which the
same grievances were repeated, the same statements produced and
contradicted, the same demands urged and evaded, and the same menaces
exchanged as upon former occasions--the deputies returned to Brussels.

Immediately after their departure, Don John learned the result of his
project upon Antwerp Castle. It will be remembered that he had withdrawn
Aerschot, under pretext of requiring his company on the visit to Queen
Margaret, and that he had substituted Treslong, an unscrupulous partisan
of his own, in the government of the citadel. The temporary commander
soon found, however, that he had undertaken more than he could perform.
The troops under Van Ende were refused admittance into the town, although
permission to quarter them there had been requested by the
Governor-General. The 'authorities had been assured that the troops were
necessary for the protection of their city, but the magistrates had
learned, but too recently, the nature of the protection which Van Ende,
with his mercenaries, would afford. A detachment of states troops under
De Yers, Champagny's nephew, encountered the regiment of Van Ende, and
put it to flight with considerable loss. At the same time, an officer in
the garrison of the citadel itself, Captain De Bours, undertook secretly
to carry the fortress for the estates. His operations were secret and
rapid. The Seigneur de Liedekerke had succeeded Champagny in the
government of the city. This appointment had been brought about by the
agency of the Greffier Martini, a warm partisan of Orange. The new
Governor was known to be very much the Prince's friend, and believed to
be at heart a convert to the Reformed religion. With Martini and
Liedekerke, De Bours arranged his plot. He was supplied with a large sum
of money, readily furnished in secret by the leading mercantile houses of
the city. These funds were successfully invested in gaining over the
garrison, only one company holding firm for Treslong. The rest, as that
officer himself informed Don John, were ready at any moment "to take him
by the throat."

On the 1st of August, the day firmed upon in concert with the Governor
and Greffier, he was, in fact, taken by the throat. There was but a brief
combat, the issue of which became accidentally doubtful in the city. The
white-plumed hat of De Bours had been struck from his head in the
struggle, and had fallen into the foss. Floating out into the river, it
had been recognized by the scouts sent out by the personages most
interested, and the information was quickly brought to Liedekerke, who
was lying concealed in the house of Martini, awaiting the result. Their
dismay was great, but Martini, having more confidence than the Governor,
sallied forth to learn the whole truth. Scarcely had he got into the
streets than he heard a welcome cry, "The Beggars have the castle! the
Beggars have the castle!" shouted a hundred voices. He soon met a
lieutenant coming straight from the fortress, who related to him the
whole affair. Learning that De Bours was completely victorious, and that
Treslong was a prisoner, Martini hastened with the important intelligence
to his own home, where Liedekerke lay concealed. That functionary now
repaired to the citadel, whither the magistrates, the leading citizens,
and the chief merchants were instantly summoned. The castle was carried,
but the city was already trembling with apprehension lest the German
mercenaries quartered within its walls, should rise with indignation or
panic, and repeat the horrid tragedy of The Antwerp Fury.

In truth, there seemed danger of such a catastrophe. The secret
correspondence of Don John with the colonels was already discovered, and
it was seen how warmly he had impressed upon the men with whom he had
been tampering, "that the die was cast," and that all their art was
necessary to make it turn up successfully. The castle was carried, but
what would become of the city? A brief and eager consultation terminated
in an immediate offer of three hundred thousand crowns by the leading
merchants. This money was to be employed in amicably satisfying, if
possible, the German soldiers, who had meanwhile actually come to arms,
and were assembled in the Place de Meer. Feeling unsafe; however, in this
locality, their colonels had led them into the new town. Here, having
barricaded themselves with gun-carriages, bales, and boxes, they awaited,
instead of initiating, the events which the day might bring forth. A
deputation soon arrived with a white flag from the castle, and
commissioners were appointed by the commanding officers of the soldiery.
The offer was made to pay over the arrears of their wages, at least to a
very large amount, on condition that the troops should forthwith and for
ever evacuate the city. One hundred and fifty thousand crowns were
offered on the nail. The merchants stood on the bridge leading from the
old town-to the new, in full sight of the soldiers. They held in their
hands their purses, filled with the glittering gold. The soldiers were
frantic with the opportunity, and swore that they would have their
officers' lives, if the tempting and unexpected offer should be declined.
Nevertheless, the commissioners went to and fro, ever finding something
to alter or arrange. In truth, the merchants had agreed to furnish; if
necessary, three hundred thousand Browns; but the thrifty negotiators
were disposed, if diplomacy could do it, to save the moiety of that sum.
Day began to sink, ere the bargain was completed, when suddenly sails
were descried in the distance, and presently a large fleet of war
vessels, with, banner and pennon flying before a favoring breeze; came
sailing up the Scheld. It was a squadron of the Prince's ships, under
command of Admiral Haultain. He had been sent against Tholen, but, having
received secret intelligence, had, with happy audacity, seized the
opportunity of striking a blow in the cause which he had served so
faithfully. A shot or two fired from the vessels among the barricades had
a quickening effect. A sudden and astounding panic seized the soldiers.
"The Beggars are coming! the Beggars are coming!" they yelled in dismay;
for the deeds of the ocean-beggars had not become less appalling since
the memorable siege of Leyden. The merchants still stood on the bridge
with their purses in their hand. The envoys from the castle still waved
their white flags. It was too late. The horror inspired by the wild
Zealanders overpowered the hope of wages, extinguished all confidence in
the friendship of the citizens. The mercenaries, yielding to a violent
paroxysm of fear, fled hither and thither, panting, doubling, skulking,
like wolves before the hounds. Their flight was ludicrous. Without
staying to accept the money which the merchants were actually offering,
without packing up their own property, in many cases even throwing away
their arms, they fled, helter skelter, some plunging into the Scheid,
some skimming along the dykes, some rushing across the open fields. A
portion of them under Colonel Fugger, afterwards shut themselves up in
Bergen op Zoom, where they were at once besieged by Champagny, and were
soon glad to compromise the matter by surrendering their colonel and
laying down their arms. The remainder retreated to Breda, where they held
out for two months, and were at length overcome by a neat stratagem of
Orange. A captain, being known to be in the employment of Don John, was
arrested on his way to Breda. Carefully sewed up in his waistband was
found a letter, of a finger's breadth, written in cipher, and sealed with
the Governor-General's seal. Colonel Frondsberger, commanding in Breda,
was in this missive earnestly solicited to hold out two months longer,
within which time a certain relief was promised. In place of this letter,
deciphered with much difficulty, a new one was substituted, which the
celebrated printer, William Sylvius, of Antwerp, prepared with great
adroitness, adding the signature and seal of Don John. In this
counterfeit epistle; the Colonel was directed to do the best he could for
himself, by reason that Don John was himself besieged, and unable to
render him assistance. The same captain who had brought the real letter
was bribed to deliver the counterfeit. This task he faithfully performed,
spreading the fictitious intelligence besides, with such ardor through
the town, that the troops rose upon their leader, and surrendered him
with the city and their own arms, into the custody of the estates. Such
was the result of the attempt by Don John to secure the citadel--of
Antwerp. Not only was the fortress carried for the estates, but the city
itself, for the first time in twelve years, was relieved from a foreign
soldiery.

The rage and disappointment of the Governor-General were excessive. He
had boasted to Marolles a day too soon. The prize which he thought
already in his grasp had slipped through his fingers, while an
interminable list of demands which he dreamed not of, and which were
likely to make him bankrupt, were brought to his door. To the states, not
himself, the triumph seemed for the moment decreed. The "dice" had taken
a run against him, notwithstanding his pains in loading and throwing.
Nevertheless, he did not yet despair of revenge. "These rebels," he wrote
to the Empress-dowager, his sister, "think that fortune is all smiles for
them now, and that all is ruin for me. The wretches are growing proud
enough, and forget that their chastisement, some fine morning, will yet
arrive."

On the 7th of August he addressed another long letter to the estates.
This document was accompanied, as usual, by certain demands, drawn up
categorically in twenty-three articles. The estates considered his terms
hard and strange, for in their opinion it was themselves, not the
Governor, who were masters of the situation. Nevertheless, he seemed
inclined to treat as if he had gained, not missed, the citadel of
Antwerp; as if the troops with whom he had tampered were mustered in the
field, not shut up in distant towns, and already at the mercy of the
states party. The Governor demanded that all the forces of the country
should be placed under his own immediate control; that Count Bossu, or
some other person nominated by himself, should be appointed to the
government of Friesland; that the people of Brabant and Flanders should
set themselves instantly to hunting, catching, and chastising all vagrant
heretics and preachers. He required, in particular, that Saint Aldegonde
and Theron, those most mischievous rebels, should be prohibited from
setting their foot in any city of the Netherlands. He insisted that the
community of Brussels should lay down their arms, and resume their
ordinary handicrafts. He demanded that the Prince of Orange should be
made to execute the Ghent treaty; to suppress the exercise of the
Reformed religion in Harlem, Schoonhoven, and other places; to withdraw
his armed vessels from their threatening stations, and to restore
Nieuport, unjustly detained by him. Should the Prince persist in his
obstinacy, Don John summoned them to take arms against him, and to
support their lawful Governor. He, moreover, required the immediate
restitution of Antwerp citadel, and the release of Treslong from prison.

Although, regarded from the Spanish point of view, such demands might
seem reasonable, it was also natural that their audacity should astonish
the estates. That the man who had violated so openly the Ghent treaty
should rebuke the Prince for his default--that the man who had tampered
with the German mercenaries until they were on the point of making
another Antwerp Fury, should now claim the command over them and all
other troops--that the man who had attempted to gain Antwerp citadel by a
base stratagem should now coolly demand its restoration, seemed to them
the perfection of insolence. The baffled conspirator boldly claimed the
prize which was to have rewarded a successful perfidy. At the very moment
when the Escovedo letters and the correspondence with the German colonels
had been laid before their eyes, it was a little too much that the
double-dealing bastard of the double-dealing Emperor should read them a
lecture upon sincerity. It was certain that the perplexed, and outwitted
warrior had placed himself at last in a very false position. The Prince
of Orange, with his usual adroitness, made the most of his adversary's
false moves. Don John had only succeeded in digging a pitfall for
himself. His stratagems against Namur and Antwerp had produced him no
fruit, saving the character, which his antagonist now fully succeeded in
establishing for him, of an unscrupulous and artful schemer. This
reputation was enhanced by the discovery of the intercepted letters, and
by the ingenuity and eagerness with which they were turned to account
against him by the Prince, by Saint Aldegonde, and all the anti-Catholic
party. The true key to his reluctance against despatching the troops by
land, the states had not obtained. They did not dream of his romantic
designs upon England, and were therefore excusable in attributing a still
deeper perfidy to his arrangements.

Even had he been sent to the Netherlands in the full possession of his
faculties, he would have been no match in political combinations for his
powerful antagonists. Hoodwinked and fettered, suspected by his master,
baffled, bewildered, irritated by his adversary, what could he do but
plunge from one difficulty to another and oscillate between extravagant
menace, and desponding concession, until his hopes and life were wasted
quite away. His instructions came from Philip through Perez, and that
most profound dissembler, as we have seen, systematically deceived the
Governor, with the view of eliciting treasonable matters, Philip wishing,
if possible, to obtain proofs of Don John's secret designs against his
own crown. Thus every letter from Spain was filled with false information
and with lying persuasions. No doubt the Governor considered himself
entitled to wear a crown, and meant to win it, if not in Africa, then in
England, or wherever fate might look propitiously upon him. He was of the
stuff of which crusaders and dynasty founders had been made, at a
somewhat earlier epoch. Who could have conquered the holy sepulchre, or
wrested a crown from its lawful wearer, whether in Italy, Muscovy, the
Orient, or in the British Ultima Thule, more bravely than this imperial
bastard, this valiant and romantic adventurer? Unfortunately, he came a
few centuries too late. The days when dynasties were founded, and
European thrones appropriated by a few foreign freebooters, had passed,
and had not yet returned. He had come to the Netherlands desirous of
smoothing over difficulties and of making a peaceful termination to that
rebellion a steppingstone to his English throne. He was doomed to a
profound disappointment, a broken heart, and a premature grave, instead
of the glittering baubles which he pursued. Already he found himself
bitterly deceived in his hopes. The obstinate Netherlanders would not
love him, notwithstanding the good wishes he had manifested. They would
not even love the King of Spain, notwithstanding the blessings which his
Majesty was declared to have heaped upon them. On the contrary, they
persisted in wasting their perverse affections upon the pestilent Prince
of Orange. That heretic was leading them to destruction, for he was
showing them the road to liberty, and nothing, in the eyes of the
Governor, could be more pitiable than to behold an innocent people
setting forth upon such a journey. "In truth," said he, bitterly, in his
memorable letter to his sister the Empress, "they are willing to
recognize neither God nor king. They pretend to liberty in all things: so
that 'tis a great pity to see how they are going on; to see the impudence
and disrespect with which they repay his Majesty for the favors which he
has shown them, and me for the labors, indignities, and dangers which I
have undergone for their sakes."

Nothing, indeed, in the Governor's opinion, could surpass the insolence
of the Netherlanders, save their ingratitude. That was the serpent's
tooth which was ever wounding the clement King and his indignant brother.
It seemed so bitter to meet with thanklessness, after seven years of Alva
and three of Requesens; after the labors of the Blood Council, the
massacres of Naarden, Zutphen, and Harlem, the siege of Leyden, and the
Fury of Antwerp. "Little profit there has been," said the Governor to his
sister, "or is like to be from all the good which we have done to these
bad people. In short, they love and obey in all things the most perverse
and heretic tyrant and rebel in the whole world, which is this damned
Prince of Orange, while, on the contrary, without fear of God or shame
before men, they abhor and dishonor the name and commandments of their
natural sovereign." Therefore, with a doubting spirit, and almost with a
broken heart, had the warrior shut himself up in Namur Castle, to await
the progress of events, and to escape from the snares of his enemies.
"God knows how much I desire to avoid extremities," said he, "but I know
not what to do with men who show themselves so obstinately rebellious."

Thus pathetically Don John bewailed his fate. The nation had turned from
God, from Philip, from himself; yet he still sat in his castle,
determined to save them from destruction and his own hands from
bloodshed, if such an issue were yet possible. Nor was he entirely
deserted, for among the faithless a few were faithful still. Although the
people were in open revolt, there was still a handful of nobles resolved
to do their duty towards their God and King. "This little band," said the
Governor, "has accompanied me hither, like gentlemen and chevaliers of
honor." Brave Berlaymont and his four sons were loyal to the last, but
others of this limited number of gentlemen and chevaliers of honor were
already deserting him. As soon as the result of the enterprise against
Antwerp citadel was known, and the storm was gathering most darkly over
the royal cause, Aerschot and Havre were first to spread their wings and
flutter away in search of a more congenial atmosphere. In September, the
Duke was again as he had always professed himself to be, with some
important interval of exception--"the affectionate brother and cordial
friend of the Prince of Orange."

The letter addressed by Don John to the states upon the 7th of August,
had not yet been answered. Feeling, soon afterwards, more sensible of his
position, and perhaps less inflamed with indignation; he addressed
another communication to them, upon the 13th of the same month. In this
epistle he expressed an extreme desire for peace, and a hearty desire to
be relieved, if possible, from his most painful situation. He protested,
before God and man, that his intentions were most honest, and that he
abhorred war more than anything else in the world. He averred that, if
his person was as odious to them as it seemed, he was only too ready to
leave the land, as soon as the King should appoint his successor. He
reminded them that the question of peace or war lay not with himself, but
with them; and that the world would denounce as guilty those with whom
rested the responsibility. He concluded with an observation which, in its
humility, seemed sufficiently ironical, that if they had quite finished
the perusal of the despatches from Madrid to his address, which they had
intercepted, he should be thankful for an opportunity of reading them
himself. He expressed a hope, therefore, that they would be forwarded to
Namur.

This letter was answered at considerable length, upon the second day. The
states made their customary protestations of attachment to his Majesty,
their fidelity to the Catholic church, their determination to maintain
both the Ghent treaty and the Perpetual Edict. They denied all
responsibility for the present disastrous condition of the relations
between themselves and government, having disbanded nearly all their own
troops, while the Governor had been strengthening his forces up to the
period of his retreat into Namur. He protested, indeed, friendship and a
sincere desire for peace, but the intercepted letters of Escovedo and his
own had revealed to them the evil counsels to which he had been
listening, and the intrigues which he had been conducting. They left it
to his conscience whether they could reasonably believe, after the
perusal of these documents, that it was his intention to maintain the
Ghent treaty, or any treaty; and whether they were not justified in their
resort to the natural right of self-defence.

Don John was already fully aware of the desperate error which he had
committed. In seizing Namur and attempting Antwerp, he had thrown down
the gauntlet. Wishing peace, he had, in a panic of rage and anxiety;
declared and enacted war. The bridge was broken behind him, the ships
burned, a gulf opened, a return to peace rendered almost impossible. Yet
it is painful to observe the almost passionate longings which at times
seemed to possess him for accommodating the quarrel, together with his
absolute incapacity to appreciate his position. The Prince was
triumphant; the Governor in a trap. Moreover, it was a trap which he had
not only entered voluntarily, but which he had set himself; he had played
into the Prince's hands, and was frantic to see his adversary tranquilly
winning the game. It was almost melancholy to observe the gradation of
his tone from haughty indignation to dismal concession. In an elaborate
letter which he addressed "to the particular states, bishops,
councillors, and cities of the Netherlands," he protested as to the
innocence of his intentions, and complained bitterly of the calumnies
circulated to his discredit by the Prince of Orange. He denied any
intention of recalling the troops which he had dismissed, except in case
of absolute necessity: He affirmed that his Majesty sincerely desired
peace. He averred that the country was either against the King, against
the Catholic religion, against himself, or against all three together. He
bitterly asked what further concessions were required. Had he not done
all he had ever promised? Had he not discharged the Spaniards, placed the
castles in the hands of natives, restored the privileges, submitted to
insults and indecencies? Yet, in spite of all which had passed, he
declared his readiness to resign, if another prince or princess of the
blood more acceptable to them could be appointed. The letter to the
states was followed by a proposition for a cessation of hostilities, and
for the appointment of a commission to devise means for faithfully
executing the Ghent treaty. This proposition was renewed, a few days
later, together with an offer for an exchange of hostages.

It was not difficult for the estates to answer the letters of the
Governor. Indeed, there was but little lack of argument on either side
throughout this unhappy controversy. It is dismal to contemplate the
interminable exchange of protocols, declarations, demands, apostilles,
replications and rejoinders, which made up the substance of Don John's
administration. Never was chivalrous crusader so out of place. It was not
a soldier that was then required for Philip's exigency, but a scribe.
Instead of the famous sword of Lepanto, the "barbarous pen" of Hopperus
had been much more suitable for the work required. Scribbling Joachim in
a war-galley, yard-arm and yard-arm with the Turkish capitan pacha, could
have hardly felt less at ease than did the brilliant warrior thus
condemned to scrawl and dissemble. While marching from concession to
concession, he found the states conceiving daily more distrust, and
making daily deeper encroachments. Moreover, his deeds up to the time
when he seemed desirous to retrace his steps had certainly been, at the
least, equivocal. Therefore, it was natural for the estates, in reply to
the questions in his letter, to observe that he had indeed dismissed the
Spaniards, but that he had tampered with and retained the Germans; that
he had indeed placed the citadels in the hands of natives, but that he
had tried his best to wrest them away again; that he had indeed professed
anxiety for peace, but that his intercepted letters proved his
preparations for war. Already there were rumors of Spanish troops
returning in small detachments out of France. Already the Governor was
known to be enrolling fresh mercenaries to supply the place of those whom
he had unsuccessfully endeavoured to gain to his standard. As early as
the 26th of July, in fact, the Marquis d'Ayamonte in Milan, and Don Juan
de Idiaquez in Genoa, had received letters from Don John of Austria,
stating that, as the provinces had proved false to their engagements, he
would no longer be held by his own, and intimating his desire that the
veteran troops which had but so recently been dismissed from Flanders,
should forthwith return. Soon afterwards, Alexander Farnese, Prince of
Parma, received instructions from the King to superintend these
movements, and to carry the aid of his own already distinguished military
genius to his uncle in the Netherlands.

On the other hand, the states felt their strength daily more sensibly.
Guided, as usual, by Orange, they had already assumed a tone in their
correspondence which must have seemed often disloyal, and sometimes
positively insulting, to the Governor. They even answered his hints of
resignation in favor of some other prince of the blood, by expressing
their hopes that his successor, if a member of the royal house at all,
would at least be a legitimate one. This was a severe thrust at the
haughty chieftain, whose imperial airs rarely betrayed any consciousness
of Barbara Blomberg and the bend sinister on his shield. He was made to
understand, through the medium of Brabantine bluntness, that more
importance was attached to the marriage, ceremony in the Netherlands than
he seemed to imagine. The categorical demands made by the estates seemed
even more indigestible than such collateral affronts; for they had now
formally affirmed the views of Orange as to the constitutional government
of the provinces. In their letter of 26th August, they expressed their
willingness, notwithstanding the past delinquencies of the Governor, to
yield him their confidence again; but at the same time; they enumerated
conditions which, with his education and views, could hardly seem to him
admissible. They required him to disband all the soldiers in his service,
to send the Germans instantly out of the country, to dismiss every
foreigner from office, whether civil or military, and to renounce his
secret league with the Duke of Guise. They insisted that he should
thenceforth govern only with the advice and consent of the State Council,
that he should execute that which should by a majority of votes be
ordained there, that neither measures nor despatches should be binding or
authentic unless drawn up at that board. These certainly were views of
administration which, even if consonant with a sound historical view of
the Netherland constitutions, hardly tallied with his monarch's
instructions, his own opinions, or the practice under Alva and Requesens,
but the country was still in a state of revolution, and the party of the
Prince was gaining the upper hand.

It was the determination of that great statesman, according to that which
he considered the legitimate practice of the government, to restore the
administration to the State Council, which executive body ought of right
to be appointed by the states-general. In the states-general, as in the
states-particular, a constant care was to be taken towards strengthening
the most popular element, the "community" of each city, the aggregate,
that is to say, of its guild-representatives and its admitted burghers.
This was, in the opinion of the Prince, the true theory of the
government--republican in all but form--under the hereditary protection,
not the despotic authority, of a family, whose rights were now nearly
forfeited. It was a great step in advance that these views should come to
be thus formally announced, not in Holland and Zealand only, but by the
deputies of the states-general, although such a doctrine, to the proud
stomach of Don John, seemed sufficiently repulsive. Not less so was the
cool intimation with which the paper concluded, that if he should execute
his threat of resigning, the country would bear his loss with fortitude,
coupled as was that statement with a declaration that, until his
successor should be appointed, the State Council would consider itself
charged ad interim with the government. In the meantime, the Governor was
requested not to calumniate the estates to foreign governments, as he had
so recently done in his intercepted letter to the Empress-dowager.

Upon receiving this letter, "Don John," says a faithful old chronicler,
"found that the cranes had invited the frog to dinner." In truth, the
illustrious soldier was never very successful in his efforts, for which
his enemies gave him credit, to piece out the skin of the lion with that
of the fox. He now felt himself exposed and outwitted, while he did not
feel conscious of any very dark design. He answered the letter of the
states by a long communication, dated from Namur Castle, 28th of August.
In style, he was comparatively temperate, but the justification which he
attempted of his past conduct was not very happy. He noticed the three
different points which formed the leading articles of the accusation
brought against him, the matter, namely, of the intercepted letters, of
the intrigues with the German colonels, and the seizure of Namur. He did
not deny the authorship of the letters, but contented himself with a
reference to their date, as if its priority to his installation as
Governor furnished a sufficient palliation of the bad faith which the
letters revealed. As to the despatches of Escovedo, he denied
responsibility for any statements or opinions which they might contain.
As the Secretary, however, was known to be his most confidential friend,
this attempt to shuffle off his own complicity was held to be both lame
and unhandsome. As for the correspondence with the colonels, his defence
was hardly more successful, and rested upon a general recrimination upon
the Prince of Orange. As that personage was agitating and turbulent, it
was not possible, the Governor urged, that he should himself remain
quiet. It was out of his power to execute the treaty and the edict, in
the face of a notorious omission on the part of his adversary to enforce
the one or to publish the other. It comported neither with his dignity
nor his safety to lay down his weapons while the Prince and his adherents
were arming. He should have placed himself "in a very foolish position,"
had he allowed himself unarmed to be dictated to by the armed. In defence
of himself on the third point, the seizure of Namur Castle, he recounted
the various circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted. He
laid particular stress upon the dramatic manner in which the Vicomte De
Gand had drawn his curtains at the dead of night; he narrated at great
length the ominous warning which he had likewise received from the Duke
of Aerschot in Brussels, and concluded with a circumstantial account of
the ambush which he believed to have been laid for him by Count De
Lalain. The letter concluded with a hope for an arrangement of
difficulties, not yet admitted by the Governor to be insurmountable, and
with a request for a formal conference, accompanied by an exchange of
hostages.

While this correspondence was proceeding between Namur and Brussels, an
event was occurring in Antwerp which gave much satisfaction to Orange.
The Spanish Fury, and the recent unsuccessful attempt of Don John to
master the famous citadel, had determined the authorities to take the
counsel which the Prince had so often given in vain, and the fortress of
Antwerp was at length razed to the ground, on the side towards the
city.--It would be more correct to say that it was not the authorities,
but the city itself which rose at last and threw off the saddle by which
it had so long been galled. More than ten thousand persons were
constantly at work, morning, noon, and night, until the demolition was
accomplished. Grave magistrates, great nobles, fair ladies, citizens and
their wives, beggars and their children, all wrought together pell-mell.
All were anxious to have a hand in destroying the nest where so many
murders had been hatched, whence so much desolation had flown. The task
was not a long one for workmen so much in earnest, and the fortress was
soon laid low in the quarter where it could be injurious to the
inhabitants. As the work proceeded, the old statue of Alva was discovered
in a forgotten crypt, where it had lain since it had been thrown down by
the order of Requesens. Amid the destruction of the fortress, the
gigantic phantom of its founder seemed to start suddenly from the gloom,
but the apparition added fresh fuel to the rage of the people. The image
of the execrated Governor was fastened upon with as much fierceness as if
the bronze effigy could feel their blows, or comprehend their wrath. It
was brought forth from its dark hiding-place into the daylight. Thousands
of hands were ready to drag it through the streets for universal
inspection and outrage. A thousand sledge-hammers were ready to dash it
to pieces, with a slight portion, at least, of the satisfaction with
which those who wielded them would have dealt the same blows upon the
head of the tyrant himself. It was soon reduced to a shapeless mass.
Small portions were carried away and preserved for generations in
families as heirlooms of hatred. The bulk was melted again and
reconverted, by a most natural metamorphosis, into the cannon from which
it had originally sprung.

The razing of the Antwerp citadel set an example which was followed in
other places; the castle of Ghent, in particular, being immediately
levelled, amid demonstrations of universal enthusiasm. Meantime, the
correspondence between Don John and the estates at Brussels dragged its
slow length along, while at the same time, two elaborate letters were
addressed to the King, on the 24th of August and the 8th of September, by
the estates-general of the Netherlands. These documents, which were long
and able, gave a vigorous representation of past evils and of the present
complication of disorders under which the commonwealth was laboring. They
asked, as usual, for a royal remedy; and expressed their doubts whether
there could be any sincere reconciliation so long as the present
Governor, whose duplicity and insolence they represented in a very strong
light, should remain in office. Should his Majesty, however, prefer to
continue Don John in the government, they signified their willingness, in
consideration of his natural good qualities, to make the best of the
matter. Should, however, the estrangement between themselves and the
Governor seem irremediable, they begged that another and a legitimate
prince of the blood might be appointed in his place.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Country would bear his loss with fortitude
     Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
     Not upon words but upon actions
     Perfection of insolence
     Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 29

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




CHAPTER IV.

   Orange invited to visit Brussels--His correspondence upon the
   subject with the estates--general--Triumphant journey of the Prince
   to the capital----Stop put by him to the negotiations with Don John
   --New and stringent demands made upon the Governor--His indignation
   --Open rupture--Intrigue of Netherland grandees with Archduke
   Matthias--Policy of Orange--Attitude of Queen Elizabeth--Flight of
   Matthias from Vienna--Anxiety of Elizabeth--Adroitness of the
   Prince--The office of Reward--Election of Orange to that dignity--
   His complaints against the great nobles--Aerschot Governor of
   Flanders--A storm brewing in Ghent--Ryhove and Imbize--Blood-
   Councillor Hessels--Arrogance of the aristocratic party in Flanders
   --Ryhove's secret interview with Orange--Outbreak at Ghent--Arrest
   of Aerschot, Hessels, and others of the reactionary party--The Duke
   liberated at demand of Orange--The Prince's visit to Ghent--
   Rhetorical demonstrations--The new Brussels Union characterized--
   Treaty with England--Articles by which Matthias is nominally
   constituted Governor-General--His inauguration at Brussels--
   Brilliant and fantastic ceremonies--Letter of Don John to the
   Emperor--His anger with England--An army collecting--Arrival of
   Alexander Farnese--Injudicious distribution of offices in the
   States' army--The States' army fall back upon Gemblours, followed by
   Don John--Tremendous overthrow of the patriots--Wonderful disparity
   in the respective losses of the two armies.

While these matters were in progress, an important movement was made by
the estates-general. The Prince of Orange was formally and urgently
invited to come to Brussels to aid them with his counsel and presence.
The condemned traitor had not set foot in the capital for eleven years.
We have narrated the circumstance of his departure, while the advancing
trumpets of Alva's army were almost heard in the distance. His memorable
and warning interview with Egmont has been described. Since that period,
although his spirit had always been manifesting itself in the capital
like an actual presence; although he had been the magnet towards which
the states throughout all their oscillations had involuntarily vibrated,
yet he had been ever invisible. He had been summoned by the Blood Council
to stand his trial, and had been condemned to death by default. He
answered the summons by a defiance, and the condemnation by two
campaigns, unsuccessful in appearance, but which had in reality
prostrated the authority of the sovereign.

Since that period, the representative of royalty had sued the condemned
traitor for forgiveness. The haughty brother of Philip had almost gone
upon his knees, that the Prince might name his terms, and accept the
proffered hand of majesty.

The Prince had refused, not from contumely, but from distrust. He had
spurned the supplications, as he had defied the proscription of the King.
There could be no friendship between the destroyer and the protector of a
people. Had the Prince desired only the reversal of his death-sentence,
and the infinite aggrandizement of his family, we have seen how
completely he had held these issues in his power. Never had it been more
easy, plausible, tempting, for a proscribed patriot to turn his back upon
an almost sinking cause. We have seen how his brave and subtle Batavian
prototype, Civilis, dealt with the representative of Roman despotism. The
possible or impossible Netherland Republic of the first century of our
era had been reluctantly abandoned, but the modern Civilis had justly
more confidence in his people.

And now again the scene was changed. The son of the Emperor, the King's
brother, was virtually beleaguered; the proscribed rebel had arrived at
victory through a long series of defeats. The nation everywhere
acknowledged him master, and was in undisguised revolt against the
anointed sovereign. The great nobles, who hated Philip on the one hand,
and the Reformed religion on the other, were obliged, in obedience to the
dictates of a people with whom they had little sympathy, to accept the
ascendency of the Calvinist Prince, of whom they were profoundly jealous.
Even the fleeting and incapable Aerschot was obliged to simulate
adhesion; even the brave Champagny, cordial hater of Spaniards, but most
devotedly Catholic, "the chiefest man of wysedome and stomach at that
tyme in Brussels," so envoy Wilson wrote to Burghley, had become
"Brabantized," as his brother Granvelle expressed himself, and was one of
the commissioners to invite the great rebel to Brussels. The other envoys
were the Abbot of Saint Gertrude, Dr. Leoninus, and the Seigneur de
Liesvelt. These gentlemen, on arriving at Gertruydenberg, presented a
brief but very important memorial to the Prince. In that document they
informed him that the states-general, knowing how efficacious would be
his presence, by reason of his singular prudence, experience, and love
for the welfare and repose of the country, had unanimously united in a
supplication that he would incontinently transport himself to the city of
Brussels, there to advise with them concerning the necessities of the
land; but, as the principal calumny employed by their adversaries was
that all the provinces and leading personages intended to change both
sovereign and religion, at the instigation of his Excellency, it was
desirable to disprove such fictions. They therefore very earnestly
requested the Prince to make some contrary demonstration, by which it
might be manifest to all that his Excellency, together with the estates
of Holland and Zealand, intended faithfully to keep what they had
promised. They prayed, therefore, that the Prince, permitting the
exercise of the Roman Catholic religion in the places which had recently
accepted his authority, would also allow its exercise in Holland and
Zealand. They begged, further, that he would promise by a new and
authentic act, that the provinces of Holland and Zealand, would not
suffer the said exercise to be impugned, or any new worship to be
introduced, in the other provinces of the Netherlands.

This letter might almost be regarded as a trap, set by the Catholic
nobles. Certainly the Ghent Pacification forbade the Reformed religion in
form, and as certainly, winked at its exercise in fact. The proof was,
that the new worship was spreading everywhere, that the exiles for
conscience' sake were returning in swarms, and that the synod of the
Reformed churches, lately held at Dort, had been, publicly attended by
the ministers and deacons of numerous dissenting churches established in
many different, places throughout all the provinces. The pressure of the
edicts, the horror of the inquisition being removed, the down-trodden
religion had sprung from the earth more freshly than ever.

The Prince was not likely to fall into the trap, if a trap had really
been intended. He answered the envoys loyally, but with distinct
reservations. He did not even accept the invitation, save on condition
that his visit to Brussels should be expressly authorized by Holland and
Zealand. Notwithstanding his desire once more to behold his dear country,
and to enjoy the good company of his best friends and brothers, he felt
it his duty to communicate beforehand with the states of those two
provinces, between which, and himself there had been such close and
reciprocal obligations, such long-tried and faithful affection. He
therefore begged to refer the question to the assembly of the said
provinces about to be held at Gouda, where, in point of fact, the
permission for his journey was, not without considerable difficulty, a
few days afterwards obtained.

With regard to the more difficult requests addressed to him in the
memorial, he professed generally his intention to execute the treaty of
Ghent. He observed, however, that the point of permitting the exercise of
the Roman Catholic religion in Holland and Zealand regarded principally
the estates of these provinces, which had contracted for no innovation in
this matter, at least till the assembling of the states-general. He
therefore suggested that he neither could, nor ought to, permit any
innovation, without the knowledge and consent of those estates. As to
promising by authentic act, that neither he nor the two provinces would
suffer the exercise of the Catholic religion to be in any wise impugned
in the rest of the Netherlands, the Prince expressed himself content to
promise that, according to the said Ghent Pacification, they would suffer
no attempt to be made against the public repose or against the Catholic
worship. He added that, as he had no intention of usurping any
superiority over the states-general assembled at Brussels, he was content
to leave the settlement of this point to their free-will and wisdom,
engaging himself neither to offer nor permit any hindrance to their
operations.

With this answer the deputies are said to have been well pleased. If they
were so, it must be confessed that they were thankful for small favors.
They had asked to have the Catholic religion introduced into Holland and
Zealand. The Prince had simply referred them to the estates of these
provinces. They had asked him to guarantee that the exercise of the
Reformed religion should not be "procured" in the rest of the country. He
had merely promised that the Catholic worship should not be prevented.
The difference between the terms of the request and the reply was
sufficiently wide.

The consent to his journey was with difficulty accorded by the estates of
Holland and Zealand, and his wife, with many tears and anxious
forebodings, beheld him depart for a capital where the heads of his brave
and powerful friends had fallen, and where still lurked so many of his
deadly foes. During his absence, prayers were offered daily for his
safety in all the churches of Holland and Zealand, by command of the
estates.

He arrived at Antwerp on the 17th of September, and was received with
extraordinary enthusiasm. The Prince, who had gone forth alone, without
even a bodyguard, had the whole population of the great city for his
buckler. Here he spent five days, observing, with many a sigh, the
melancholy changes which had taken place in the long interval of his
absence. The recent traces of the horrible "Fury," the blackened walls of
the Hotel de Ville, the prostrate ruins of the marble streets, which he
had known as the most imposing in Europe, could be hardly atoned for in
his eyes even by the more grateful spectacle of the dismantled fortress.

On the 23rd of September he was attended by a vast concourse of citizens
to the new canal which led to Brussels, where three barges were in
waiting for himself and suite. In one a banquet was spread; in the
second, adorned with emblematic devices and draped with the banners of
the seventeen provinces, he was to perform the brief journey; while the
third had been filled by the inevitable rhetoric societies, with all the
wonders of their dramatic and plastic ingenuity. Rarely had such a
complication of vices and virtues, of crushed dragons, victorious
archangels, broken fetters, and resurgent nationalities, been seen
before, within the limits of a single canal boat. The affection was,
however, sincere, and the spirit noble, even though the taste which
presided at these remonstrations may have been somewhat pedantic.

The Prince was met several miles before the gates of Brussels by a
procession of nearly half the inhabitants of the city, and thus escorted,
he entered the capital in the afternoon of the 23rd of September. It was
the proudest day of his life. The representatives of all the provinces,
supported by the most undeniable fervor of the united Netherland people,
greeted "Father William." Perplexed, discordant, hating, fearing,
doubting, they could believe nothing, respect nothing, love nothing, save
the "tranquil" Prince. His presence at that moment in Brussels was the
triumph of the people and of religious toleration. He meant to make use
of the crisis to extend and to secure popular rights, and to establish
the supremacy of the states-general under the nominal sovereignty of some
Prince, who was yet to be selected, while the executive body was to be a
state-council, appointed by the states-general. So far as appears, he had
not decided as to the future protector, but he had resolved that it
should be neither himself nor Philip of Spain. The outlaw came to
Brussels prepared at last to trample out a sovereignty which had worked
its own forfeiture. So far as he had made any election within his breast,
his choice inclined to the miserable Duke of Anjou; a prince whom he
never came to know as posterity has known him, but whom he at least
learned to despise. Thus far the worthless and paltry intriguer still
wore the heroic mask, deceiving even such far seeing politicians as Saint
Aldegonde and the Prince.

William's first act was to put a stop to the negotiations already on foot
with Don John. He intended that they should lead to war, because peace
was impossible, except a peace for which civil and religious liberty
would be bartered, for it was idle, in his opinion, to expect the
maintenance by the Spanish Governor of the Ghent Pacification, whatever
promises might be extorted from his fears. A deputation, in the name of
the states, had already been sent with fresh propositions to Don John, at
Namur. The envoys were Caspar Schetz and the Bishop of Bruges. They had
nearly come to an amicable convention with the Governor, the terms of
which had been sent to the states-general for approval, at the very
moment of the Prince's arrival in Brussels. Orange, with great
promptness, prevented the ratification of these terms, which the estates
had in reality already voted to accept. New articles were added to those
which had originally been laid before Don John. It was now stipulated
that the Ghent treaty and the Perpetual Edict should be maintained. The
Governor was required forthwith to abandon Namur Castle, and to dismiss
the German troops. He was to give up the other citadels and strong
places, and to disband all the soldiers in his service. He was to command
the governors of every province to prohibit the entrance of all foreign
levies. He was forthwith to release captives, restore confiscated
property, and reinstate officers who had been removed; leaving the
details of such restorations to the council of Mechlin and the other
provincial tribunals. He was to engage that the Count Van Buren should be
set free within two months. He was himself, while waiting for the
appointment of his successor, to take up his residence in Luxemburg, and
while there, he was to be governed entirely by the decision of the State
Council, expressed by a majority of its members. Furthermore, and as not
the least stinging of these sharp requisitions, the Queen of England--she
who had been the secret ally of Orange, and whose crown the Governor had
secretly meant to appropriate--was to be included in the treaty.

It could hardly excite surprise that Don John, receiving these insolent
propositions at the very moment in which he heard of the triumphant
entrance into Brussels of the Prince, should be filled with rage and
mortification. Never was champion of the Cross thus braved by infidels
before. The Ghent treaty, according to the Orange interpretation, that is
to say, heresy made legitimate, was to be the law of the land. His
Majesty was to surrender--colors and cannon--to his revolted subjects.
The royal authority was to be superseded by that of a State Council,
appointed by the states-general, at the dictation of the Prince. The
Governor-General himself, brother of his Catholic Majesty, was to sit
quietly with folded arms in Luxemburg, while the arch-heretic and rebel
reigned supreme in Brussels. It was too much to expect that the choleric
soldier would be content with what he could not help regarding as a
dishonorable capitulation. The arrangement seemed to him about as
reasonable as it would have been to invite Sultan Selim to the Escorial,
and to send Philip to reside at Bayonne. He could not but regard the
whole proposition as an insolent declaration of war. He was right. It was
a declaration of war; as much so as if proclaimed by trump of herald. How
could Don John refuse the wager of battle thus haughtily proffered?

Smooth Schetz, Lord of Grobbendonck, and his episcopal colleague, in vain
attempted to calm the Governor's wrath, which now flamed forth, in
defiance of all considerations.

They endeavored, without success, to palliate the presence of Orange, and
the circumstances of his reception, for it was not probable that their
eloquence would bring the Governor to look at the subject with their
eyes. Three days were agreed upon for the suspension of hostilities, and
Don John was highly indignant that the estates would grant no longer a
truce. The refusal was, however, reasonable enough on their part, for
they were aware that veteran Spaniards and Italians were constantly
returning to him, and that he was daily strengthening his position. The
envoys returned to Brussels, to give an account of the Governor's rage,
which they could not declare to be unnatural, and to assist in
preparations for the war, which was now deemed inevitable. Don John,
leaving a strong garrison in the citadel of Namur, from which place he,
despatched a final communication to the estates-general, dated the 2nd of
October, retired to Luxemburg. In this letter, without exactly uttering
defiance, he unequivocally accepted the hostilities which had been
pressed upon him, and answered their hollow professions of attachment to
the Catholic religion and his Majesty's authority, by denouncing their
obvious intentions to trample upon both. He gave them, in short, to
understand that he perceived their intentions, and meant them to
comprehend his own.

Thus the quarrel was brought to an issue, and Don John saw with grim
complacency, that the pen was at last to be superseded by the sword. A
remarkable pamphlet was now published, in seven different languages,
Latin, French, Flemish, German, Italian, Spanish; and English, containing
a succinct account of the proceedings between the Governor and the
estates, together with copies of the intercepted letters of Don John and
Escovedo to the King, to Perez, to the German colonels, and to the
Empress. This work, composed and published by order of the
estates-general, was transmitted with an accompanying address to every
potentate in Christendom. It was soon afterwards followed by a
counter-statement, prepared by order of Don John, and containing his
account of the same matters, with his recriminations against the conduct
of the estates.

Another important movement had, meanwhile, been made by the third party
in this complicated game. The Catholic nobles, jealous of the growing
influence of Orange, and indignant at the expanding power of the people,
had opened secret negotiations with the Archduke Matthias, then a mild,
easy-tempered youth of twenty, brother of the reigning emperor, Rudolph.
After the matter had been discussed some time in secret, it was resolved,
towards the end of September, to send a messenger to Vienna, privately
inviting the young Prince to Brussels, but much to the surprise of these
nobles, it was discovered that some fifteen or sixteen of the grandees of
the land, among them Aerschot, Havre, Champagny, De Ville, Lalain, De
Heze, and others, had already taken the initiative in the matter. On the
26th of August, the Seigneur de Maalsteede had set forth, by their
appointment, for Vienna. There is no doubt that this step originated in
jealousy felt towards Orange, but at the same time it is certain that
several of the leaders in the enterprise were still his friends. Some,
like Champagny, and De Heze, were honestly so; others, like Aerschot,
Havrd, and De Ville, always traitors in heart to the national cause,
loyal to nothing but their own advancement, were still apparently upon
the best terms with him. Moreover, it is certain that he had been made
aware of the scheme, at least, before the arrival of the Archduke in the
Netherlands, for the Marquis Havre, on his way to England, as special
envoy from the estates, had a conference with him at Gertruydenberg. This
was in the middle of September, and before his departure for Brussels.
Naturally, the proposition seemed, at first, anything but agreeable; but
the Marquis represented himself afterwards as having at last induced the
Prince to look upon it with more favorable eyes. Nevertheless, the step
had been taken before the consultation was held; nor was it the first
time that the advice, of Orange had been asked concerning the adoption of
a measure after the measure had been adopted.

Whatever may have been his original sentiments upon the subject; however,
he was always less apt to complain of irrevocable events than quick to
reconcile them with his own combinations, and it was soon to be
discovered that the new stumbling-block which his opponents had placed in
his path, could be converted into an additional stepping-stone towards
his goal. Meanwhile, the secret invitation to the Archduke was regarded
by the people and by foreign spectators as a plot devised by his enemies.
Davison, envoy from Queen Elizabeth, was then in Brussels, and informed
his royal mistress, whose sentiments and sympathies were unequivocally in
favor of Orange, of the intrigues against the Prince. The efforts of
England were naturally to counteract the schemes of all who interfered
with his policy, the Queen especially, with her customary sagacity,
foreseeing the probable inclination of the Catholic nobles towards the
protectorate of Alencon. She did not feel certain as to the precise plans
of Orange, and there was no course better adapted to draw her from barren
coquetry into positive engagements; than to arouse her jealousy of the
French influence in the provinces. At this moment, she manifested the
warmest friendship for the Prince.

Costly presents were transmitted by her to his wife; among others, an
ornament, of which a sculptured lizard formed a part. The Princess, in a
graceful letter to her husband, desiring that her acknowledgments should
be presented to her English Majesty, accepted the present as
significative. "Tis the fabled virtue of the lizard (she said) to awaken
sleepers whom a serpent is about to sting. You are the lizard, and the
Netherlands the sleepers,--pray Heaven they may escape the serpent's
bite." The Prince was well aware, therefore, of the plots which were
weaving against him. He had small faith in the great nobles, whom he
trusted "as he would adders fanged," and relied only upon the
communities, upon the mass of burghers. They deserved his confidence, and
watched over his safety with jealous care. On one occasion, when he was
engaged at the State Council till a late hour, the citizens conceived so
much alarm, that a large number of them spontaneously armed themselves,
and repaired to the palace. The Prince, informed of the circumstance,
threw open a window and addressed them, thanking them for their
friendship and assuring them of his safety. They were not satisfied,
however, to leave him alone, but remained under arms below till the
session was terminated, when they escorted him with affectionate respect
to his own hotel.

The secret envoy arrived in Vienna, and excited the ambition of the
youthful Matthias. It must be confessed that the offer could hardly be a
very tempting one, and it excites our surprise that the Archduke should
have thought the adventure worth the seeking. A most anomalous position
in the Netherlands was offered to him by a slender and irresponsible
faction of Netherlanders. There was a triple prospect before him: that of
a hopeless intrigue against the first politician in Europe, a mortal
combat with the most renowned conqueror of the age, a deadly feud with
the most powerful and revengeful monarch in the world. Into this
threefold enterprise he was about to plunge without any adequate
resources, for the Archduke possessed no experience, power, or wealth. He
brought, therefore, no strength to a cause which was itself feeble. He
could hope for no protection, nor inspire any confidence. Nevertheless,
he had courage, pliability, and a turn for political adventure. Visions
of the discomfited Philip conferring the hand of his daughter, with the
Netherlands as her dowry, upon the enterprising youth who, at this
juncture, should succeed in overturning the Spanish authority in that
country, were conjured up by those who originated the plot, and he was
weak enough to consider such absurdities plausible, and to set forth at
once to take possession of this castle in the air.

On the evening of October 3rd, 1577, he retired to rest at eight o'clock
feigning extreme drowsiness. After waiting till his brother, Maximilian,
who slept in another bed in the same chamber, was asleep, he slipped from
his couch and from the room in his night apparel, without even putting on
his slippers. He was soon after provided by the companions of his flight
with the disguise of a servant, arrayed in which, with his face
blackened, he made his escape by midnight from Vienna, but it is doubtful
whether Rudolph were as ignorant as he affected to be of the scheme.

   [It was the opinion of Languet that the Emperor affected ignorance
   of the plot at its commencement, that he afterwards affected an
   original connivance, and that he was equally disingenuous in both
   pretences.]

The Archduke arrived at Cologne, attended only by two gentlemen and a few
servants. The Governor was beside himself with fury; the Queen of England
was indignant; the Prince only, against whom the measure was mainly
directed, preserved his usual tranquillity.

Secretary Walsingham, as soon as the news reached England, sent for
Meetkercke, colleague of Marquis Havre in the mission from the estates.
He informed that functionary of the great perplexity and excitement
which, according to information received from the English resident,
Davison, were then prevailing in Brussels, on account of the approach of
the Archduke. Some, he said, were for receiving him at one place, some at
another; others were in favor of forbidding his entrance altogether.
Things had been sufficiently complicated before, without this additional
cause of confusion. Don John was strengthening himself daily, through the
secret agency of the Duke of Guise and his party. His warlike genius was
well known, as well as the experience of the soldiers who were fast
rallying under his banner. On the other hand, the Duke of Alencon had
come to La Fere, and was also raising troops, while to oppose this crowd
of rival enemies, to deal with this host of impending disasters, there
was but one man in the Netherlands. On the Prince of Orange alone could
the distracted states rely. To his prudence and valor only could the
Queen look with hopeful eyes. The Secretary proceeded to inform the
envoy, therefore, that her Majesty would feel herself compelled to
withdraw all succor from the states if the Prince of Orange were deprived
of his leadership; for it was upon that leadership only that she had
relied for obtaining a successful result. She was quite indisposed to
encounter indefinite risk with an impossibility of profit.

Meetkercke replied to the Secretary by observing, that the great nobles
of the land had been unanimous in desiring a new Governor-General at this
juncture. They had thought Matthias, with a strong Council of State,
composed of native Netherlanders, to control him, likely to prove a
serviceable candidate for the post. They had reason to believe that,
after he should be received, the Emperor would be reconciled to the
measure, and that by his intercession the King of Spain would be likewise
induced to acquiesce. He alluded, moreover, to the conference between the
Marquis of Havre and Orange at Gertruydenberg, and quoted the opinion of
the Prince that it would be unwise, after the invitation had been given,
to insult the Archduke and his whole imperial house, by beating him with
indignity upon his arrival. It was inevitable, said the envoy, that
differences of opinion should exist in large assemblies, but according to
information which he had recently received from Marquis Havre, then in
Brussels, affairs had already become smooth again. At the conclusion of
the conference, Walsingham repeated emphatically that the only condition
upon which the Queen would continue her succor to the Netherlands was,
that the Prince should be forthwith appointed Lieutenant-General for the
Archduke.

The immediate result of this movement was, that Matthias was received at
Antwerp by Orange at the head of two thousand cavalry, and attended by a
vast concourse of inhabitants. Had the Prince chosen a contrary course,
the Archduke might have been compelled to return, somewhat ridiculously,
to Vienna; but, at the same time, the anger of the Emperor and of all
Germany would have been aroused against Orange and the cause he served.
Had the Prince, on the contrary, abandoned the field himself, and
returned to Holland, he would have left the game in the hands of his
adversaries. Ever since he had made what his brother John called that
"dangerous gallows journey" to Brussels, his influence had been
culminating daily, and the jealousy of the great nobles rising as
rapidly. Had he now allowed himself to be driven from his post, he would
have exactly fulfilled their object. By remaining, he counteracted their
schemes.

By taking Matthias wholly into his own possession, he obtained one piece
the more in the great game which he was playing against his antagonist in
the Escorial. By making adroit use of events as they arose, he made the
very waves which were to sink him, carry his great cause triumphantly
onward.

The first result of the invitation to Matthias was the election of Orange
as Ruward of Brabant. This office was one of great historical dignity,
but somewhat anomalous in its functions. The province of Brabant, having
no special governor, was usually considered under the immediate
superintendence of the Governor-General. As the capital of Brabant was
the residence of that functionary, no inconvenience from this course had
been felt since the accession of the house of Burgundy. At present,
however, the condition of affairs was so peculiar--the seat of government
being empty without having been permanently vacated--that a special
opportunity was offered for conferring both honor and power on the
Prince. A Ruward was not exactly dictator, although his authority was
universal. He was not exactly protector, nor governor, nor stadholder.
His functions were unlimited as to time--therefore superior to those of
an ancient dictator; they were commonly conferred on the natural heir to
the sovereignty--therefore more lofty than those of ordinary stadholders.
The individuals who had previously held the office in the Netherlands had
usually reigned afterwards in their own right. Duke Albert, of the
Bavarian line; for example, had been Ruward of Hainault and Holland, for
thirty years, during the insanity of his brother, and on the death of
Duke William had succeeded to his title. Philip of Burgundy had declared
himself Ruward of Brabant in 1425, and had shortly afterwards deprived
Jacqueline of all her titles and appropriated them to himself. In the one
case the regent, in the second case the usurper, had become reigning
prince. Thus the movement of the jealous nobles against the Prince had
for its first effect his immediate appointment to an office whose chief
characteristic was, that it conducted to sovereignty.

The election was accomplished thus. The "members," or estates of
Brussels, together with the deans, guilds, and other of the principal
citizens of Antwerp, addressed a request to the states of Brabant, that
William of Orange should be appointed Ruward, and after long deliberation
the measure was carried. The unsolicited honor was then solemnly offered
to him. He refused, and was only, after repeated and urgent entreaties,
induced to accept the office. The matter was then referred to the
states-general, who confirmed the dignity, after some demur, and with the
condition that it might be superseded by the appointment of a
governor-general. He was finally confirmed as Ruward on the 22d of
October, to the boundless satisfaction of the people, who celebrated the
event by a solemn holiday in Antwerp, Brussels, and other cities. His
friends, inspired by the intrigues of his enemies, had thus elevated the
Prince to almost unlimited power; while a strong expression in favor of
his government had been elicited from the most important ally of the
Netherlands-England. It soon rested with himself only to assume the
government of Flanders, having been elected stadholder, not once only,
but many times, by the four estates of that important province, and
having as constantly refused the dignity. With Holland and Zealand
devoted to him, Brabant and Flanders formally under his government, the
Netherland capital lavishing testimonials of affection upon him, and the
mass of the people almost worshipping him, it would not have been
difficult for the Prince to play a game as selfish as it had hitherto
been close and skilful. He might have proved to the grand seigniors that
their suspicions were just, by assuming a crown which they had been
intriguing to push from his brows. Certainly the nobles deserved their
defeat. They had done their best to circumvent Orange, in all ways and at
all times. They had paid their court to power when it was most powerful,
and had sought to swim on the popular tide when it was rising. He avenged
himself upon their perfidy only by serving his country more faithfully
than ever, but it was natural that he should be indignant at the conduct
of these gentlemen, "children of good houses," (in his own words,) "issue
of worthy, sires," whose fathers, at least, he had ever loved and
honored.

"They serve the Duke of Alva and the Grand Commander like varlets," he
cried; "they make war upon me to the knife. Afterwards they treat with
me, they reconcile themselves with me, they are sworn foes of the
Spaniard. Don John arrives, and they follow him; they intrigue for my
ruin. Don John fails in his enterprise upon Antwerp citadel; they quit
him incontinently and call upon me. No sooner do I come than, against
their oath and without previous communication with the states or myself,
they call upon the Archduke Matthias. Are the waves of the sea more
inconstant--is Euripus more uncertain than the counsels of such men?"

While these events were occurring at Brussels and Antwerp, a scene of a
different nature was enacting at Ghent. The Duke of Aerschot had recently
been appointed to the government of Flanders by the State Council, but
the choice was exceedingly distasteful to a large number of the
inhabitants. Although, since the defeat of Don John's party in Antwerp,
Aerschot had again become "the affectionate brother" of Orange, yet he
was known to be the head of the cabal which had brought Matthias from
Vienna. Flanders, moreover, swarmed with converts to the Reformed
religion, and the Duke's strict Romanism was well known. The people,
therefore, who hated the Pope and adored the Prince, were furious at the
appointment of the new governor, but by dint of profuse promises
regarding the instant restoration of privileges and charters which had
long lain dormant, the friends of Aerschot succeeded in preparing the way
for his installation.

On the 20th of October, attended by twenty-three companies of infantry
and three hundred horse, he came to Ghent. That famous place was still
one of the most powerful and turbulent towns in Europe. Although
diminished in importance since the commercial decline which had been the
inevitable result of Philip's bloody government, it, was still swarming
with a vigorous and dangerous population and it had not forgotten the
days when the iron tongue of Roland could call eighty thousand fighting
men to the city banner. Even now, twenty thousand were secretly pledged
to rise at the bidding of certain chieftains resident among them; noble
by birth, warmly attached to the Reformed religion, and devoted to
Orange. These gentlemen were perfectly conscious that a reaction was to
be attempted in favor of Don John and of Catholicism, through the agency
of the newly-appointed governor of Flanders. Aerschot was trusted or
respected by neither party. The only difference in the estimates formed
of him was, that some considered him a deep and dangerous traitor; others
that he was rather foolish than malicious, and more likely to ruin a good
cause than to advance the interests of a bad one. The leaders of the
popular party at Ghent believed him dangerous. They felt certain that it
was the deeply laid design of the Catholic nobles foiled as they had been
in the objects with which they had brought Matthias from Vienna, and
enraged as they were that the only result of that movement had been to
establish the power of Orange upon a firmer basis--to set up an opposing
influence in Ghent. Flanders, in the possession of the Catholics, was to
weigh up Brabant, with its recent tendencies to toleration. Aerschot was
to counteract the schemes of Orange. Matthias was to be withdrawn from
the influence of the great heretic, and be yet compelled to play the part
set down for him by those who had placed him upon the stage. A large
portion, no doubt, of the schemes here suggested, was in agitation, but
the actors were hardly equal to the drama which they were attempting. The
intrigue was, however, to be frustrated at once by the hand of Orange,
acting as it often did from beneath a cloud.

Of all the chieftains possessing influence with the inhabitants of Ghent,
two young nobles, named Ryhove and Imbize, were the most conspicuous.
Both were of ancient descent and broken fortunes, both were passionately
attached to the Prince, both were inspired with an intense hatred for all
that was Catholic or Spanish. They had travelled further on the reforming
path than many had done in that day, and might even be called democratic
in their notions. Their heads were filled with visions of Greece and
Rome; the praise of republics was ever on their lips; and they avowed to
their intimate associates that it was already feasible to compose a
commonwealth like that of the Swiss Cantons out of the seventeen
Netherlands. They were regarded as dreamers by some, as desperadoes by
others. Few had confidence in their capacity or their purity; but Orange,
who knew mankind, recognized in them useful instruments for any hazardous
enterprise. They delighted in stratagems and sudden feats of arms.
Audacious and cruel by temperament, they were ever most happy in becoming
a portion of the desolation which popular tumults engender.

There were several excited meetings of the four estates of Flanders
immediately after the arrival of the Duke of Aerschot in Ghent. His
coming had been preceded by extensive promises, but it soon became
obvious that their fulfilment was to be indefinitely deferred. There was
a stormy session on the 27th of October, many of the clergy and nobility
being present, and comparatively few members of the third estate. Very
violent speeches were made, and threats openly uttered, that the
privileges, about which so much noise had been heard, would be rather
curtailed than enlarged under the new administration. At the same
session, the commission of Aerschot was formally presented by Champagny
and Sweveghem, deputed by the State Council for that purpose. Champagny
was in a somewhat anomalous position. There was much doubt in men's minds
concerning him. He had seemed lately the friend of Orange, but he was
certainly the brother of Granvelle. His splendid but fruitless services
during the Antwerp Fury had not been forgotten, but he was known to be a
determined Catholic. He was a hater of Spaniards, but no lover of popular
liberty. The nature of his sentiments towards Orange was perhaps unjustly
suspected. At any rate, two or three days after the events which now
occupy our attention, he wrote him a private letter, in which he assured
him of his attachment. In reference to the complaints, of the Prince,
that he had not been seconded as he ought to have been, he said,
moreover, that he could solemnly swear never to have seen a single
individual who did not hold the Prince in admiration, and who was not
affectionately devoted to him, not only, by public profession, but by
private sentiment.

There was little doubt entertained as to the opinions held by the rest of
the aristocratic party, then commencing their manoeuvres in Ghent. Their
sentiments were uttered with sufficient distinctness in this remarkable
session.

Hessels, the old Blood Councillor, was then resident in Ghent; where he
discharged high governmental functions. It was he, as it will be
remembered, who habitually fell asleep at that horrible council board,
and could only start from his naps to-shout "ad patibulum," while the
other murderers had found their work less narcotic. A letter from Hessels
to Count de Reux, late royal governor of Flanders, was at the present
juncture intercepted. Perhaps it was invented, but genuine or fictitious,
it was circulated extensively among the popular leaders, and had the
effect of proving Madame de Hessels a true prophet. It precipitated the
revolution in Flanders, and soon afterwards cost the Councillor his life.
"We have already brought many notable magistrates of Flanders over to the
aide of his Highness Don John," wrote Hessels. "We hope, after the Duke
of Aerschot is governor; that we shall fully carry out the intentions of
his Majesty and the plans of his Highness. We shall also know how to
circumvent the scandalous heretic with all his adherents and followers."

Certainly, if this letter were true, it was high time for the friends of
the "scandalous heretic" to look about them. If it were a forgery, which
is highly probable, it was ingeniously imagined, and did the work of
truth. The revolutionary party, being in a small minority in the
assembly, were advised by their leaders to bow before the storm. They did
so, and the bluster of the reactionary party grew louder as they marked
the apparent discomfiture of their foes. They openly asserted that the
men who were clamoring for privileges should obtain nothing but halters.
The buried charters should never be resuscitated; but the spirit of the
dead Emperor, who had once put a rope around the necks of the insolent
Ghenters, still lived in that of his son. There was no lack of
denunciation. Don John and the Duke of Aerschot would soon bring the
turbulent burghers to their senses, and there would then be an end to
this renewed clamor about musty parchments. Much indignation was secretly
excited in the assembly by such menaces. Without doors the subterranean
flames spread rapidly, but no tumult occurred that night. Before the
session was over, Ryhove left the city, pretending a visit to Tournay. No
sooner had he left the gates, however, than he turned his horse's head in
the opposite direction, and rode off post haste to Antwerp. There he had
a conference with William of Orange, and painted in lively colors the
alarming position of affairs. "And what do you mean to do in the matter?"
asked the Prince, rather drily. Ryhove was somewhat disconcerted. He had
expected a violent explosion; well as he knew the tranquil personage whom
he was addressing. "I know no better counsel," he replied, at length,
"than to take the Duke, with his bishops, councillors, lords, and the
whole nest of them, by the throat, and thrust them all out together."

"Rather a desperate undertaking, however?" said the Prince; carelessly,
but interrogatively.

"I know no other remedy," answered Ryhove; "I would rather make the
attempt, relying upon God alone, and die like a man if needful, than live
in eternal slavery. Like an ancient Roman," continued the young
republican noble, in somewhat bombastic vein, "I am ready to wager my
life, where my fatherland's welfare is at stake."

"Bold words!" said the Prince, looking gravely at Ryhove; "but upon what
force do you rely for your undertaking?"

"If I can obtain no assistance from your Excellency," was the reply, "I
shall throw myself on the mass of the citizens. I can arouse them in the
name of their ancient liberties, which must be redeemed now or never."

The Prince, believing probably that the scheme, if scheme there were, was
but a wild one, felt little inclination to compromise himself with the
young conspirator. He told him he could do nothing at present, and saying
that he must at least sleep upon the matter, dismissed him for the night.
Next morning, at daybreak, Ryhove was again closeted with him. The Prince
asked his sanguine partisan if he were still determined to carry out his
project, with no more definite support than he had indicated? Ryhove
assured him, in reply, that he meant to do so; or to die in the attempt.
The Prince shrugged his shoulders, and soon afterwards seemed to fall
into a reverie. Ryhove continued talking, but it was soon obvious that
his Highness was not listening; and he therefore took his leave somewhat
abruptly. Hardly had he left the house, however, when the Prince
despatched Saint Aldegonde in search of him. That gentleman, proceeding
to his hotel, walked straight into the apartment of Ryhove, and commenced
a conversation with a person whom he found there, but to his surprise he
soon discovered, experienced politician though he was, that he had made
an egregious blunder. He had opened a dangerous secret to an entire
stranger, and Ryhove coming into the apartment a few minutes afterwards,
was naturally surprised to find the Prince's chief councillor in close
conversation about the plot with Van Rooyen, the burgomaster of
Denremonde. The Flemish noble, however, always prompt in emergencies,
drew his rapier, and assured the astonished burgomaster that he would
either have his life on the instant, or his oath never to reveal a
syllable of what he had heard. That functionary, who had neither desired
the young noble's confidence, nor contemplated the honor of being run
through the body as a consequence of receiving it, was somewhat aghast at
the rapid manner in which these gentlemen transacted business. He
willingly gave the required pledge, and was permitted to depart.

The effect of the conference between Saint Aldegonde and Ryhove was to
convince the young partisan that the Prince would neither openly
countenance his project, nor be extremely vexed should it prove
successful. In short, while, as in the case of the arrest of the State
Council, the subordinates were left to appear the principals in the
transactions, the persons most intimate with William of Orange were
allowed to form satisfactory opinions as to his wishes, and to serve as
instruments to his ends. "Vive qui vince!" cried Saint-Aldegonde,
encouragingly, to Ryhove, shaking hands with him at parting. The
conspirator immediately mounted, and rode off towards Ghent. During his
absence there had been much turbulence, but no decided outbreak, in that
city. Imbize had accosted the Duke of Aerschot in the street, and
demanded when and how he intended to proclaim the restoration of the
ancient charters. The haughty Duke had endeavoured to shake off his
importunate questioner, while Imbize persisted, with increasing audacity,
till Aerschot lost his temper at last: "Charters, charters!" he cried in
a rage; "you shall learn soon, ye that are thus howling for charters,
that we have still the old means of making you dumb, with a rope on your
throats. I tell you this--were you ever so much hounded on by the Prince
of Orange."

The violence of the new governor excited the wrath of Imbize. He broke
from him abruptly, and rushed to a rendezvous of his confederates, every
man of whom was ready for a desperate venture. Groups of excited people
were seen vociferating in different places. A drum was heard to rattle
from time to time. Nevertheless, the rising tumult seemed to subside
again after a season, owing partly to the exertions of the magistrates,
partly to the absence of Ryhove. At four in the afternoon that gentleman
entered the town, and riding directly to the head-quarters of the
conspiracy, was incensed to hear that the work, which had begun so
bravely, had been allowed to cool. "Tis a time," he cried, "for
vigilance. If we sleep now, we shall be dead in our beds before morning.
Better to fan the fire which has begun to blaze in the people's heart.
Better to gather the fruit while it is ripe. Let us go forward, each with
his followers, and I pledge myself to lead the way. Let us scuttle the
old ship of slavery; let us hunt the Spanish Inquisition, once for all,
to the hell from whence it came!"

"There spoke the voice of a man!" cried the Flemish captain, Mieghem, one
of the chief conspirators; "lead on, Ryhove, I swear to follow you as far
as our legs will carry us." Thus encouraged, Ryhove, rushed about the
city, calling upon the people everywhere to rise. They rose almost to a
man. Arming and mustering at different points, according to previous
arrangements, a vast number assembled by toll of bell, after nightfall,
on the public square, whence, under command of Ryhove, they swept to the
residence of Aerschot at Saint Bavon. The guards, seeing the fierce mob
approaching, brandishing spears and waving, torches, had scarce time to
close the gates; as the people loudly demanded entrance and the delivery
to them of the Governor. Both claims were refused. "Let us burn the birds
in their nests," cried Ryhove, without hesitation. Pitch, light wood, and
other combustibles, were brought at his command, and in a few moments the
palace would have been in flames, had not Aerschot, seeing that the
insurgents were in earnest, capitulated. As soon as the gates were open,
the foremost of the mob rushed upon him, and would have torn him limb
from limb, had not Ryhove resolutely interfered, and twice protected the
life of the governor, at the peril of his own. The Duke was then made a
prisoner, and, under a strong guard, was conveyed, still in his
night-gown, and bare-footed, to the mansion of Ryhove. All the other
leading members of the Catholic party were captured, the arrests
proceeding till a late hour in the night. Rassinghem, Sweveghem, Fisch,
De la Porta, and other prominent members of the Flemish estates or
council, were secured, but Champagny was allowed to make his escape. The
Bishops of Bruges and Ypres were less fortunate. Blood-councillor
Hessels, whose letter--genuine or counterfeited--had been so instrumental
in hastening this outbreak, was most carefully guarded, and to him and to
Senator Fisch the personal consequences of that night's work were to be
very tragic.

Thus audaciously, successfully, and hitherto without bloodshed, was the
anti-Catholic revolution commenced in Flanders. The event was the first
of a long and most signal series. The deed was done. The provisional
government was established, at the head of which was placed Ryhove, to
whom oaths of allegiance were rendered, subject to the future
arrangements of the states-general and Orange: On the 9th of November,
the nobles, notables, and community of Ghent published an address, in
which they elaborately defended the revolution which had been effected
and the arrests which had taken place; while the Catholic party, with
Aerschot at its head, was declared to be secretly in league with Don John
to bring back the Spanish troops, to overthrow the Prince of Orange, to
deprive him of the protectorate of Brabant, to set at nought the Ghent
treaty, and to suppress the Reformed religion.

The effect of this sudden rising of the popular party was prodigious
throughout the Netherlands. At the same time, the audacity of such
extreme proceedings could hardly be countenanced by any considerable
party in the states-general. Champagny wrote to the Prince of Orange
that, even if the letter of Hessels were genuine, it proved nothing
against Aerschot, and he urged the necessity of suppressing such scene of
licence immediately, through the influence of those who could command the
passions of the mob. Otherwise, he affirmed that all legitimate forms of
justice would disappear, and that it would be easy to set the bloodhounds
upon any game whatever. Saint Aldegonde wrote to the Prince, that it
would be a great point, but a very difficult one, to justify the Ghent
transaction; for there was little doubt that the Hessels letter was a
forgery. It was therefore as well, no doubt, that the Prince had not
decidedly committed himself to Ryhove's plot; and thus deprived himself
of the right to interfere afterwards, according to what seemed the claims
of justice and sound policy.

He now sent Arend Van Dorp to Ghent, to remonstrate with the leaders of
the insurrection upon the violence of their measures, and to demand the
liberation of the prisoners--a request which was only complied with in
the case of Aerschot. That nobleman was liberated on the 14th of
November, under the condition that he would solemnly pledge himself to
forget and forgive the treatment which he had received, but the other
prisoners were retained in custody for a much longer period. A few weeks
afterwards, the Prince of Orange visited Ghent, at the earnest request of
the four estates of Flanders, and it was hoped that his presence would
contribute to the restoration of tranquillity.

This visit was naturally honored by a brilliant display of "rhetorical"
spectacles and tableaux vivants; for nothing could exceed the passion of
the Netherlanders of that century for apologues and charades. In allegory
they found an ever-present comforter in their deepest afflictions. The
prince was escorted from the Town-gate to the Jacob's church amid a blaze
of tar-barrels and torches, although it was mid-day, where a splendid
exhibition had been arranged by that sovereign guild of rhetoric, "Jesus
with the Balsam Flower." The drama was called Judas Maccabaeus, in
compliment to the Prince. In the centre of the stage stood the Hebrew
patriot, in full armor, symbolizing the illustrious guest doing battle
for his country. He was attended by the three estates of the country,
ingeniously personified by a single individual, who wore the velvet
bonnet of a noble, the cassock of a priest, end the breeches of a
burgher. Groups of allegorical personages were drawn up on the right and
left;--Courage, Patriotism, Freedom, Mercy, Diligence, and other
estimable qualities upon one side, were balanced by Murder, Rapine,
Treason, and the rest of the sisterhood of Crime on the other. The
Inquisition was represented as a lean and hungry hag. The "Ghent
Pacification" was dressed in cramoisy satin, and wore a city on her head
for a turban; while; tied to her apron-strings were Catholicism and
Protestantism, bound in a loving embrace by a chain of seventeen links,
which she was forging upon an anvil. Under the anvil was an individual in
complete harness, engaged in eating his heart; this was Discord. In front
of the scene stood History and Rhetoric, attired as "triumphant maidens,
in white garments," each with a laurel crown and a burning torch. These
personages, after holding a rhymed dialogue between themselves, filled
with wonderful conceits and quibbles, addressed the Prince of Orange and
Maccabaeus, one after the other, in a great quantity of very detestable
verses.

After much changing of scenes and groups, and an enormous quantity of
Flemish-woven poetry, the "Ghent Peace" came forward, leading a lion in
one hand, and holding a heart of pure gold in the other. The heart, upon
which was inscribed Sinceritas, was then presented to the real Prince, as
he sat "reposing after the spectacle," and perhaps slightly yawning, the
gift being accompanied by another tremendous discharge of complimentary
verses. After this, William of Orange was permitted to proceed towards
the lodgings provided for him, but the magistrates and notables met him
upon the threshold, and the pensionary made him a long oration. Even
after the Prince was fairly housed, he had not escaped the fangs of
allegory; for, while he sat at supper refreshing his exhausted frame
after so much personification and metaphor, a symbolical personage,
attired to represent the town corporation made his appearance, and poured
upon him a long and particularly dull heroic poem. Fortunately, this
episode closed the labors of the day.

On the 7th of December, 1577, the states-general formally declared that
Don John was no longer Stadholder, Governor, nor Captain-General, but an
infractor of the peace which he had sworn to maintain, and an enemy of
the fatherland. All natives of the country who should show him favor or
assistance were declared rebels and traitors; and by a separate edict,
issued the same day, it was ordained that an inventory of the estates of
such persons should forthwith be taken.

Thus the war, which had for a brief period been suspended during the
angry, tortuous, and hopeless negotiations which succeeded the arrival of
Don John, was once more to be let loose. To this point had tended all the
policy of Orange-faithful as ever to the proverb with which he had broken
off the Breda conferences, "that war was preferable to a doubtful peace."
Even, however, as his policy had pointed to a war as the necessary
forerunner of a solid peace with Spain, so had his efforts already
advanced the cause of internal religious concord within the provinces
themselves. On the 10th of December, a new act of union was signed at
Brussels, by which those of the Roman Church and those who had retired
from that communion bound themselves to respect and to protect each other
with mutual guarantees against all enemies whatsoever. Here was a step
beyond the Ghent Pacification, and in the same direction. The first
treaty tacitly introduced toleration by suppressing the right of
persecution, but the new union placed the Reformed religion on a level
with the old. This was the result of the Prince's efforts; and, in truth,
there was no lack of eagerness among these professors of a faith which
had been so long under ban, to take advantage of his presence. Out of
dark alleys, remote thickets, subterranean conventicles, where the
dissenters had so long been trembling for their lives, the oppressed now
came forth into the light of day. They indulged openly in those forms of
worship which persecution had affected to regard with as much holy horror
as the Badahuennan or Hercynian mysteries of Celtic ages could inspire,
and they worshipped boldly the common God of Catholic and Puritan, in the
words most consonant to their tastes, without dreading the gibbet as an
inevitable result of their audacity.

In truth, the time had arrived for bringing the northern and southern,
the Celtic and German, the Protestant and Catholic, hearts together, or
else for acquiescing in their perpetual divorce. If the sentiment of
nationality, the cause of a common fatherland, could now overcome the
attachment to a particular form of worship--if a common danger and a
common destiny could now teach the great lesson of mutual toleration, it
might yet be possible to create a united Netherland, and defy for ever
the power of Spain. Since the Union of Brussels, of January, 1577, the
internal cancer of religious discord had again begun to corrode the body
politic. The Pacification of Ghent had found the door open to religious
toleration. It had not opened, but had left it open. The union of
Brussels had closed the door again. Contrary to the hopes of the Prince
of Orange and of the patriots who followed in his track, the sanction
given to the Roman religion had animated the Catholics to fresh arrogance
and fresh persecution. In the course of a few months, the only fruits of
the new union, from which so much had been hoped, were to be seen in
imprisonments, confiscations, banishments, executions. The Perpetual
Edict, by which the fifteen provinces had united in acknowledging Don
John while the Protestant stronghold of Holland and Zealand had been
placed in a state of isolation by the wise distrust of Orange, had
widened the breach between Catholics and Protestants. The subsequent
conduct of Don John had confirmed the suspicions and demonstrated the
sagacity of the Prince. The seizure of Namur and the open hostility
avowed by the Governor once more forced the provinces together. The
suppressed flames of nationality burst forth again. Catholic and
Protestant, Fleming and Hollander, instinctively approached each other,
and felt the necessity of standing once more shoulder to shoulder in
defence of their common rights. The Prince of Orange was called for by
the unanimous cry of the whole country. He came to Brussels. His first
step, as already narrated, was to break off negotiations which had been
already ratified by the votes of the states-general. The measure was
reconsidered, under pretence of adding certain amendments. Those
amendments were the unconditional articles of surrender proposed for Don
John's signature on the 25th of September--articles which could only
elicit words of defiance from his lips.

Thus far the Prince's object was accomplished. A treacherous peace, which
would have ensured destruction, was averted, but a new obstacle to the
development of his broad and energetic schemes arose in the intrigue
which brought the Archduke from Vienna. The cabals of Orange's secret
enemies were again thwarted with the same adroitness to which his avowed
antagonists were forced to succumb. Matthias was made the exponent of the
new policy, the standard-bearer of the new union which the Prince now
succeeded in establishing; for his next step was immediately to impress
upon the provinces which had thus united in casting down the gauntlet to
a common enemy the necessity of uniting in a permanent league. One
province was already lost by the fall of Namur. The bonds of a permanent
union for the other sixteen could be constructed of but one
material--religious toleration, and for a moment, the genius of Orange,
always so far beyond his age, succeeded in raising the mass of his
countrymen to the elevation upon which he had so long stood alone.

The "new or nearer Union of Brussels" was signed on the 10th of December,
eleven months after the formation of the first union. This was the third
and, unfortunately, the last confederation of all the Netherlands. The
original records have been lost, but it is known that the measure was
accepted unanimously in the estates-general as soon as presented. The
leading Catholic nobles were with the army, but a deputation, sent to the
camp, returned with their signatures and hearty approval; with the
signatures and approval of such determined Catholics as the Lalains,
Meluns, Egmont, and La Motte. If such men could unite for the sake of the
fatherland in an act of religious toleration, what lofty hopes for the
future was not the Prince justified in forming; for it was the Prince
alone who accomplished this victory of reason over passion. As a
monument, not only of his genius, but of the elevated aspirations of a
whole people in an age of intolerance, the "closer Union of Brussels"
deserves especial place in the history of human progress. Unfortunately,
it was destined to a brief existence. The battle of Gemblours was its
death-blow, and before the end of a month, the union thus hopefully
constructed was shattered for ever. The Netherland people was never
united again. By the Union of Utrecht, seven states subsequently rescued
their existence, and lived to construct a powerful republic. The rest
were destined to remain for centuries in the condition of provinces to a
distant metropolis, to be shifted about as make-weights in political
balances, and only in our own age to come into the honorable rank of
independent constitutional states.

The Prince had, moreover, strengthened himself for the coming struggle by
an alliance with England. The thrifty but politic Queen, fearing the
result of the secret practices of Alencon--whom Orange, as she suspected,
still kept in reserve to be played off, in case of need, against Matthias
and Don John--had at last consented to a treaty of alliance and subsidy.
On the 7th of January, 1578, the Marquis Havre, envoy from the estates,
concluded an arrangement in London, by which the Queen was to lend them
her credit--in other words, to endorse their obligations, to the amount
of one hundred thousand pounds sterling. The money was to be raised
wherever the states might be able to negotiate the bills, and her
liability was to cease within a year. She was likewise to be collaterally
secured by pledges from certain cities in the Netherlands. This amount
was certainly not colossal, while the conditions were sufficiently
parsimonious. At the same time a beginning was made, and the principle of
subsidy was established. The Queen, furthermore, agreed to send five
thousand infantry and one thousand cavalry to the provinces, under the
command of an officer of high rank, who was to have a seat and vote in
the Netherland Council of State. These troops were to be paid by the
provinces, but furnished by the Queen. The estates were to form no treaty
without her knowledge, nor undertake any movement of importance without
her consent. In case she should be herself attacked by any foreign power,
the provinces were to assist her to the same extent as the amount of aid
now afforded to themselves; and in case of a naval war, with a fleet of
at least forty ships. It had already been arranged that the appointment
of the Prince of Orange as Lieutenant-General for Matthias was a 'sine
qua non' in any treaty of assistance with England. Soon after the
conclusion of this convention, Sir Thomas Wilkes was despatched on a
special mission to Spain, and Mr. Leyton sent to confer privately with
Don John. It was not probable, however, that the diplomatic skill of
either would make this new arrangement palatable to Philip or his
Governor.

Within a few days after their signature of this important treaty, the
Prince had, at length, wholly succeeded in conquering the conflicting
passions in the states-general, and in reconciling them, to a certain
extent, with each other. The closer union had been accepted, and now
thirty articles, which had been prepared under his superintendence, and
had already on the 17th of December been accepted by Matthias, were
established as the fundamental terms, according to which the Archduke was
to be received as Governor-General. No power whatever was accorded to the
young man, who had come so far with eager and ambitious views. As the
Prince had neither solicited nor desired a visit which had, on the
contrary, been the result of hostile machinations, the Archduke could
hardly complain that the power accorded him was but shadowy, and that his
presence was rendered superfluous. It was not surprising that the common
people gave him the name of Greffier, or registering clerk to the Prince;
for his functions were almost limited to the signing of acts which were
countersigned by Orange. According to the stipulations of the Queen of
England, and the views of the whole popular party, the Prince remained
Ruward of Brabant, notwithstanding the appointment of a nominal
Governor-General, by whom his own duties were to be superseded.

The articles which were laid down as the basis upon which the Archduke
was to be accepted; composed an ample representative constitution, by
which all the legislative and many of the executive powers of government
were bestowed upon the states-general or upon the council by them to be
elected. To avoid remaining in the condition of a people thus left
without a head, the states declared themselves willing to accept Matthias
as Governor-General, on condition of the King's subsequent approbation,
and upon the general basis of the Ghent treaty. The Archduke, moreover,
was to take an oath of allegiance to the King and to the states-general
at the same time. He was to govern the land by the advice of a state
council, the members of which were to be appointed by the states-general,
and were "to be native Netherlanders, true patriots; and neither
ambitious nor greedy." In all matters discussed before the state council,
a majority of votes was to decide. The Governor-General, with his Council
of State, should conclude nothing concerning the common affairs of the
nation--such as requests, loans, treaties of peace or declarations of
war, alliances or confederacies with foreign nations--without the consent
of the states-general. He was to issue no edict or ordinance, and
introduce no law, without the consent of the same body duly assembled,
and representing each individual province. A majority of the members was
declared necessary to a quorum of the council. All acts and despatches
were to be drawn up by a member of the board. The states-general were to
assemble when, where, and as often as, and remain in session as long as,
they might think it expedient. At the request of any individual province,
concerning matters about which a convention of the generality was
customary, the other states should be bound to assemble without waiting
for directions from the Governor-General. The estates of each particular
province were to assemble at their pleasure. The governor and council,
with advice of the states-general, were to appoint all the principal
military officers. Troops were to be enrolled and garrisons established
by and with the consent of the states. Governors of provinces were to be
appointed by the Governor-General, with advice of his council, and with
the consent of the estates of the province interested. All military
affairs were to be conducted during war by the governor, with advice of
his council, while the estates were to have absolute control over the
levying and expenditure of the common funds of the country.

It is sufficiently plain from this brief summary, that the powers thus
conferred upon Matthias alone, were absolutely null, while those which he
might exercise in conjunction with the state council, were not much more
extensive. The actual force of the government--legislative, executive,
and, administrative--was lodged in the general assembly, while no
authority was left to the King, except the nominal right to approve these
revolutionary proceedings, according to the statement in the preamble.
Such a reservation in favor of his Majesty seemed a superfluous sarcasm.
It was furthermore resolved that the Prince of Orange should be appointed
Lieutenant-General for Matthias, and be continued in his office of
Ruward. This constitution, drawn up under the superintendence of the
Prince, had been already accepted by Matthias, while still at Antwerp,
and upon the 18th of January, 1578, the ceremony of his inauguration took
place.

It was the third triumphal procession which Brussels had witnessed within
nine months. It was also the most brilliant of all; for the burghers, as
if to make amends to the Archduke for the actual nullity to which he had
been reduced, seemed resolved to raise him to the seventh heaven of
allegory. By the rhetorical guilds he was regarded as the most brilliant
constellation of virtues which had yet shone above the Flemish horizon. A
brilliant cavalcade, headed by Orange, accompanied by Count John of
Nassau, the Prince de Chimay and other notables, met him at Vilvoorde,
and escorted him to the city gate. On an open field, outside the town,
Count Bossu had arranged a review of troops, concluding with a
sham-fight, which, in the words of a classical contemporary, seemed as
"bloody a rencontre as that between Duke Miltiades of Athens and King
Darius upon the plains of Attics." The procession entered the Louvain
gate, through a splendid triumphal arch, filled with a band of invisible
musicians. "I believe that Orpheus had never played so melodiously on his
harp," says the same authority, "nor Apollo on his lyre, nor Pan on his
lute, as the city waits then performed." On entering the gates, Matthias
was at once delivered over to the hands of mythology, the burghers and
rhetoricians taking possession of their illustrious captive, and being
determined to outdo themselves in demonstrations of welcome. The
representatives of the "nine nations" of Brussels met him in the
Ritter-street, followed by a gorgeous retinue. Although it was mid-day,
all bore flaming torches. Although it was January, the streets were
strewed with flowers. The houses were festooned with garlands, and hung
with brilliant silks and velvets. The streets were thronged with
spectators, and encumbered with triumphal arches. On the Grande Place
always the central scene in Brussels, whether for comedies, or
tournaments, or executions, the principal dramatic effects had been
accumulated. The splendid front of the Hotel de Ville was wreathed with
scarfs and banners; its windows and balconies, as well as those of the
picturesque houses which formed the square, were crowded with
gaily-dressed women. Upon the area of the place, twenty-four theatres had
been erected, where a aeries of magnificent living pictures were
represented by the most beautiful young females that could be found in
the city. All were attired in brocades, embroideries, and cloth of gold.
The subjects of the tableaux vivants were, of course, most classic, for
the Netherlanders were nothing, if not allegorical; yet, as spectacles,
provided by burghers and artisans for the amusement of their
fellow-citizens, they certainly proved a considerable culture in the
people who could thus be amused. All the groups were artistically
arranged. Upon one theatre stood Juno with her peacock, presenting
Matthias with the city of Brussels, which she held, beautifully modelled,
in her hand. Upon another, Cybele gave him the keys, Reason handed him a
bridle, Hebe a basket of flowers, Wisdom a looking-glass and two law
books, Diligence a pair of spurs; while Constancy, Magnanimity, Prudence,
and other virtues, furnished him with a helmet; corslet, spear, and
shield. Upon other theatres, Bellona presented him with several
men-at-arms, tied in a bundle; Fame gave him her trumpet, and Glory her
crown. Upon one stage Quintus Curtius, on horseback, was seen plunging
into the yawning abyss; upon six others Scipio Africanus was exhibited,
as he appeared in the most picturesque moments of his career. The
beardless Archduke had never achieved anything, save his nocturnal escape
from Vienna in his night-gown; but the honest Flemings chose to regard
him as a re-incarnation of those two eminent Romans. Carried away by
their own learning, they already looked upon him as a myth; and such
indeed he was destined to remain throughout his Netherland career. After
surveying all these wonders, Matthias was led up the hill again to the
ducal palace, where, after hearing speeches and odes till he was
exhausted, he was at last allowed to eat his supper and go to bed.

Meantime the citizens feasted in the streets. Bonfires were blazing
everywhere, at which the people roasted "geese, pigs, capons, partridges,
and chickens," while upon all sides were the merriest piping and dancing.
Of a sudden, a fiery dragon was seen flying through the air. It poised
for a while over the heads of the revelling crowd in the Grande Place,
and then burst with a prodigious explosion, sending forth rockets and
other fireworks in every direction. This exhibition, then a new one, so
frightened the people, that they all took to their heels, "as if a
thousand soldiers had assaulted them," tumbling over each other in great
confusion, and so dispersing to their homes.

The next day Matthias took the oaths as Governor-General, to support the
new constitution, while the Prince of Orange was sworn in as
Lieutenant-General and Governor of Brabant. Upon the next a splendid
banquet was given them in the grand ball of the Hotel de Ville, by the
states-general, and when the cloth was removed, Rhetoric made her last
and most ingenious demonstration, through the famous guild of "Mary with
the Flower Garland."

Two individuals--the one attired as a respectable burgher; the other as a
clerical personage in gown and bands-made their appearance upon a stage,
opposite the seats of their Highnesses, and pronounced a long dialogue in
rhyme. One of the speakers rejoiced in the appellation of the "Desiring
Heart," the other was called "Common Comfort." Common Sense might have
been more to the purpose, but appeared to have no part in the play.
Desiring Heart, being of an inquisitive disposition, propounded a series
of puzzling questions, mythological in their nature, which seemed like
classical conundrums, having reference, mainly, to the proceedings of
Venus, Neptune, Juno, and other divinities. They appeared to have little
to do with Matthias or the matter in hand, but Common Comfort knew
better. That clerical personage, accordingly, in a handsome allowance of
rhymes, informed his despairing colleague that everything would end well;
that Jupiter, Diana, Venus, and the rest of them would all do their duty,
and that Belgica would be relieved from all her woes, at the advent of a
certain individual. Whereupon cried Desiring Heart,

          Oh Common Comfort who is he?
          His name, and of what family?

To which Comfort responded by mentioning the Archduke, in a poetical and
highly-complimentary strain, with handsome allusions to the inevitable
Quintus Curtius and Scipio Africanus. The concluding words of the speech
were not spoken, but were taken as the cue for a splendid charade; the
long-suffering Scipio again making his appearance, in company with
Alexander and Hannibal; the group typifying the future government of
Matthias. After each of these, heroic individuals had spouted a hundred
lines or so, the play was terminated, and Rhetoric took her departure.
The company had remained at table during this long representation, and
now the dessert was served, consisting of a "richly triumphant banquet of
confectionary, marmalade, and all kinds of genteelnesses in sugar."

Meanwhile, Don John sat chafing and almost frenzied with rage at Namur.
Certainly he had reasons enough for losing his temper. Never since the
days of Maximilian had king's brother been so bearded by rebels. The
Cross was humbled in the dust, the royal authority openly derided, his
Majesty's representative locked up in a fortress, while "the accursed
Prince of Orange" reigned supreme in Brussels, with an imperial Archduke
for his private secretary.

The Governor addressed a long, private, and most bitter letter to the
Emperor, for the purpose of setting himself right in the opinion of that
potentate, and of giving him certain hints as to what was expected of the
imperial court by Philip and himself. He expressed confidence that the
imperial commissioners would have some effect in bringing about the
pacification of the Netherlands, and protested his own strong desire for
such a result, provided always that the two great points of the Catholic
religion and his Majesty's authority were preserved intact. "In the hope
that those articles would be maintained," said he, "I have emptied cities
and important places of their garrisons, when I might easily have kept
the soldiers, and with the soldiers the places, against all the world,
instead of consigning them to the care of men who at this hour have arms
in their hand against their natural prince." He declared vehemently that
in all his conduct, since his arrival in the provinces, he had been
governed exclusively by the interests of Philip, an object which he
should steadily pursue to the end. He urged, too, that the Emperor, being
of the same house as Philip, and therefore more obliged than all others
to sustain his quarrel, would do well to espouse his cause with all the
warmth possible. "The forgetfulness by vassals," said Don John, "of the
obedience due to their sovereign is so dangerous, that all princes and
potentates, even those at the moment exempt from trouble; should assist
in preparing the remedy, in order that their subjects also may not take
it into their heads to do the like, liberty being a contagious disease,
which goes on infecting one neighbour after another, if the cure be not
promptly applied." It was, he averred, a desperate state of things for
monarchs, when subjects having obtained such concessions as the
Netherlanders had obtained, nevertheless loved him and obeyed him so
little. They showed, but too clearly, that the causes alleged by them had
been but pretexts, in order to effect designs, long ago conceived, to
overthrow the ancient constitution of the country, and to live
thenceforward in unbridled liberty. So many indecent acts had been
committed prejudicial to religion and to his Majesty's grandeur, that the
Governor avowed his, determination to have no farther communication with
the provinces without fresh commands to that effect. He begged the
Emperor to pay no heed to what the states said, but to observe what they
did. He assured him that nothing could be more senseless than the reports
that Philip and his Governor-General in the Netherlands were negotiating
with France, for the purpose of alienating the provinces from the
Austrian crown. Philip, being chief of the family, and sovereign of the
Netherlands, could not commit the absurdity of giving away his own
property to other people, nor would Don John choose to be an instrument
in so foolish a transaction. The Governor entreated the Emperor,
therefore, to consider such fables as the invention of malcontents and
traitors, of whom there were no lack at his court, and to remember that
nothing was more necessary for the preservation of the greatness of his
family than to cultivate the best relations with all its members.
"Therefore," said he, with an absurd affectation of candor, "although I
make no doubt whatever that the expedition hitherwards of the Archduke
Matthias has been made with the best intentions; nevertheless, many are
of opinion that it would have been better altogether omitted. If the
Archduke," he continued, with hardly dissembled irony, "be desirous of
taking charge of his Majesty's affairs, it would be preferable to employ
himself in the customary manner. Your Majesty would do a laudable action
by recalling him from this place, according to your Majesty's promise to
me to that effect." In conclusion, Don John complained that difficulties
had been placed in his way for making levies of troops in the Empire,
while every facility had been afforded to the rebels. He therefore
urgently insisted that so unnatural and unjust a condition of affairs
should be remedied.

Don John was not sorry in his heart that the crisis was at last come. His
chain was broken. His wrath exploded in his first interview with Leyton,
the English envoy, whom Queen Elizabeth had despatched to calm, if
possible, his inevitable anger at her recent treaty with the states. He
knew nothing of England, he said, nor of France, nor of the Emperor. His
Catholic Majesty had commissioned him now to make war upon these
rebellious provinces. He would do it with all his heart. As for the
Emperor, he would unchain the Turks upon him for his perfidy. As for the
burghers of Brussels, they would soon feel his vengeance.

It was very obvious that these were not idle threats. War had again
broken loose throughout these doomed provinces. A small but
well-appointed army had been rapidly collecting under the banner of Don
John at Luxemburg, Peter Ernest Mansfeld had brought many well-trained
troops from France, and Prince Alexander of Parma had arrived with
several choice and veteran regiments of Italy and Spain. The old
schoolfellow, playmate and comrade of Don John, was shocked-on his
arrival, to witness the attenuated frame and care-worn features of his
uncle. The son of Charles the Fifth, the hero of Lepanto, seemed even to
have lost the air of majesty which was so natural to him, for petty
insults, perpetual crosses, seemed to have left their squalid traces upon
his features. Nevertheless, the crusader was alive again, at the notes of
warlike preparations which now resounded throughout the land.

On the 25th of January he issued a proclamation, couched in three
languages--French, German, and Flemish. He declared in this document that
he had not come to enslave the provinces, but to protect them. At the
same time he meant to re-establish his Majesty's authority, and the
down-trod religion of Rome. He summoned all citizens and all soldiers
throughout the provinces to join his banners, offering them pardon for
their past offences, and protection against heretics and rebels. This
declaration was the natural consequence of the exchange of defiances
which had already taken place, and it was evident also that the angry
manifesto was soon to be followed up by vigorous blows. The army of Don
John already numbered more than twenty thousand well-seasoned and
disciplined veterans. He was himself the most illustrious chieftain in
Europe. He was surrounded by lieutenants cf the most brilliant
reputation. Alexander of Parma, who had fought with distinction at
Lepanto, was already recognised as possessing that signal military genius
which was soon to stamp him as the first soldier of his age, while
Mansfeld, Mondragon, Mendoza, and other distinguished officers, who had
already won so much fame in the Netherlands, had now returned to the
scene of their former achievements.

On the other hand, the military affairs of the states were in confusion.
Troops in nearly equal numbers to those of the royal army had been
assembled, but the chief offices had been bestowed, by a mistaken policy,
upon the great nobles. Already the jealousy of Orange, entertained by
their whole order was painfully apparent. Notwithstanding the signal
popularity which had made his appointment as Lieutenant-general
inevitable it was not easy for him always to vindicate his authority over
captious and rival magnates. He had every wish to conciliate the
affections of men whom he could not in his heart respect, and he went as
far in gratifying their ambition as comported with his own dignity;
perhaps farther than was consistent with the national interests. He was
still willing to trust Lalain, of whose good affection to the country he
felt sure. Re had even been desirous of declining the office of
Lieutenant-General, in order to avoid giving that nobleman the least
occasion to think "that he would do him, or any other gentleman of the
army, prejudice in any single matter in the world." This magnanimity had,
not been repaid with corresponding confidence. We have already seen that
Lalain had been secretly in the interest of Anjou ever since his wife and
himself had lost their hearts to Margaret of Navarre; yet the Count was
chief commander of the infantry in the states' army then assembled.
Robert Melun, Vicomte de Gand, was commander of the cavalry, but he had
recently been private envoy from Don John to the English Queen. Both
these gentlemen, together with Pardieu De la Motte, general of the
artillery, were voluntarily absent from the forces, under pretext of
celebrating the wedding of the Seigneur De Bersel with the niece and
heiress of the unfortunate Marquis of Bergen. The ghost of that
ill-starred noble might almost have seemed to rise at the nuptial banquet
of his heiress, to warn the traitors of the signal and bloody massacre
which their treachery was soon to occasion. Philip Egmont, eldest son of
the famous Lamoral, was with the army, as was the Seigneur de Heze, hero
of the State Council's arrest, and the unstable Havre. But little was to
be hoped from such leaders. Indeed, the affairs of the states continued
to be in as perplexed a condition as that which honest John of Nassau had
described some weeks before. "There were very few patriots," he had said,
"but plenty of priests, with no lack of inexperienced lads--some looking
for distinction, and others for pelf."

The two armies had been mustered in the latter days of January. The Pope
had issued a bull for the benefit of Don John, precisely similar to those
formerly employed in the crusades against the Saracens. Authority was
given him to levy contributions upon ecclesiastical property, while full
absolution, at the hour of death, for all crimes committed during a whole
lifetime, was proclaimed to those who should now join the standard of the
Cross. There was at least no concealment. The Crescent-wearing Zealanders
had been taken at their word, and the whole nation of Netherlanders were
formally banned as unbelievers. The forces of Don John were mustered at
Marche in Luxemburg; those of the states in a plain within a few miles of
Namur. Both armies were nearly equal in number, amounting to nearly
twenty thousand each, including a force of two thousand cavalry on each
side. It had been the original intention of the patriots to attack Don
John in Namur. Having learned, however, that he purposed marching forth
himself to offer battle, they decided to fall back upon Gemblours, which
was nine miles distant from that city. On the last day of January, they
accordingly broke up their camp at Saint Martius, before dawn, and
marched towards Gemblours. The chief commander was De Goignies, an old
soldier of Charles the Fifth, who had also fought at Saint Quintin. The
states' army was disposed in three divisions. The van consisted of the
infantry regiments of De Heze and Montigny, flanked by a protective body
of light horse. The centre, composed of the Walloon and German regiments,
with a few companies of French, and thirteen companies of Scotch and
English under Colonel Balfour, was commanded by two most distinguished
officers, Bossu and Champagny. The rear, which, of course, was the post
of responsibility and honor, comprised all the heavy cavalry, and was
commanded by Philip Egmont and Lumey de la Marck. The Marquis Havre and
the General-in-chief, Goignies, rode to and fro, as the army proceeded,
each attended by his staff. The troops of Don John broke up from before
Namur with the earliest dawn, and marched in pursuit of the retiring foe.
In front was nearly the whole of the cavalry-carabineers, lancers, and
heavy dragoons. The centre, arranged in two squares, consisted chiefly of
Spanish infantry, with a lesser number of Germans. In the rear came the
Walloons, marching also in a square, and protecting the baggage and
ammunition. Charles Mansfeld had been left behind with a reserved force,
stationed on the Meuse; Ottavio Gonzaga commanded in front, Ernest
Mansfeld brought up the rear; while in the centre rode Don John himself,
attended by the Prince of Parma. Over his head streamed the
crucifix-emblazoned banner, with its memorable inscription--In hoc signo
vici Turcos, in hoc Haereticos vincam.

Small detachments of cavalry had been sent forward; under Olivera and
Acosta, to scour the roads and forests, and to disturb all ambuscades
which might have been prepared. From some stragglers captured by these
officers, the plans of the retreating generals were learned. The winter's
day was not far advanced, when the rearward columns of the states' army
were descried in the distance. Don John, making a selection of some six
hundred cavalry, all picked men, with a thousand infantry, divided the
whole into two bodies, which he placed under command of Gonzaga and the
famous old Christopher Mondragon. These officers received orders to hang
on the rear of the enemy, to harass him, and to do him all possible
damage consistent with the possibility of avoiding a general engagement,
until the main army under Parma and Don John should arrive. The orders
were at first strictly obeyed. As the skirmishing grew hotter, however,
Goazaga observed that a spirited cavalry officer, named Perotti, had
already advanced, with a handful of men, much further within the reach of
the hostile forces than was deemed expedient. He sent hastily to recal
the too eager chieftain. The order, delivered in a tone more peremptory
than agreeable, was flatly disobeyed. "Tell Ottavio Gonzaga," said
Perotti, "that I never yet turned my back on the enemy, nor shall I now
begin. Moreover, were I ever so much inclined to do so, retreat is
impossible." The retiring army was then proceeding along the borders of a
deep ravine, filled with mire and water, and as broad and more dangerous
than a river. In the midst of the skirmishing, Alexander of Parma rode up
to reconnoitre. He saw at once that the columns of the enemy were
marching unsteadily to avoid being precipitated into this creek. He
observed the waving of their spears, the general confusion of their
ranks, and was quick to take advantage of the fortunate moment. Pointing
out to the officers about him the opportunity thus offered of attacking
the retiring army unawares in flank, he assembled, with great rapidity,
the foremost companies of cavalry already detached from the main body.
Mounting a fresh and powerful horse, which Camillo Monte held in
readiness for him, he signified his intention of dashing through the
dangerous ravine, and dealing a stroke where it was least expected, "Tell
Don John of Austria," he cried to an officer whom he sent back to the
Commander-in-chief, "that Alexander of Parma has plunged into the abyss,
to perish there, or to come-forth again victorious."

The sudden thought was executed with lightning-like celerity. In an
instant the bold rider was already struggling through the dangerous
swamp; in another, his powerful charger had carried him across. Halting
for a few minutes, lance in rest, till his troops had also forced their
passage, gained the level ground unperceived, and sufficiently breathed
their horses, he drew up his little force in a compact column. Then, with
a few words of encouragement, he launched them at the foe. The violent
and entirely unexpected shock was even more successful than the Prince
had anticipated. The hostile cavalry reeled and fell into hopeless
confusion, Egmont in vain striving to rally them to resistance. That name
had lost its magic. Goignies also attempted, without success, to restore
order among the panic-struck ranks. The sudden conception of Parma,
executed as suddenly and in so brilliant a manner, had been decisive.
Assaulted in flank and rear at the same moment, and already in temporary
confusion, the cavalry of the enemy turned their backs and fled. The
centre of the states' army thus left exposed, was now warmly attacked by
Parma. It had, moreover, been already thrown into disorder by the retreat
of its own horse, as they charged through them in rapid and disgraceful
panic. The whole army bloke to pieces at once, and so great was the
trepidation, that the conquered troops had hardly courage to run away.
They were utterly incapable of combat. Not a blow was struck by the
fugitives. Hardly a man in the Spanish ranks was wounded; while, in the
course of an hour and a half, the whole force of the enemy was
exterminated. It is impossible to state with accuracy the exact numbers
slain. Some accounts spoke of ten thousand killed, or captive, with
absolutely no loss on the royal side. Moreover, this slaughter was
effected, not by the army under Don John, but by so small a fragment of
it, that some historians have even set down the whole number of royalists
engaged at the commencement of the action, at six hundred, increased
afterwards to twelve hundred. By this calculation, each Spaniard engaged
must have killed ten enemies with his own hand; and that within an hour
and a half's space! Other historians more wisely omit the exact
statistics of the massacre, and allow that a very few--ten or eleven, at
most--were slain within the Spanish ranks. This, however, is the utmost
that is claimed by even the Netherland historians, and it is, at any
rate, certain that the whole states' army was annihilated.

Rarely had a more brilliant exploit been performed by a handful of
cavalry. To the distinguished Alexander of Parma, who improvised so
striking and complete a victory out of a fortuitous circumstance,
belonged the whole credit of the day, for his quick eye detected a
passing weakness of the enemy, and turned it to terrible account with the
promptness which comes from genius alone. A whole army was overthrown.
Everything belonging to the enemy fell into the hands of the Spaniards.
Thirty-four standards, many field-pieces, much camp equipage, and
ammunition, besides some seven or eight thousand dead bodies, and six
hundred living prisoners, were the spoils of that winter's day. Of the
captives, some were soon afterwards hurled off the bridge at Namur, and
drowned like dogs in the Meuse, while the rest were all hanged, none
escaping with life. Don John's clemency was not superior to that of his
sanguinary predecessors.

And so another proof was added--if proofs were still necessary of Spanish
prowess. The Netherlanders may be pardoned if their foes seemed to them
supernatural, and almost invulnerable. How else could these enormous
successes be accounted for? How else could thousands fall before the
Spanish swords, while hardly a single Spanish corpse told of effectual
resistance? At Jemmingen, Alva had lost seven soldiers, and slain seven
thousand; in the Antwerp Fury, two hundred Spaniards, at most, had
fallen, while eight thousand burghers and states' troops had been
butchered; and now at Gemblours, six, seven, eight, ten--Heaven knew how
many--thousand had been exterminated, and hardly a single Spaniard had
been slain! Undoubtedly, the first reason for this result was the
superiority of the Spanish soldiers. They were the boldest, the best
disciplined, the most experienced in the world. Their audacity,
promptness, and ferocity made them almost invincible. In this particular
action, at least half the army of Don John was composed of Spanish or
Spanish-Italian veterans. Moreover, they were commanded by the most
renowned captains of the age--by Don John himself, and Alexander of
Parma, sustained by such veterans as Mondragon, the hero of the memorable
submarine expeditions; Mendoza, the accomplished cavalry officer,
diplomatist, and historian; and Mansfeld, of whom Don John had himself
written to the King that his Majesty had not another officer of such
account in all the Netherlands. Such officers as these, besides Gonzaga,
Camillo Monte, Mucio Pagano, at the head of such troops as fought that
day under the banner of the Cross, might go far in accounting for this
last and most tremendous victory of the Inquisition. On the other hand,
although Bossu and Champagny were with the states' army, yet their hearts
were hardly with the cause. Both had long been loyal, and had earned many
laurels against the rebels, while Champagny was still devoutly a Papist,
and wavered painfully between his hatred to heresy and to Spain. Egmont
and De Heze were raw, unpractised lads, in whom genius did not come to
supply the place of experience. The Commander, De Goignies, was a
veteran, but a veteran who had never gained much glory, and the chiefs of
the cavalry, infantry, and artillery, were absent at the Brussels
wedding. The news of this additional massacre inflicted upon a nation,
for which Berghen and Montigny had laid down their lives, was the nuptial
benediction for Berghen's heiress; for it was to the chief wedding guests
upon, that occasion that the disaster was justly attributed. The rank and
file of the states' army were mainly mercenaries, with whom the hope of
plunder was the prevailing motive; the chief commanders were absent;
while those officers who were with the troops were neither heartily
friendly to their own flag nor sufficiently experienced to make it
respected.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Absurd affectation of candor
     Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
     Imagined, and did the work of truth
     Judas Maccabaeus
     Neither ambitious nor greedy
     Superfluous sarcasm




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 30

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




CHAPTER V.

   Towns taken by Don John--Wrath excited against the aristocratic
   party by the recent defeat--Attempts upon Amsterdam--"Satisfaction"
   of Amsterdam and its effects--De Selles sent with royal letters from
   Spain--Terms offered by Philip--Proclamation of Don John--
   Correspondence between de Selles and the States-General--Between the
   King and the Governor-General--New forces raised by the States--St.
   Aldegonde at the Diet--Municipal revolution in Amsterdam--The
   Prince's letter on the subject of the Anabaptists of Middelburg--
   The two armies inactive--De la None--Action at Rijnemants--John
   Casimir--Perverse politics of Queen Elizabeth--Alencon in the
   Netherlands--Portrait of the Duke--Orange's position in regard to
   him--Avowed and supposed policy of the French court--Anger of
   Elizabeth--Terms arranged between Alencon and the Estates--Renewed
   negotiations with Don John--Severe terms offered him--Interview of
   the English envoys with the Governor--Despondency of Don John--
   Orange's attempts to enforce a religious peace--His isolation in
   sentiment--The malcontent party--Count John Governor of Gelderland
   --Proposed form of religious peace--Proclamation to that effect by
   Orange, in Antwerp--A petition in favor of the Roman Church
   presented by Champagny and other Catholic nobles to the States--
   General--Consequent commotion in Brussels--Champagny and others
   imprisoned--Indolence and poverty of the two armies--Illness and
   melancholy of Don John--His letters to Doria, to Mendoza, and to the
   King--Death of Don John--Suspicions of poison--Pompous burial--
   Removal of his body to Spain--Concluding remarks upon his character.

Don John having thus vindicated his own military fame and the amazing
superiority of the Spanish arms, followed up his victory by the rapid
reduction of many towns of second-rate importance Louvain, Judoigne,
Tirlemont, Aerschot, Bauvignes, Sichem, Nivelle, Roeux, Soignies, Binch,
Beaumont, Walcourt, Tviaubeuge, and Chimay, either submitted to their
conqueror, or were taken after short sieges. The usual atrocities were
inflicted upon the unfortunate inhabitants of towns where resistance was
attempted. The commandant of Sichem was hanged out of his own window,
along with several chief burghers and officers, while the garrison was
put to the sword, and the bodies cast into the Denver. The only crime
committed by these unfortunates was to have ventured a blow or two in
behalf of the firesides which they were employed to protect.

In Brussels, on the other hand, there was less consternation excited by
these events than boundless rage against the aristocratic party, for the
defeat of Gemblours was attributed, with justice, to the intrigues and
the incapacity of the Catholic magnates. It was with difficulty that
Orange, going about by night from house to house, from street to street,
succeeded in calming the indignation of the people, and in preventing
them from sweeping in a mass to the residence of the leading nobles, in
order to inflict summary vengeance on the traitors. All looked to the
Prince as their only saviour, not a thought nor a word being wasted upon
Matthias. Not a voice was raised in the assembly to vindicate the secret
proceedings of the Catholic party, nor to oppose the measures which the
Prince might suggest. The terrible disaster had taught the necessity of
union. All parties heartily joined in the necessary steps to place the
capital in a state of complete defence, and to assemble forthwith new
troops to take the place of the army just annihilated. The victor gained
nothing by his victory, in comparison with the profit acquired by the
states through their common misfortune. Nor were all the towns which had
recently fallen into the hands of Don John at all comparable in
importance to the city of Amsterdam, which now, by a most timely
arrangement, furnished a rich compensation to the national party for the
disaster of Gemblours.

Since the conclusion of the Ghent Pacification, it had been the most
earnest wish of the Prince, and of Holland and Zealand, to recover
possession of this most important city. The wish was naturally shared by
every true patriot in the states-general. It had, however, been extremely
difficult to arrange the terms of the "Satisfaction." Every fresh attempt
at an amicable compromise was wrecked upon the obstinate bigotry of the
leading civic authorities. They would make no agreement to accept the
authority of Orange, except, as Saint Aldegonde expressed himself; upon
terms which would enable them "to govern their governor." The influence
of the monks, who were resident in large numbers within the city, and of
the magistrates, who were all stanch Catholics, had been hitherto
sufficient to outweigh the efforts made by the large masses of the
Reformed religionists composing the bulk of the population. It was,
however, impossible to allow Amsterdam to remain in this isolated and
hostile attitude to the rest of Holland. The Prince, having promised to
use no coercion, and loyally adhering to his pledge, had only with
extreme difficulty restrained the violence of the Hollanders and
Zealanders, who were determined, by fair means or foul, to restore the
capital city to its natural place within his stadholderate. He had been
obliged, on various occasions, particularly on the 21st of October of the
preceding year, to address a most decided and peremptory letter to the
estates of Holland and Zealand, forbidding the employment of hostile
measures against Amsterdam. His commands had been reluctantly, partially,
and only temporarily obeyed. The states desisted from their scheme of
reducing the city by famine, but they did not the less encourage the
secret and unofficial expeditions which were daily set on foot to
accomplish the annexation by a sudden enterprise.

Late in November, a desperate attempt had been made by Colonel Helling,
in conjunction with Governor Sonoy, to carry the city by surprise. The
force which the adventurer collected for the purpose was inadequate, and
his plans were unskilfully arranged. He was himself slain in the streets,
at the very commencement of the action; whereupon, in the quaint language
of the contemporary chronicler, "the hearts of his soldiers sank in their
shoes," and they evacuated the city with much greater rapidity than they
had entered it. The Prince was indignant at these violent measures, which
retarded rather than advanced the desired consummation. At the same time
it was an evil of immense magnitude--this anomalous condition of his
capital. Ceaseless schemes were concerted by the municipal and clerical
conspirators within its walls, and various attempts were known, at
different times, to have been contemplated by Don John, to inflict a
home-thrust upon the provinces of Holland and Zealand at the most
vulnerable and vital point. The "Satisfaction" accepted by Utrecht, in
the autumn of 1577, had, however, paved the way for the recovery of
Amsterdam; so that upon February the 8th, 1578, certain deputies from
Utrecht succeeded at last in arranging terms, which were accepted by the
sister city. The basis of the treaty was, as usual, the nominal supremacy
of the Catholic religion, with toleration for the Reformed worship. The
necessary effect would be, as in Harlem, Utrecht, and other places, to
establish the new religion upon an entire equality with the old. It was
arranged that no congregations were to be disturbed in their religious
exercises in the places respectively assigned to them. Those of the
Reformed faith were to celebrate their worship without the walls. They
were, however, to enjoy the right of burying their dead within these
precincts, and it is singular how much importance was attached at that
day to a custom, at which the common sentiment and the common sense of
modern times revolt. "To bury our dead within our own cities is a right
hardly to be denied to a dog," said the Prince of Orange; and accordingly
this right was amply secured by the new Satisfaction of Amsterdam. It
was, however, stipulated that the funerals should be modest, and attended
by no more than twenty-four persons at once. The treaty was hailed with
boundless joy in Holland and Zealand, while countless benedictions were
invoked upon the "blessed peace-makers," as the Utrecht deputies walked
through the streets of Amsterdam. There is no doubt that the triumph thus
achieved by the national party far counterbalanced the Governor-General's
victory at Gemblours.

Meantime, the Seigneur de Selles, brother of the deceased Noircarmes, had
arrived from Spain. He was the special bearer of a letter from the King
to the states-general, written in reply to their communications of the
24th of August and 8th of September of the previous year. The tone of the
royal despatch was very affectionate, the substance such as entirely to
justify the whole policy of Orange. It was obvious that the penetrating
and steadfast statesman had been correct in refusing to be moved to the
right or the left by the specious language of Philip's former letters, or
by the apparent frankness of Don John. No doubt the Governor had been
sincere in his desire for peace, but the Prince knew very well his
incapacity to confer that blessing. The Prince knew--what no man else
appeared fully to comprehend at that epoch--that the mortal combat
between the Inquisition and the Reformation was already fully engaged.
The great battle between divine reason and right divine, on which the
interests of unborn generations were hanging, was to be fought out,
before the eyes of all Christendom, on the plain of the Netherlands.

Orange was willing to lay down his arms if he could receive security for
the Reformed worship. He had no desire to exterminate the ancient
religion, but he meant also to protect the new against extermination.
Such security, he felt, would never be granted, and he had therefore
resolutely refused to hearken to Don John, for he was sure that peace
with him was impossible. The letters now produced by De Selles confirmed
his positions completely. The King said not a word concerning the
appointment of a new governor-general, but boldly insisted upon the
necessity of maintaining the two cardinal points--his royal supremacy,
and the Catholic religion upon the basis adopted by his father, the
Emperor Charles the Fifth.

This was the whole substance of his communication: the supremacy of
royalty and of papacy as in the time of Charles the Fifth. These
cabalistic words were repeated twice in the brief letter to the estates.
They were repeated five times in the instructions furnished by his
Majesty to De Selles. The letter and the instructions indeed contained
nothing else. Two simples were offered for the cure of the body politic,
racked by the fever and convulsion of ten horrible years--two simples
which the patient could hardly be so unreasonable as to reject--unlimited
despotism and religious persecution. The whole matter lay in a nut-shell,
but it was a nut-shell which enclosed the flaming edicts of Charles the
Fifth, with their scaffolds, gibbets, racks, and funeral piles. The
Prince and the states-general spurned such pacific overtures, and
preferred rather to gird themselves for the combat.

That there might be no mistake about the matter, Don John, immediately
after receiving the letter, issued a proclamation to enforce the King's
command. He mentioned it as an acknowledged fact that the states-general
had long ago sworn the maintenance of the two points of royal and
Catholic supremacy, according to the practice under the Emperor Charles.
The states instantly published an indignant rejoinder, affirming the
indisputable truth, that they had sworn to the maintenance of the Ghent
Pacification, and proclaiming the assertion of Don John an infamous
falsehood. It was an outrage upon common sense, they said, that the Ghent
treaty could be tortured into sanctioning the placards and the
Inquisition, evils which that sacred instrument had been expressly
intended to crush.

A letter was then formally addressed to his Majesty, in the name of the
Archduke Matthias--and of the estates, demanding the recal of Don John
and the maintenance of the Ghent Pacification. De Seller, in reply, sent
a brief, deprecatory paper, enclosing a note from Don John, which the
envoy acknowledged might seem somewhat harsh in its expressions. The
letter contained, indeed, a sufficiently fierce and peremptory summons to
the states to obey the King's commands with regard to the system of
Charles the Fifth, according to their previous agreement, together with a
violent declaration of the Governor's displeasure that they had dared to
solicit the aid of foreign princes. On the 18th of February came a
proposition from De Seller that the Prince, of Orange should place
himself in the hands of Don John, while the Prince of Parma, alone and
without arms, would come before the assembly, to negotiate with them upon
these matters. The reply returned by the states-general to this absurd
suggestion expressed their regret that the son of the Duchess Margaret
should have taken part with the enemy of the Netherlanders, complained of
the bull by which the Pope had invited war against them as if they had
been Saracens, repeated their most unanswerable argument--that the Ghent
Pacification had established a system directly the reverse of that which
existed under Charles the Fifth--and affirmed their resolution never more
to submit to Spanish armies, executioners, edicts, or inquisitions, and
never more to return to the principles of the Emperor and of Alva. To
this diplomatic correspondence succeeded a war of words and of pamphlets,
some of them very inflammatory and very eloquent. Meantime, the
preparations for active hostilities were proceeding daily. The Prince of
Orange, through his envoys in England, had arranged for subsidies in the
coming campaign, and for troops which were to be led to the Netherlands,
under Duke Casimir of the palatinate. He sent commissioners through the
provinces to raise the respective contributions agreed upon, besides an
extraordinary quota of four hundred thousand guilders monthly. He also
negotiated a loan of a hundred and twenty thousand guilders from the
citizens of Antwerp. Many new taxes were imposed by his direction, both
upon income and upon consumption. By his advice, however, and with the
consent of the states-general, the provinces of Holland and Zealand held
no community of burthens with the other provinces, but of their own free
will contributed more than the sums for which they would have been
assessed. Mr. Leyton, who was about to return from his unsuccessful
mission from Elizabeth to Don John, was requested by the states-general
to convey to her Majesty a faithful report of the recent correspondence,
and especially of the language held by the Governor-General. He was also
urged to use his influence with the Queen, to the end that her promises
of assistance might be speedily fulfilled.

Troops were rapidly enrolled, and again, by the same honest but mistaken
policy, the chief offices were conferred upon the great nobles--Aerschot,
Champagny, Bossu, Egmont, Lalain, the Viscount of Ghent, Baron de Ville,
and many others, most of whom were to desert the cause in the hour of its
need. On the other hand, Don John was proceeding with his military
preparations upon an extensive scale. The King had recently furnished him
with one million nine hundred thousand dollars, and had promised to
provide him with two hundred thousand more, monthly. With these funds his
Majesty estimated that an army of thirty thousand foot, sixteen thousand
cavalry, and thirty pieces of artillery, could be levied and kept on
foot. If more remittances should prove to be necessary, it was promised
that they should be forthcoming.

This was the result of many earnest remonstrances made by the Governor
concerning the dilatory policy of the King. Wearied with being constantly
ordered "to blow hot and cold with the same, breath," he had insisted
that his Majesty should select the hot or the cold, and furnish him with
the means of enforcing the choice. For himself, Don John assured his
brother that the hottest measures were most to his taste, and most
suitable to the occasion. Fire and sword could alone save the royal
authority, for all the provinces had "abandoned themselves, body and
soul, to the greatest heretic and tyrant that prince ever had for
vassal." Unceasing had been the complaints and entreaties of the
Captain-General, called forth by the apathy or irresolution of Philip. It
was--only by assuring him that the Netherlands actually belonged to
Orange, that the monarch could be aroused. "His they are; and none
other's," said the Governor, dolefully. The King had accordingly sent
back De Billy, Don John's envoy; with decided injunctions to use force
and energy to put down the revolt at once, and with an intimation that
funds might be henceforth more regularly depended upon, as the Indian
fleets were expected in July. Philip also advised his brother to employ a
portion of his money in purchasing the governors and principal persons
who controlled the cities and other strong places belonging to the
states.

Meantime, Don John thundered forth a manifesto which had been recently
prepared in Madrid, by which the estates, both general and particular,
were ordered forthwith to separate, and forbidden to assemble again,
except by especial licence. All commissions, civil or military, granted
by states' authority, were moreover annulled, together with a general
prohibition of any act of obedience to such functionaries, and of
contribution to any imposts which might be levied by their authority.
Such thunders were now comparatively harmless, for the states had taken
their course, and were busily engaged, both at home and abroad, in arming
for the conflict. Saint Aldegonde was deputed to attend the Imperial
diet, then in session at Worms, where he delivered an oration, which was
very celebrated in its day as a composition, but, which can hardly be
said to have produced much practical effect. The current was setting hard
in Germany against the Reformed religion and against the Netherland
cause, the Augsburg Confessionists showing hardly more sympathy with
Dutch Calvinists than with Spanish Papists.

Envoys from Don John also attended the diet, and requested Saint
Aldegonde to furnish them with a copy of his oration. This he declined to
do. While in Germany, Saint Aldegonde was informed by John Casimir that
Duke Charles of Sweden, had been solicited to furnish certain ships of
war for a contemplated operation against Amsterdam. The Duke had himself
given information of this plot to the Prince Palatine. It was therefore
natural that Saint Aldegonde should forthwith despatch the intelligence
to his friends in the Netherlands, warning them of the dangers still to
be apprehended from the machinations of the Catholic agents and
functionaries in Amsterdam; for although the Reformation had made rapid
progress in that important city since the conclusion of the Satisfaction,
yet the magistracy remained Catholic.

William Bardez, son of a former high-sheriff, a warm partisan of Orange
and of the "religion," had already determined to overthrow that
magistracy and to expel the friars who infested the city. The recent
information despatched by Saint Aldegonde confirmed him in his purpose.
There had been much wrangling between the Popish functionaries and those
of the Reformed religion concerning the constitution of the burgher
guard. The Calvinists could feel no security for their own lives, or the
repose of the commonwealth of Holland, unless they were themselves
allowed a full participation in the government of those important bands.
They were, moreover, dissatisfied with the assignment which had been made
of the churchyards to the members of their communion. These causes of
discord had maintained a general irritation among the body of the
inhabitants, and were now used as pretexts by Bardez for his design. He
knew the city to be ripe for the overthrow of the magistracy, and he had
arranged with Governor Sonoy to be furnished with a sufficient number of
well-tried soldiers, who were to be concealed in the houses of the
confederates. A large number of citizens were also ready to appear at his
bidding with arms in their hands.

On the 24th of May, he wrote to Sonoy, begging him to hold himself in
readiness, as all was prepared within the city. At the same time, he
requested the governor to send him forthwith a "morion and a buckler of
proof;" for, he intended to see the matter fairly through. Sonoy answered
encouragingly, and sent him the armor, as directed. On the 28th of May,
Bardez, with four confederates, went to the council-room, to remonstrate
with the senate concerning the grievances which had been so often
discussed. At about mid-day, one of the confederates, upon leaving the
council-room, stepped out for a moment upon the balcony, which looked
towards the public square. Standing there for a moment, he gravely
removed his hat, and then as gravely replaced it upon his head. This was
a preconcerted signal. At the next instant a sailor was seen to rush
across the square, waving a flag in both hands. "All ye who love the
Prince of Orange, take heart and follow me!" he shouted. In a moment the
square was alive. Soldiers and armed citizens suddenly sprang forth, as
if from the bowels of the earth. Bardez led a strong force directly into
the council-chamber, and arrested every one of the astonished
magistrates. At the same time, his confederates had scoured the town and
taken every friar in the city into custody. Monks and senators were then
marched solemnly down towards the quay, where a vessel was in readiness
to receive them. "To the gallows with them--to the gallows with them!"
shouted the populace, as they passed along. "To the gibbet, whither they
have brought many a good fellow before his time!" Such were the openly,
expressed desires of their fellow-citizens, as these dignitaries and holy
men proceeded to what they believed their doom. Although treated
respectfully by those who guarded them, they were filled with
trepidation, for they believed the execrations of the populace the
harbingers of their fate. As they entered the vessel, they felt convinced
that a watery death had been substituted for the gibbet. Poor old
Heinrich Dirckzoon, ex-burgomaster, pathetically rejected a couple of
clean shirts which his careful wife had sent him by the hands of the
housemaid. "Take them away; take them home again," said the rueful
burgomaster; "I shall never need clean shirts again in this world." He
entertained no doubt that it was the intention of his captors to scuttle
the vessel as soon as they had put a little out to sea, and so to leave
them to their fate. No such tragic end was contemplated, however, and, in
fact, never was a complete municipal revolution accomplished in so
good-natured and jocose a manner. The Catholic magistrates and friars
escaped with their fright. They were simply turned out of town, and
forbidden, for their lives, ever to come back again. After the vessel had
proceeded a little distance from the city, they were all landed high and
dry upon a dyke, and so left unharmed within the open country.

A new board of magistrates, of which stout William Bardez was one, was
soon appointed; the train-bands were reorganized, and the churches thrown
open to the Reformed worship--to the exclusion, at first, of the
Catholics. This was certainly contrary to the Ghent treaty, and to the
recent Satisfaction; it was also highly repugnant to the opinions of
Orange. After a short time, accordingly, the Catholics were again allowed
access to the churches, but the tables had now been turned for ever in
the capital of Holland, and the Reformation was an established fact
throughout that little province.

Similar events occurring upon the following day at Harlem, accompanied
with some bloodshed--for which, however, the perpetrator was punished
with death--opened the great church of that city to the Reformed
congregations, and closed them for a time to the Catholics.

Thus, the cause of the new religion was triumphant in Holland and
Zealand, while it was advancing with rapid strides through the other
provinces. Public preaching was of daily occurrence everywhere. On a
single Sunday; fifteen different ministers of the Reformed religion
preached in different places in Antwerp. "Do you think this can be put
down?" said Orange to the remonstrating burgomaster of that city. "'Tis
for you to repress it," said the functionary, "I grant your Highness full
power to do so." "And do you think," replied the Prince, "that I can do
at this late moment, what the Duke of Alva was unable to accomplish in
the very plenitude of his power?" At the same time, the Prince of Orange
was more than ever disposed to rebuke his own Church for practising
persecution in her turn. Again he lifted his commanding voice in behalf
of the Anabaptists of Middelburg. He reminded the magistrates of that
city that these peaceful burghers were always perfectly willing to bear
their part in all the common burthens, that their word was as good as
their oath, and that as to the matter of military service, although their
principles forbade them to bear arms, they had ever been ready to provide
and pay for substitutes. "We declare to you therefore," said he, "that
you have no right to trouble yourselves with any man's conscience, so
long as nothing is done to cause private harm or public scandal. We
therefore expressly ordain that you desist from molesting these Baptists,
from offering hindrance to their handicraft and daily trade, by which
they can earn bread for their wives and children, and that you permit
them henceforth to open their shops and to do their work, according to
the custom of former days. Beware, therefore, of disobedience and of
resistance to the ordinance which we now establish."

Meantime, the armies on both sides had been assembled, and had been
moving towards each other. Don John was at the head of nearly thirty
thousand troops, including a large proportion of Spanish and Italian
veterans. The states' army hardly numbered eighteen thousand foot and two
thousand cavalry, under the famous Francois de la None, surnamed Bras de
Fer, who had been recently appointed Marechal de Camp, and, under Count
Bossu, commander-in-chief. The muster-place of the provincial forces was
in the plains between Herenthals and Lier. At this point they expected to
be reinforced by Duke Casimir, who had been, since the early part of the
summer, in the country of Zutfen, but who was still remaining there
inglorious and inactive, until he could be furnished with the requisite
advance-money to his troops. Don John was determined if possible, to
defeat the states army, before Duke Casimir, with his twelve thousand
Germans, should effect his juncture with Bossu. The Governor therefore
crossed the Demer, near Aerschot, towards the end of July, and offered
battle, day after day, to the enemy. A series of indecisive skirmishes
was the result, in the last of which, near Rijnemants, on the first day
of August, the royalists were worsted and obliged to retire, after a
desultory action of nearly eight hours, leaving a thousand dead upon the
field.  Their offer of "double or quits," the following morning was
steadily refused by Bossu, who, secure within his intrenchments, was not
to be induced at that moment to encounter the chances of a general
engagement. For this he was severely blamed by the more violent of the
national party.

His patriotism, which was of such recent origin, was vehemently
suspected; and his death, which occurred not long afterwards, was
supposed to have alone prevented his deserting the states to fight again
under Spanish colours. These suspicions were probably unjust. Bossu's
truth of character had been as universally recognized as was his signal
bravery. If he refused upon this occasion a general battle, those who
reflected upon the usual results to the patriot banner of such
engagements, might confess, perhaps, that one disaster the more had been
avoided. Don John, finding it impossible to accomplish his purpose, and
to achieve another Gemblours victory, fell back again to the
neighbourhood of Namur.

The states' forces remained waiting for the long-promised succor of John
Casimir. It was the 26th of August, however, before the Duke led his
twelve thousand men to the neighbourhood of Mechlin, where Bossu was
encamped. This young prince possessed neither the ability nor the
generosity which were requisite for the heroic part which he was
ambitious to perform in the Netherland drama. He was inspired by a vague
idea of personal aggrandizement, although he professed at the same time
the utmost deference to William of Orange. He expressed the hope that he
and the Prince "should be but two heads under one hat;" but he would have
done well to ask himself whether his own contribution to this partnership
of brains would very much enrich the silent statesman. Orange himself
regarded him with respectful contempt, and considered his interference
with Netherland matters but as an additional element of mischief. The
Duke's right hand man, however, Peter Peutterich, the "equestrian
doctor"--as Sir Philip Sydney called him--equally skilful with the sword
as with the pen, had succeeded, while on a mission to England, in
acquiring the Queen's favor for his master. To Casimir, therefore, had
been entrusted the command of the levies, and the principal expenditure
of the subsidies which she had placed at the disposition of the states.
Upon Casimir she relied, as a counterweight to the Duke of Alencon, who,
as she knew, had already entered the provinces at the secret solicitation
of a large faction among the nobles. She had as much confidence as ever
in Orange, but she imagined herself to be strengthening his cause by
providing him with such a lieutenant. Casimir's immediate friends had but
little respect for his abilities. His father-in-law, Augustus of Saxony,
did not approve his expedition. The Landgrave William, to whom he wrote
for counsel, answered, in his quaint manner, that it was always difficult
for one friend to advise another in three matters--to wit, in taking a
wife, going to sea, and going to war; but that, nevertheless, despite the
ancient proverb, he would assume the responsibility of warning Casimir
not to plunge into what he was pleased to call the "'confusum chaos' of
Netherland politics." The Duke felt no inclination, however, to take the
advice which he had solicited. He had been stung by the sarcasm which
Alva had once uttered, that the German potentates carried plenty of
lions, dragons, eagles, and griffins on their shields; but that these
ferocious animals were not given to biting or scratching. He was
therefore disposed, once for all, to show that the teeth and claws of
German princes could still be dangerous. Unfortunately, he was destined
to add a fresh element of confusion to the chaos, and to furnish rather a
proof than a refutation of the correctness of Alva's gibe.

This was the hero who was now thrust, head and shoulders as it were, into
the entangled affairs of the Netherlanders, and it was Elizabeth of
England, more than ever alarmed at the schemes of Alencon, who had pushed
forward this Protestant champion, notwithstanding the disinclination of
Orange.

The Queen was right in her uneasiness respecting the French prince. The
Catholic nobles, relying upon the strong feeling still rife throughout
the Walloon country against the Reformed religion, and inflamed more than
ever by their repugnance to Orange, whose genius threw them so completely
into the shade, had already drawn closer to the Duke. The same influences
were at work to introduce Alencon, which had formerly been employed to
bring Matthias from Vienna. Now that the Archduke, who was to have been
the rival, had become the dependent of William, they turned their
attention to the son of Catherine de Medici, Orange himself having always
kept the Duke in reserve, as an instrument to overcome the political
coquetry of Elizabeth. That great Princess never manifested less
greatness than in her earlier and most tormenting connexion with the
Netherlands. Having allured them for years with bright but changeful
face, she still looked coldly down upon the desolate sea where they were
drifting She had promised much; her performance had been nothing. Her
jealousy of French influence had at length been turned to account; a
subsidy and a levy extorted from her fears. Her ministers and prominent
advisers were one and all in favor of an open and generous support to the
provinces. Walsingham, Burleigh, Knollys, Davidson, Sidney, Leicester,
Fleetwood, Wilson, all desired that she should frankly espouse their
cause. A bold policy they believed to be the only prudent one in this
case; yet the Queen considered it sagacious to despatch envoys both to
Philip and to Don John, as if after what they knew of her secret
practices, such missions could effect any useful purpose. Better,
therefore, in the opinion of the honest and intrepid statesmen of
England, to throw down the gauntlet at once in the cause of the oppressed
than to shuffle and palter until the dreaded rival should cross the
frontier. A French Netherlands they considered even mere dangerous than a
Spanish, and Elizabeth partook of their sentiments, although incapable of
their promptness. With the perverseness which was the chief blot upon her
character, she was pleased that the Duke should be still a dangler for
her hand, even while she was intriguing against his political hopes. She
listened with undisguised rapture to his proposal of love, while she was
secretly thwarting the plans of his ambition.

Meanwhile, Alencon had arrived at Mons, and we have seen already the
feminine adroitness with which his sister of Navarre had prepared his
entrance. Not in vain had she cajoled the commandant of Cambray citadel;
not idly had she led captive the hearts of Lalain and his Countess, thus
securing the important province of Hainault for the Duke. Don John might,
indeed, gnash his teeth with rage, as he marked the result of all the
feasting and flattery, the piping and dancing at Namur.

Francis Duke of Alencon, and since the accession of his brother Henry to
the French throne--Duke of Anjou was, upon the whole, the most despicable
personage who had ever entered the Netherlands. His previous career at
home had, been so flagrantly false that he had forfeited the esteem of
every honest man in Europe, Catholic or Lutheran, Huguenot or Malcontent.
The world has long known his character. History will always retain him as
an example, to show mankind the amount of mischief which may be
perpetrated by a prince, ferocious without courage, ambitious without
talent, and bigoted without opinions. Incapable of religious convictions
himself, he had alternately aspired to be a commander of Catholic and of
Huguenot zealots, and he had acquired nothing by his vacillating course,
save the entire contempt of all parties and of both religions. Scared
from the aide of Navarre and Conde by the menacing attitude of the
"league," fearing to forfeit the succession to the throne, unless he made
his peace with the court, he had recently resumed his place among the
Catholic commanders. Nothing was easier for him than to return
shamelessly to a party which he had shamelessly deserted, save perhaps to
betray it again, should his interest prompt him to do so, on the morrow.
Since the peace of 1576, it had been evident that the Protestants could
not count upon his friendship, and he had soon afterwards been placed at
the head of the army which was besieging the Huguenots of Issoire. He
sought to atone for having commanded the troops of the new religion by
the barbarity with which he now persecuted its votaries. When Issoire
fell into his hands, the luckless city was spared none of the misery
which can be inflicted by a brutal and frenzied soldiery. Its men were
butchered, its females outraged; its property plundered with a
thoroughness which rivalled the Netherland practice of Alva, or Frederic
Toledo, or Julian Romero. The town was sacked and burned to ashes by
furious Catholics, under the command of Francis Alencon,--almost at the
very moment when his fair sister, Margaret, was preparing the way in the
Netherlands for the fresh treason--which he already meditated to the
Catholic cause. The treaty of Bergerac, signed in the autumn of 1577,
again restored a semblance of repose to France, and again afforded an
opportunity for Alencon to change his politics, and what he called his
religion. Reeking with the blood of the Protestants of Issoire, he was
now at leisure to renew his dalliance with the Queen of Protestant
England, and to resume his correspondence with the great-chieftain of the
Reformation in the Netherlands.

It is perhaps an impeachment upon the perspicacity of Orange, that he
could tolerate this mischievous and worthless "son of France," even for
the grave reasons which influenced him. Nevertheless, it must be
remembered that he only intended to keep him in reserve, for the purpose
of irritating the jealousy and quickening the friendship of the English
Queen. Those who see anything tortuous in such politics must beware of
judging the intriguing age of Philip and Catherine de' Medici by the
higher standard of later, and possibly more candid times. It would have
been puerile for a man of William the Silent's resources, to allow
himself to be outwitted by the intrigues of all the courts and cabinets
in Europe. Moreover, it must be remembered that, if he alone could guide
himself and his country through the perplexing labyrinth in which they
were involved; it was because he held in his hand the clue of an honest
purpose. His position in regard to the Duke of Alencon, had now become
sufficiently complicated, for the tiger that he had led in a chain had
been secretly unloosed by those who meant mischief. In the autumn of the
previous year, the aristocratic and Catholic party in the states-general
had opened their communications with a prince, by whom they hoped to be
indemnified for their previous defeat.

The ill effects of Elizabeth's coquetry too plainly manifested themselves
at last, and Alencon had now a foothold in the Netherlands. Precipitated
by the intrigues of the party which had always been either openly or
secretly hostile to Orange, his advent could no longer be delayed. It
only remained for the Prince to make himself his master, as he had
already subdued each previous rival. This he accomplished with his
customary adroitness. It was soon obvious, even to so dull and so base a
nature as that of the Duke, that it was his best policy to continue to
cultivate so powerful a friendship. It cost him little to crouch, but
events were fatally, to prove at a later day, that there are natures too
malignant to be trusted or to be tamed. For the present, however, Alencon
professed the most friendly sentiments towards the Prince. Solicited by
so ardent and considerable a faction, the Duke was no longer to be
withheld from trying the venture, and if, he could not effect his
entrance by fair means, was determined to do so by force.--He would
obtrude his assistance, if it were declined. He would do his best to
dismember the provinces, if only a portion of them would accept his
proffered friendship. Under these circumstances, as the Prince could no
longer exclude him from the country, it became necessary to accept his
friendship, and to hold him in control. The Duke had formally offered his
assistance to the states-general, directly after the defeat of Gemblours,
and early in July had made his appearance in Mons. Hence he despatched
his envoys, Des Pruneaux and Rochefort, to deal with the States-general
and with Orange, while he treated Matthias with contempt, and declared
that he had no intention to negotiate with him. The Archduke burst into
tears when informed of this slight; and feebly expressed a wish that
succor might be found in Germany which would render this French alliance
unnecessary. It was not the first nor the last mortification which the
future Emperor was to undergo. The Prince was addressed with
distinguished consideration; Des Pruneaux protesting that he desired but
three things--the glory of his master, the glory of God, and the glory of
William of Orange.

The French King was naturally supposed to be privy to his brother's
schemes, for it was thought ridiculous to suggest that Henry's own troops
could be led by his own brother, on this foreign expedition, without his
connivance. At the same time, private letters, written by him at this
epoch, expressed disapprobation of the schemes of Alencon, and jealousy
of his aggrandizement. It was, perhaps, difficult to decide as to the
precise views of a monarch who was too weak to form opinions for himself,
and too false to maintain those with which he had been furnished by
others. With the Medicean mother it was different, and it was she who was
believed to be at the bottom of the intrigue. There was even a vague idea
that the Spanish Sovereign himself might be privy to the plot, and that a
possible marriage between Alencon and the Infanta might be on the cards.
In truth, however, Philip felt himself outraged by the whole proceedings.
He resolutely refused to accept the excuses proffered by the French
court, or to doubt the complicity of the Queen Dowager, who, it was well
known, governed all her sons. She had, to be sure, thought proper to read
the envoys of the states-general a lecture upon the impropriety of
subjects opposing the commands of their lawful Prince, but such artifices
were thought too transparent to deceive. Granvelle scouted the idea of
her being ignorant of Anjou's scheme, or opposed to its success. As for
William of Hesse, while he bewailed more than ever the luckless plunge
into "confusum chaos" which Casimir had taken, he unhesitatingly
expressed his conviction that the invasion of Alencon was a master-piece
of Catherine. The whole responsibility of the transaction he divided, in
truth, between the Dowager and the comet, which just then hung over the
world, filling the soul of the excellent Landgrave with dismal
apprehension.

The Queen of England was highly incensed by the actual occurrence of the
invasion which she had so long dreaded. She was loud in her denunciations
of the danger and dishonor which would be the result to the provinces of
this French alliance. She threatened not only to withdraw herself from
their cause, but even to take arms against a commonwealth which had dared
to accept Alencon for its master. She had originally agreed to furnish
one hundred thousand pounds by way of loan. This assistance had been
afterwards commuted into a levy of three thousand foot and-two thousand
horse, to be added to the forces of John Casimir, and to be placed under
his command. It had been stipulated; also, that the Palatine should have
the rank and pay of an English general-in-chief, and be considered as the
Queen's lieutenant. The money had been furnished and the troops enrolled.
So much had been already bestowed, and could not be recalled, but it was
not probable that, in her present humor, the Queen would be induced to
add to her favors.

The Prince, obliged by the necessity of the case, had prescribed the
terms and the title under which Alencon should be accepted. Upon the 13th
of August the Duke's envoy concluded a convention in twenty-three
articles; which were afterwards subscribed by the Duke himself, at Mons,
upon the twentieth of the same month. The substance of this arrangement
was that Alencon should lend his assistance to the provinces against the
intolerable tyranny of the Spaniards and the unjustifiable military
invasion of Don John. He was, moreover, to bring into the field ten
thousand foot and two thousand horse for three months. After the
expiration of this term, his forces might be reduced to three thousand
foot and five hundred horse. The states were to confer upon him the title
of "Defender of the Liberty of the Netherlands against the Tyranny of the
Spaniards and their adherents." He was to undertake no hostilities
against Queen Elizabeth. The states were to aid him, whenever it should
become necessary, with the same amount of force with which he now
assisted them. He was to submit himself contentedly to the civil
government of the country, in everything regarding its internal polity.
He was to make no special contracts or treaties with any cities or
provinces of the Netherlands. Should the states-general accept another
prince as sovereign, the Duke was to be preferred to all others, upon
conditions afterwards to be arranged. All cities which might be conquered
within the territory of the united provinces were to belong to the
states. Such places not in that territory, as should voluntarily
surrender, were to be apportioned, by equal division, between the Duke
and the states. The Duke was to bring no foreign troops but French into
the provinces. The month of August was reserved, during which the states
were, if possible, to make a composition with Don John.

These articles were certainly drawn up with skill. A high-sounding but
barren title, which gratified the Duke's vanity and signified nothing,
had been conferred upon him, while at the same time he was forbidden to
make conquests or contracts, and was obliged to submit himself to the
civil government of the country: in short, he was to obey the Prince of
Orange in all things--and so here was another plot of the Prince's
enemies neutralized. Thus, for the present at least, had the position of
Anjou been defined.

As the month of August, during which it was agreed that negotiations with
the Governor-General should remain open, had already half expired,
certain articles, drawn up by the states-general, were at once laid
before Don John. Lord Cobham and Sir Francis Walsingham were then in the
Netherlands, having been sent by Elizabeth for the purpose of effecting a
pacification of the estates with the Governor, if possible. They had also
explained--so far as an explanation was possible--the assistance which
the English government had rendered to the rebels, upon the ground that
the French invasion could be prevented in no other way. This somewhat
lame apology had been passed over in silence rather than accepted by Don
John. In the same interview the envoys made an equally unsuccessful
effort to induce the acceptance by the Governor of the terms offered by
the states. A further proposition, on their part, for an "Interim," upon
the plan attempted by Charles the Fifth in Germany, previously to the
Peace of Passau, met with no more favor than it merited, for certainly
that name--which became so odious in Germany that cats and dogs were
called "Interim" by the common people, in derision--was hardly a potent
word to conjure with, at that moment, in the Netherlands. They then
expressed their intention of retiring to England, much grieved at the
result of their mission. The Governor replied that they might do as they
liked, but that he, at least, had done all in his power to bring about a
peace, and that the King had been equally pacific in his intentions. He
then asked the envoys what they themselves thought of the terms proposed.
"Indeed, they are too hard, your Highness," answered Walsingham, "but
'tis only by pure menace that we have extorted them from the states,
unfavorable though they, seem."

"Then you may tell them," replied the Governor, "to keep their offers to
themselves. Such terms will go but little way in any negotiation with
me."

The envoys shrugged their shoulders.

"What is your own opinion on the whole affair?" resumed Don John.
"Perhaps your advice may yet help me to a better conclusion."

The envoys continued silent and pensive.

"We can only answer," said Walsingham, at length, "by imitating the
physician, who would prescribe no medicine until he was quite sure that
the patient was ready to swallow it. 'Tis no use wasting counsel or
drugs."

The reply was not satisfactory, but the envoys had convinced themselves
that the sword was the only surgical instrument likely to find favor at
that juncture. Don John referred, in vague terms, to his peaceable
inclinations, but protested that there was no treating with so unbridled
a people as the Netherlanders. The ambassadors soon afterwards took their
leave. After this conference, which was on the 24th of August, 1578,
Walsingham and Cobham addressed a letter to the states-general, deploring
the disingenuous and procrastinating conduct of the Governor, and begging
that the failure to effect a pacification might not be imputed to them.
They then returned to England.

The Imperial envoy, Count Schwartzburg, at whose urgent solicitation this
renewed attempt at a composition had been made, was most desirous that
the Governor should accept the articles. They formed, indeed, the basis
of a liberal, constitutional, representative government, in which the
Spanish monarch was to retain only a strictly limited sovereignty. The
proposed convention required Don John, with all his troops and adherents,
forthwith to leave the land after giving up all strongholds and cities in
his possession. It provided that the Archduke Matthias should remain as
Governor general, under the conditions according to which he had been
originally accepted. It left the question of religious worship to the
decision of the states-general. It provided for the release of all
prisoners, the return of all exiles, the restoration of all confiscated
property. It stipulated that upon the death or departure of Matthias, his
Majesty was not to appoint a governor-general without the consent of the
states-general.

When Count Schwartzburg waited upon the Governor with these astonishing
propositions--which Walsingham might well call somewhat hard--he found
him less disposed to explode with wrath than he had been in previous
conferences. Already the spirit of the impetuous young soldier was
broken, both by the ill health which was rapidly undermining his
constitution and by the helpless condition in which he had been left
while contending with the great rebellion. He had soldiers, but no money
to pay them withal; he had no means of upholding that supremacy of crown
and church which he was so vigorously instructed to maintain; and he was
heartily wearied of fulminating edicts which he had no power to enforce.
He had repeatedly solicited his recal, and was growing daily more
impatient that his dismissal did not arrive. Moreover, the horrible news
of Escovedo's assassination had sickened him to the soul. The deed had
flashed a sudden light into the abyss of dark duplicity in which his own
fate was suspended. His most intimate and confidential friend had been
murdered by royal command, while he was himself abandoned by Philip,
exposed to insult, left destitute of defence. No money was forthcoming,
in spite of constant importunities and perpetual promises. Plenty of
words were sent him; he complained, as if he possessed the art of
extracting gold from them, or as if war could be carried on with words
alone.

Being in so desponding a mood, he declined entering into any controversy
with regard to the new propositions, which, however, he characterized as
most iniquitous. He stated merely that his Majesty had determined to
refer the Netherland matters to the arbitration of the Emperor; that the
Duke de Terra Nova would soon be empowered to treat upon the subject at
the imperial court; and that, in the meantime, he was himself most
anxiously awaiting his recal.

A synod of the Reformed churches had been held, during the month of June,
at Dort. There they had laid down a platform of their principles of
church government in one hundred and one articles. In the same month, the
leading members of the Reformed Church had drawn up an ably reasoned
address to Matthias and the Council of State on the subject of a general
peace of religion for the provinces.

William of Orange did his utmost to improve the opportunity. He sketched
a system of provisional toleration, which he caused to be signed by the
Archduke Matthias, and which, at least for a season, was to establish
religious freedom. The brave; tranquil, solitary man still held his track
across the raging waves, shedding as much light as one clear human soul
could dispense; yet the dim lantern, so far in advance, was swallowed in
the mist, ere those who sailed in his wake could shape their course by
his example. No man understood him. Not even his nearest friends
comprehended his views, nor saw that he strove to establish not freedom
for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience. Saint Aldegonde complained
that the Prince would not persecute the Anabaptists, Peter Dathenus
denounced him as an atheist, while even Count John; the only one left of
his valiant and generous brothers, opposed the religious peace--except
where the advantage was on the side of the new religion. Where the
Catholics had been effectually put down, as in Holland and Zealand,
honest John saw so reason for allowing them to lift themselves up again.
In the Popish provinces, on the other hand, he was for a religious peace.
In this bigoted spirit he was followed by too many of the Reforming mass,
while, on their part, the Walloons were already banding themselves
together in the more southern provinces, under the name of Malcontents.
Stigmatized by the Calvinists as "Paternoster Jacks," they were daily
drawing closer their alliance with Alencon; and weakening the bands which
united them with their Protestant brethren. Count John had at length
become a permanent functionary in the Netherlands. Urgently solicited by
the leaders and the great multitude of the Reformers, he had long been
unwilling to abandon his home, and to neglect the private affairs which
his devotion to the Netherland cause had thrown into great confusion. The
Landgrave, too, whose advice he had asked, had strongly urged him not to
"dip his fingers into the olla podrida." The future of the provinces was,
in his opinion, so big with disaster, that the past, with all its
horrors; under Alva and Requesens, had only furnished the "preludia" of
that which was to ensue. For these desperate views his main reason, as
usual, was the comet; that mischievous luminary still continuing to cast
a lurid glare across the Landgrave's path. Notwithstanding these direful
warnings from a prince of the Reformation, notwithstanding the "olla
podrida" and the "comet," Count John had nevertheless accepted the office
of Governor of Gelderland, to which he had been elected by the estates of
that province on the 11th of March. That important bulwark of Holland,
Zealand, and Utrecht on the one side, and of Groningen and Friesland on
the other--the main buttress, in short, of the nascent republic, was now
in hands which would defend it to the last.

As soon as the discussion came up in the states-general on the subject of
the Dort petitions, Orange requested that every member who had formed his
opinions should express them fully and frankly. All wished, however, to
be guided and governed by the sentiments of the Prince. Not a man spoke,
save to demand their leader's views, and to express adhesion in advance
to the course which his wisdom might suggest. The result was a projected
convention, a draft for a religious peace, which, if definitely
established, would have healed many wounds and averted much calamity. It
was not, however, destined to be accepted at that time by the states of
the different provinces where it was brought up for discussion; and
several changes were made, both of form and substance, before the system
was adopted at all. Meantime, for the important city of Antwerp, where
religious broils were again on the point of breaking out, the Prince
preferred a provisional arrangement, which he forthwith carried into
execution. A proclamation, in the name of the Archduke Matthias and of
the State Council, assigned five special places in the city where the
members of the "pretended Reformed religion" should have liberty to
exercise their religious worship, with preaching, singing, and the
sacraments. The churchyards of the parochial churches were to be opened
for the burial of their dead, but the funerals were to be unaccompanied
with exhortation, or any public demonstration which might excite
disturbance. The adherents of one religion were forbidden to disturb, to
insult, or in any way to interfere with the solemnities of the other.
All were to abstain from mutual jeerings--by pictures, ballads, books, or
otherwise--and from all injuries to ecclesiastical property. Every man,
of whatever religion, was to be permitted entrance to the churches of
either religion, and when there, all were to conform to the regulations
of the church with modesty and respect. Those of the new religion were to
take oaths of obedience to the authorities, and to abstain from meddling
with the secular administration of affairs. Preachers of both religions
were forbidden to preach out of doors, or to make use of language tending
to sedition. All were to bind themselves to assist the magistrates in
quelling riots, and in sustaining the civil government.

This example of religious peace, together with the active correspondence
thus occasioned with the different state assemblies, excited the jealousy
of the Catholic leaders and of the Walloon population. Champagny, who
despite his admirable qualities and brilliant services, was still unable
to place himself on the same platform of toleration with Orange, now
undertook a decided movement against the policy of the Prince. Catholic
to the core, he drew up a petition, remonstrating most vigorously against
the draft for a religions peace, then in circulation through the
provinces. To this petition he procured many signatures among the more
ardent Catholic nobles. De Heze, De Glimes, and others of the same stamp,
were willing enough to follow the lead of so distinguished a chieftain.
The remonstrance was addressed to the Archduke, the Prince of Orange, the
State Council, and the States-general, and called upon them all to abide
by their solemn promises to permit no schism in the ancient Church.
Should the exercise of the new religion be allowed, the petitioners
insisted that the godless licentiousness of the Netherlands would excite
the contempt of all peoples and potentates. They suggested, in
conclusion, that all the principal cities of France--and in particular
the city of Paris--had kept themselves clear of the exercise of the new
religion, and that repose and prosperity had been the result.

This petition was carried with considerable solemnity by Champagny,
attended by many of his confederates, to the Hotel-de Ville, and
presented to the magistracy of Brussels. These functionaries were
requested to deliver it forthwith to the Archduke and Council. The
magistrates demurred. A discussion ensued, which grew warmer and warmer
as it proceeded. The younger nobles permitted themselves abusive
language, which the civic dignitaries would not brook. The session was
dissolved, and the magistrates, still followed by the petitioners, came
forth into the street. The confederates, more inflamed than ever,
continued to vociferate and to threaten. A crowd soon collected in the
square. The citizens were naturally curious to know why their senators
were thus browbeaten and insulted by a party of insolent young Catholic
nobles. The old politician at their head, who, in spite of many services,
was not considered a friend to the nation, inspired them with distrust.
Being informed of the presentation of the petition, the multitude loudly
demanded that the document should be read. This was immediately done. The
general drift of the remonstrance was anything but acceptable, but the
allusion to Paris, at the close, excited a tempest of indignation.
"Paris! Paris! Saint Bartholomew! Saint Bartholomew! Are we to have Paris
weddings in Brussels also?" howled the mob, as is often the case,
extracting but a single idea, and that a wrong one; from the public
lecture which had just been made. "Are we to have a Paris massacre, a
Paris blood-bath here in the Netherland capital? God forbid! God forbid!
Away with the conspirators! Down with the Papists!"

It was easily represented to the inflamed imaginations of the populace
that a Brussels Saint Bartholomew had been organized, and that Champagny,
who stood there before them, was its originator and manager. The
ungrateful Netherlanders forgot the heroism with which the old soldier
had arranged the defence of Antwerp against the "Spanish Fury" but two
years before. They heard only the instigations of his enemies; they
remembered only that he was the hated Granvelle's brother; they believed
only that there was a plot by which, in some utterly incomprehensible
manner, they were all to be immediately engaged in cutting each others
throats and throwing each other out of the windows, as had been done half
a dozen years before in Paris. Such was the mischievous intention
ascribed to a petition, which Champagny and his friends had as much right
to offer--however narrow and mistaken their opinions might now be
considered--as had the synod of Dort to present their remonstrances.
Never was a more malignant or more stupid perversion of a simple and not
very alarming phrase. No allusion had been made to Saint Bartholomew, but
all its horrors were supposed to be concealed in the sentence which
referred to Paris. The nobles were arrested on the spot and hurried to
prison, with the exception of Champagny, who made his escape at first,
and lay concealed for several days. He was, however, finally ferreted out
of his hiding-place and carried off to Ghent. There he was thrown into
strict confinement, being treated in all respects as the accomplice of
Aerschot and the other nobles who had been arrested in the time of
Ryhove's revolution. Certainly, this conduct towards a brave and generous
gentleman was ill calculated to increase general sympathy for the cause,
or to merit the approbation of Orange. There was, however, a strong
prejudice against Champagny. His brother Granvelle had never been
forgotten by the Netherlanders, and, was still regarded as their most
untiring foe, while Champagny was supposed to be in close league with the
Cardinal. In these views the people were entirely wrong.

While these events were taking place in Brussels and Antwerp, the two
armies of the states and of Don John were indolently watching each other.
The sinews of war had been cut upon both sides. Both parties were cramped
by the most abject poverty. The troops under Bossu and Casimir, in the
camp sear Mechlin, were already discontented, for want of pay. The one
hundred thousand pounds of Elizabeth had already been spent, and it was
not probable that the offended Queen would soon furnish another subsidy.
The states could with difficulty extort anything like the assessed quotas
from the different provinces. The Duke of Alencon was still at Mons, from
which place he had issued a violent proclamation of war against Don
John--a manifesto which had, however, not been followed up by very
vigorous demonstrations. Don John himself was in his fortified camp at
Bouge, within a league of Namur, but the here was consuming with mental
and with bodily fever. He was, as it were, besieged. He was left entirely
without funds, while his royal brother obstinately refused compliance
with his earnest demands to be recalled, and coldly neglected his
importunities for pecuniary assistance.

Compelled to carry on a war against an armed rebellion with such gold
only as could be extracted from loyal swords; stung to the heart by the
suspicion of which he felt himself the object at home, and by the hatred
with which he was regarded in the provinces; outraged in his inmost
feelings by the murder of Escovedo; foiled, outwitted, reduced to a
political nullity by the masterly tactics of the "odious heretic of
heretics" to whom he had originally offered his patronage and the royal
forgiveness, the high-spirited soldier was an object to excite the
tenderness even of religious and political opponents. Wearied with the
turmoil of camps without battle and of cabinets without counsel, he
sighed for repose, even if it could be found only in a cloister or the
grave. "I rejoice to see by your letter," he wrote, pathetically, to John
Andrew Doria, at Genoa, "that your life is flowing on with such calmness,
while the world around me is so tumultuously agitated. I consider you
most fortunate that you are passing the remainder of your days for God
and yourself; that you are not forced to put yourself perpetually in the
scales of the world's events, nor to venture yourself daily on its
hazardous games." He proceeded to inform his friend of his own painful
situation, surrounded by innumerable enemies, without means of holding
out more than three months, and cut off from all assistance by a
government which could not see that if the present chance were lost all
was lost. He declared it impossible for him to fight in the position to
which he was reduced, pressed as he was within half a mile of the point
which he had always considered as his last refuge. He stated also that
the French were strengthening themselves in Hainault, under Alencon, and
that the King of France was in readiness to break in through Burgundy,
should his brother obtain a firm foothold in the provinces. "I have
besought his Majesty over and over again," he continued, "to send to me
his orders; if they come they shall be executed, unless they arrive too
late. They have cut of our hands and we have now nothing for it but to
stretch forth our heads also to the axe. I grieve to trouble you with my
sorrows, but I trust to your sympathy as a man and a friend. I hope that
you will remember me in your prayers, for you can put your trust where,
in former days, I never could place my own."

The dying crusader wrote another letter, in the same mournful strain, to
another intimate friend, Don Pedro Mendoza, Spanish envoy in Genoa. It
was dated upon the same day from his camp near Namur, and repeated the
statement that the King of France was ready to invade the Netherlands, so
soon as Alencon should prepare an opening. "His Majesty," continued Don
John, "is resolved upon nothing; at least, I am kept in ignorance of his
intentions. Our life is doled out to us here by moments. I cry aloud, but
it profits me little. Matters will soon be disposed, through our
negligence, exactly as the Devil would best wish them. It is plain that
we are left here to pine away till our last breath. God direct us all as
He may see fit; in His hands are all things."

Four days later he wrote to the King, stating that he was confined to his
chamber with a fever, by which he was already as much reduced as if he
had been ill for a month. "I assure your Majesty," said he "that the work
here is enough to destroy any constitution and any life." He reminded
Philip how often he had been warned by him as to the insidious practices
of the French. Those prophecies had now become facts. The French had
entered the country, while some of the inhabitants were frightened,
others disaffected. Don John declared himself in a dilemma. With his
small force, hardly enough to make head against the enemy immediately in
front, and to protect the places which required guarding, 'twas
impossible for him to leave his position to attack the enemy in Burgundy.
If he remained stationary, the communications were cut off through which
his money and supplies reached him. "Thus I remain," said he, "perplexed
and confused, desiring, more than life, some decision on your Majesty's
part, for which I have implored so many times." He urged the King most
vehemently to send him instructions as to the course to be pursued,
adding that it wounded him to the soul to find them so long delayed. He
begged to be informed whether he was to attack the enemy in Burgundy,
whether he should await where he then was the succor of his Majesty, or
whether he was to fight, and if so with which of his enemies: in fine,
what he was to do; because, losing or winning, he meant to conform to his
Majesty's will. He felt deeply pained, he said, at being disgraced and
abandoned by the King, having served him, both as a brother, and a man,
with love and faith and heartiness. "Our lives," said he, "are at stake
upon this game, and all we wish is to lose them honorably." He begged the
King to send a special envoy to France, with remonstrances on the subject
of Alencon, and another to the Pope to ask for the Duke's
excommunication. He protested that he would give his blood rather than
occasion so much annoyance to the King, but that he felt it his duty to
tell the naked truth. The pest was ravaging his little army. Twelve
hundred were now in hospital, besides those nursed in private houses, and
he had no means or money to remedy the evil. Moreover, the enemy, seeing
that they were not opposed in the open field, had cut off the passage
into Liege by the Meuse, and had advanced to Nivelles and Chimay for the
sake of communications with France, by the same river.

Ten days after these pathetic passages had been written, the writer was
dead. Since the assassination of Escovedo, a consuming melancholy had
settled upon his spirits, and a burning fever came, in the month of
September, to destroy his physical strength. The house where he lay was a
hovel, the only chamber of which had been long used as a pigeon-house.
This wretched garret was cleansed, as well as it could be of its filth,
and hung with tapestry emblazoned with armorial bearings. In that dovecot
the hero of Lepanto was destined to expire. During the last few, days of
his illness, he was delirious. Tossing upon his uneasy couch, he again
arranged in imagination, the combinations of great battles, again shouted
his orders to rushing squadrons, and listened with brightening eye to the
trumpet of victory. Reason returned, however, before the hour of death,
and permitted him, the opportunity to make the dispositions rendered
necessary by his condition. He appointed his nephew, Alexander of Parma,
who had been watching assiduously over his deathbed, to succeed him,
provisionally, in the command of the army and in his other dignities,
received the last sacraments with composure, and tranquilly breathed his
last upon the first day of October, the month which, since the battle of
Lepanto, he had always considered a festive and a fortunate one.

It was inevitable that suspicion of poison should be at once excited by
his decease. Those suspicions have been never set at rest, and never
proved. Two Englishmen, Ratcliff and Gray by name, had been arrested and
executed on a charge of having been employed by Secretary Walsingham to
assassinate the Governor. The charge was doubtless an infamous falsehood;
but had Philip, who was suspected of being the real criminal, really
compassed the death of his brother, it was none the less probable that an
innocent victim or two would be executed, to save appearances. Now that
time has unveiled to us many mysteries, now that we have learned from
Philip's own lips and those of his accomplices the exact manner in which
Montigny and Escovedo were put to death, the world will hardly be very
charitable with regard to other imputations. It was vehemently suspected
that Don John had been murdered by the command of Philip; but no such
fact was ever proved.

The body, when opened that it might be embalmed, was supposed to offer
evidence of poison. The heart was dry, the other internal organs were
likewise so desiccated as to crumble when touched, and the general color
of the interior was of a blackish brown, as if it had been singed.
Various persona were mentioned as the probable criminals; various motives
assigned for the commission of the deed. Nevertheless, it must be
admitted that there were causes, which were undisputed, for his death,
sufficient to render a search for the more mysterious ones comparatively
superfluous. A disorder called the pest was raging in his camp, and had
carried off a thousand of his soldiers within a few days, while his
mental sufferings had been acute enough to turn his heart to ashes.
Disappointed, tormented by friend and foe, suspected, insulted, broken
spirited, it was not strange that he should prove an easy victim to a
pestilent disorder before which many stronger men were daily falling.

On the third day after his decease, the funeral rites were celebrated. A
dispute between the Spaniards, Germans, and Netherlanders in the army
arose, each claiming precedence in the ceremony, on account of superior
national propinquity to the illustrious deceased. All were, in truth,
equally near to him, for different reasons, and it was arranged that all
should share equally in the obsequies. The corpse disembowelled and
embalmed, was laid upon a couch of state. The hero was clad in complete
armor; his swords helmet, and steel gauntlets lying at his feet, a
coronet, blazing with precious stones, upon his head, the jewelled chain
and insignia of the Golden Fleece about his neck, and perfumed gloves
upon his hands. Thus royally and martially arrayed, he was placed upon
his bier and borne forth from the house where he had died, by the
gentlemen of his bedchamber. From them he was received by the colonels of
the regiments stationed next his own quarters. These chiefs, followed by
their troops with inverted arms and mined drums, escorted the body to the
next station, where it was received by the commanding officers of other
national regiments, to be again transmitted to those of the third. Thus
by soldiers of the three nations, it was successively conducted to the
gates of Namur, where it was received by the civic authorities. The
pall-bearers, old Peter Ernest Mansfeld, Ottavio Gonzaga, the Marquis de
Villa Franca, and the Count de Reux, then bore it to the church, where it
was deposited until the royal orders should be received from Spain. The
heart of the hero was permanently buried beneath the pavement of the
little church, and a monumental inscription, prepared by Alexander
Farnese, still indicates the spot where that lion heart returned to dust.

It had been Don John's dying request to Philip that his remains might be
buried in the Escorial by the side of his imperial father, and the prayer
being granted, the royal order in due time arrived for the transportation
of the corpse to Spain. Permission had been asked and given for the
passage of a small number of Spanish troops through France. The thrifty
king had, however, made no allusion to the fact that those soldiers were
to bear with them the mortal remains of Lepanto's hero, for he was
disposed to save the expense which a public transportation of the body
and the exchange of pompous courtesies with the authorities of every town
upon the long journey would occasion. The corpse was accordingly divided
into three parts, and packed in three separate bags; and thus the
different portions, to save weight, being suspended at the saddle-bows of
different troopers, the body of the conqueror was conveyed to its distant
resting-place.

     "Expende Hannibalem: quot libras in duce summo
     Invenies?". . . . . . . . . .

Thus irreverently, almost blasphemously, the disjointed relics of the
great warrior were hurried through France; France, which the romantic
Saracen slave had traversed but two short years before, filled with high
hopes, and pursuing extravagant visions. It has been recorded by classic
historians, that the different fragments, after their arrival in Spain,
were re-united, and fastened together with wire; that the body was then
stuffed, attired in magnificent habiliments, placed upon its feet, and
supported by a martial staff, and that thus prepared for a royal
interview, the mortal remains of Don John were presented to his Most
Catholic Majesty. Philip is said to have manifested emotion at sight of
the hideous spectre--for hideous and spectral, despite of jewels,
balsams, and brocades, must have been that unburied corpse, aping life in
attitude and vestment, but standing there only to assert its privilege of
descending into the tomb. The claim was granted, and Don John of Austria
at last found repose by the side of his imperial father.

A sufficient estimate of his character has been apparent in the course of
the narrative. Dying before he had quite completed his thirty-third year,
he excites pity and admiration almost as much as censure. His military
career was a blaze of glory. Commanding in the Moorish wars at
twenty-three, and in the Turkish campaigns at twenty-six, he had achieved
a matchless renown before he had emerged from early youth; but his sun
was destined to go down at noon. He found neither splendor nor power in
the Netherlands, where he was deserted by his king and crushed by the
superior genius of the Prince of Orange. Although he vindicated his
martial skill at Gemblours, the victory was fruitless. It was but the
solitary sprig of the tiger from his jungle, and after that striking
conflict his life was ended in darkness and obscurity. Possessing
military genius of a high order, with extraordinary personal bravery, he
was the last of the paladins and the crusaders. His accomplishments were
also considerable, and he spoke Italian, German, French, and Spanish with
fluency. His beauty was remarkable; his personal fascinations
acknowledged by either sex; but as a commander of men, excepting upon the
battle-field, he possessed little genius. His ambition was the ambition
of a knight-errant, an adventurer, a Norman pirate; it was a personal and
tawdry ambition. Vague and contradictory dreams of crowns, of royal
marriages, of extemporized dynasties, floated ever before him; but he was
himself always the hero of his own romance. He sought a throne in Africa
or in Britain; he dreamed of espousing Mary of Scotland at the expense of
Elizabeth, and was even thought to aspire secretly to the hand of the
great English Queen herself. Thus, crusader and bigot as he was, he was
willing to be reconciled with heresy, if heresy could furnish him with a
throne.

It is superfluous to state that he was no match, by mental endowments,
for William of Orange; but even had he been so, the moral standard by
which each measured himself placed the Conqueror far below the Father of
a people. It must be admitted that Don John is entitled to but small
credit for his political achievements in the Netherlands. He was
incapable of perceiving that the great contest between the Reformation
and the Inquisition could never be amicably arranged in those provinces,
and that the character of William of Orange was neither to be softened by
royal smiles, nor perverted by appeals to sordid interests. It would have
been perhaps impossible for him, with his education and temperament, to
have embraced what seems to us the right cause, but it ought, at least,
to have been in his power to read the character of his antagonist, and to
estimate his own position with something like accuracy. He may be
forgiven that he did not succeed in reconciling hostile parties, when his
only plan to accomplish such a purpose was the extermination of the most
considerable faction; but although it was not to be expected that he
would look on the provinces with the eyes of William the Silent, he might
have comprehended that the Netherland chieftain was neither to be
purchased nor cajoled. The only system by which the two religions could
live together in peace had been discovered by the Prince; but toleration,
in the eyes of Catholics, and of many Protestants, was still thought the
deadliest heresy of all.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
     Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
     Taxes upon income and upon consumption
     Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 31

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




PART VI.

ALEXANDER OF PARMA
1578-1584.




CHAPTER I.

   Birth, education, marriage, and youthful character of Alexander
   Farnese--His private adventures--Exploits at Lepanto and at
   Gemblours--He succeeds to the government--Personal appearance and
   characteristics--Aspect of affairs--Internal dissensions--Anjou at
   Mons--John Casimir's intrigues at Ghent--Anjou disbands his
   soldiers--The Netherlands ravaged by various foreign troops--Anarchy
   and confusion in Ghent--Imbize and Ryhove--Fate of Hessels and
   Visch--New Pacification drawn up by Orange--Representations of Queen
   Elizabeth--Remonstrance of Brussels Riots and image-breaking in
   Ghent--Displeasure of Orange--His presence implored at Ghent, where
   he establishes a Religious Peace--Painful situation of John Casimir
   --Sharp rebukes of Elizabeth--He takes his departure--His troops
   apply to Farnese, who allows them to leave the country--Anjou's
   departure and manifesto--Elizabeth's letters to the states-general
   with regard to him--Complimentary addresses by the Estates to the
   Duke--Death of Bossu--Calumnies against Orange--Venality of the
   malcontent grandees--La Motte's treason--Intrigues of the Prior of
   Renty--Saint Aldegonde at Arras--The Prior of St. Vaast's exertions
   --Opposition of the clergy in the Walloon provinces to the taxation
   of the general government--Triangular contest--Municipal revolution
   in Arras led by Gosson and others--Counter-revolution--Rapid trials
   and executions--"Reconciliation" of the malcontent chieftains--
   Secret treaty of Mount St. Eloi: Mischief made by the Prior of
   Renty--His accusations against the reconciled lords--Vengeance taken
   upon him--Counter movement by the liberal party--Union of Utrecht--
   The Act analyzed and characterized.

A fifth governor now stood in the place which had been successively
vacated by Margaret of Parma, by Alva, by the Grand Commander, and by Don
John of Austria. Of all the eminent personages to whom Philip had
confided the reins of that most difficult and dangerous administration,
the man who was now to rule was by far the ablest and the best fitted for
his post. If there were living charioteer skilful enough to guide the
wheels of state, whirling now more dizzily than ever through "confusum
chaos," Alexander Farnese was the charioteer to guide--his hand the only
one which could control.

He was now in his thirty-third year--his uncle Don John, his cousin Don
Carlos, and himself, having all been born within a few months of each
other. His father was Ottavio Farnese, the faithful lieutenant of Charles
the Fifth, and grandson of Pope Paul the Third; his mother was Margaret
of Parma, first Regent of the Netherlands after the departure of Philip
from the provinces. He was one of the twins by which the reunion of
Margaret and her youthful husband had been blessed, and the only one that
survived. His great-grandfather, Paul, whose secular name of Alexander he
had received, had placed his hand upon the new-born infant's head, and
prophesied that he would grow up to become a mighty warrior. The boy,
from his earliest years, seemed destined to verify the prediction. Though
apt enough at his studies, he turned with impatience from his literary
tutors to military exercises and the hardiest sports. The din of arms
surrounded his cradle. The trophies of Ottavio, returning victorious from
beyond the Alps, had dazzled the eyes of his infancy, and when but six
years of age he had witnessed the siege of his native Parma, and its
vigorous defence by his martial father. When Philip was in the
Netherlands--in the years immediately succeeding the abdication of the
Emperor--he had received the boy from his parents as a hostage for their
friendship. Although but eleven years of age, Alexander had begged
earnestly to be allowed to serve as a volunteer on the memorable day of
Saint Quentin, and had wept bitterly when the amazed monarch refused his
request.--His education had been, completed at Alcala, and at Madrid,
under the immediate supervision of his royal uncle, and in the
companionship of the Infante Carlos and the brilliant Don John. The
imperial bastard was alone able to surpass, or even to equal the Italian
prince in all martial and manly pursuits. Both were equally devoted to
the chase and to the tournay; both longed impatiently for the period when
the irksome routine of monkish pedantry, and the fictitious combats which
formed their main recreation, should be exchanged for the substantial
delights of war. At the age of twenty he had been affianced to Maria of
Portugal; daughter of Prince Edward, granddaughter of King Emanuel, and
his nuptials with that peerless princess were; as we have seen,
celebrated soon afterwards with much pomp in Brussels. Sons and daughters
were born to him in due time, during his subsequent residence in Parma.
Here, however, the fiery and impatient spirit of the future illustrious
commander was doomed for a time to fret under restraint, and to corrode
in distasteful repose. His father, still in the vigor of his years,
governing the family duchies of Parma and Piacenza, Alexander had no
occupation in the brief period of peace which then existed. The martial
spirit, pining for a wide and lofty sphere of action, in which alone its
energies could be fitly exercised, now sought delight in the pursuits of
the duellist and gladiator. Nightly did the hereditary prince of the land
perambulate the streets of his capital, disguised, well armed, alone, or
with a single confidential attendant. Every chance passenger of martial
aspect whom he encountered in the midnight streets was forced to stand
and measure swords with an unknown, almost unseen but most redoubtable
foe, and many were the single combats which he thus enjoyed, so long as
his incognito was preserved. Especially, it was his wont to seek and defy
every gentleman whose skill or bravery had ever been commended in his
hearing: At last, upon one occasion it was his fortune to encounter a
certain Count Torelli, whose reputation as a swordsman and duellist was
well established in Parma. The blades were joined, and the fierce combat
had already been engaged in the darkness, when the torch of an accidental
passenger gashed full in the face of Alexander. Torelli, recognising thus
suddenly his antagonist, dropped his sword and implored forgiveness, for
the wily Italian was too keen not to perceive that even if the death of
neither combatant should be the result of the fray, his own position was,
in every event, a false one. Victory would ensure him the hatred, defeat
the contempt of his future sovereign. The unsatisfactory issue and
subsequent notoriety of this encounter put a termination to these
midnight joys of Alexander, and for a season he felt obliged to assume
more pacific habits, and to solace himself with the society of that
"phoenix of Portugal," who had so long sat brooding on his domestic
hearth.

At last the holy league was formed, the new and last crusade proclaimed,
his uncle and bosom friend appointed to the command of the united troops
of Rome, Spain, and Venice. He could no longer be restrained. Disdaining
the pleadings of his mother and of his spouse, he extorted permission
from Philip, and flew to the seat of war in the Levant. Don John received
him with open arms, just before the famous action of Lepanto, and gave
him an excellent position in the very front of the battle, with the
command of several Genoese galleys. Alexander's exploits on that eventful
day seemed those of a fabulous hero of romance. He laid his galley
alongside of the treasure-ship of the Turkish fleet, a vessel, on account
of its importance, doubly manned and armed. Impatient that the Crescent
was not lowered, after a few broadsides, he sprang on board the enemy
alone, waving an immense two-handed sword--his usual weapon--and mowing a
passage right and left through the hostile ranks for the warriors who
tardily followed the footsteps of their vehement chief. Mustapha Bey, the
treasurer and commander of the ship, fell before his sword, besides many
others, whom he hardly saw or counted. The galley was soon his own, as
well as another, which came to the rescue of the treasure-ship only to
share its defeat. The booty which Alexander's crew secured was
prodigious, individual soldiers obtaining two and three thousand ducats
each. Don John received his nephew after the battle with commendations,
not, however, unmingled with censure. The successful result alone had
justified such insane and desperate conduct, for had he been slain or
overcome, said the commander-in-chief, there would have been few to
applaud his temerity. Alexander gaily replied by assuring his uncle that
he had felt sustained by a more than mortal confidence, the prayers which
his saintly wife was incessantly offering in his behalf since he went to
the wars being a sufficient support and shield in even greater danger
than he had yet confronted.

This was Alexander's first campaign, nor was he permitted to reap any
more glory for a few succeeding years. At last, Philip was disposed to
send both his mother and himself to the Netherlands; removing Don John
from the rack where he had been enduring such slow torture. Granvelle's
intercession proved fruitless with the Duchess, but Alexander was all
eagerness to go where blows were passing current, and he gladly led the
reinforcements which were sent to Don John at the close of the year 1577.
He had reached Luxemburg, on the 18th of December of that year, in time,
as we have seen, to participate, and, in fact, to take the lead in the
signal victory of Gemblours. He had been struck with the fatal change
which disappointment and anxiety had wrought upon the beautiful and
haughty features of his illustrious kinsman. He had since closed his eyes
in the camp, and erected a marble tablet over his heart in the little
church. He now governed in his stead.

His personal appearance corresponded with his character. He had the head
of a gladiator, round; compact, combative, with something alert and
snake-like in its movements. The black, closely-shorn hair was erect and
bristling. The forehead was lofty and narrow. The features were,
handsome, the nose regularly aquiline, the eyes well opened, dark
piercing, but with something dangerous and sinister in their expression.
There was an habitual look askance; as of a man seeking to parry or
inflict a mortal blow--the look of a swordsman and professional fighter.
The lower part of the face was swallowed in a bushy beard; the mouth and
chin being quite invisible. He was of middle stature, well formed, and
graceful in person, princely in demeanor, sumptuous and stately in
apparel. His high ruff of point lace, his badge of the Golden Fleece, his
gold-inlaid Milan armor, marked him at once as one of high degree. On the
field of battle he possessed the rare gift of inspiring his soldiers with
his own impetuous and chivalrous courage. He ever led the way upon the
most dangerous and desperate ventures, and, like his uncle and his
imperial grandfather, well knew how to reward the devotion of his
readiest followers with a poniard, a feather, a riband, a jewel, taken
with his own hands from his own attire.

His military, abilities--now for the first time to be largely called into
employment--were unquestionably superior to those of Don John; whose name
had been surrounded with such splendor by the World-renowned battle of
Lepanto. Moreover, he possessed far greater power for governing men,
whether in camp or cabinet. Less attractive and fascinating, he was more
commanding than his kinsman. Decorous and self-poised, he was only
passionate before the enemy, but he rarely permitted a disrespectful look
or word to escape condign and deliberate chastisement. He was no schemer
or dreamer. He was no knight errant. He would not have crossed seas and
mountains to rescue a captive queen, nor have sought to place her crown
on his own head as a reward for his heroism. He had a single and
concentrated kind of character. He knew precisely the work which Philip
required, and felt himself to be precisely the workman that had so long
been wanted. Cool, incisive, fearless, artful, he united the unscrupulous
audacity of a condottiere with the wily patience of a Jesuit. He could
coil unperceived through unsuspected paths, could strike suddenly, sting
mortally. He came prepared, not only to smite the Netherlanders in the
open field, but to cope with them in tortuous policy; to outwatch and
outweary them in the game to which his impatient predecessor had fallen a
baked victim. He possessed the art and the patience--as time was to
prove--not only to undermine their most impregnable cities, but to delve
below the intrigues of their most accomplished politicians. To circumvent
at once both their negotiators and their men-at-arms was his appointed
task. Had it not been for the courage, the vigilance, and the superior
intellect of a single antagonist, the whole of the Netherlands would have
shared the fate which was reserved for the more southern portion. Had the
life of William of Orange been prolonged, perhaps the evil genius of the
Netherlands might have still been exorcised throughout the whole extent
of the country. As for religion, Alexander Farnese was, of course,
strictly Catholic, regarding all seceders from Romanism as mere heathen
dogs. Not that he practically troubled himself much with sacred
matters--for, during the life-time of his wife, he had cavalierly thrown
the whole burden of his personal salvation upon her saintly shoulders.
She had now flown to higher spheres, but Alexander was, perhaps, willing
to rely upon her continued intercessions in his behalf. The life of a
bravo in time of peace--the deliberate project in war to exterminate
whole cities full of innocent people, who had different notions on the
subject of image-worship and ecclesiastical ceremonies from those
entertained at Rome, did not seem to him at all incompatible with the
precepts of Jesus. Hanging, drowning, burning and butchering heretics
were the legitimate deductions of his theology. He was no casuist nor
pretender to holiness: but in those days every man was devout, and
Alexander looked with honest horror upon the impiety of the heretics,
whom he persecuted and massacred. He attended mass regularly--in the
winter mornings by torch-light--and would as soon have foregone his daily
tennis as his religious exercises. Romanism was the creed of his caste.
It was the religion of princes and gentlemen of high degree. As for
Lutheranism, Zwinglism, Calvinism, and similar systems, they were but the
fantastic rites of weavers, brewers, and the like--an ignoble herd whose
presumption in entitling themselves Christian, while rejecting the Pope;
called for their instant extermination. His personal habits were
extremely temperate. He was accustomed to say that he ate only to support
life; and he rarely finished a dinner without having risen three or four
times from table to attend to some public business which, in his opinion,
ought not to be deferred.

His previous connections in the Netherlands were of use to him, and he
knew how to turn them to immediate account. The great nobles, who had
been uniformly actuated by jealousy of the Prince of Orange, who had been
baffled in their intrigue with Matthias, whose half-blown designs upon
Anjou had already been nipped in the bud, were now peculiarly in a
position to listen to the wily tongue of Alexander Farnese. The
Montignys, the La Mottes, the Meluns, the Egmonts, the Aerschots, the
Havres, foiled and doubly foiled in all their small intrigues and their
base ambition, were ready to sacrifice their country to the man they
hated, and to the ancient religion which they thought that they loved.
The Malcontents ravaging the land of Hainault and threatening Ghent, the
"Paternoster Jacks" who were only waiting for a favorable opportunity and
a good bargain to make their peace with Spain, were the very instruments
which Parma most desired to use at this opening stage of his career. The
position of affairs was far more favorable for him than it had been for
Don John when he first succeeded to power. On the whole, there seemed a
bright prospect of success. It seemed quite possible that it would be in
Parma's power to reduce, at last, this chronic rebellion, and to
reestablish the absolute supremacy of Church and King. The pledges of the
Ghent treaty had been broken, while in the unions of Brussels which had
succeeded, the fatal religious cause had turned the instrument of peace
into a sword. The "religion-peace" which had been proclaimed at Antwerp
had hardly found favor anywhere. As the provinces, for an instant, had
seemingly got the better of their foe, they turned madly upon each other,
and the fires of religious discord, which had been extinguished by the
common exertions of a whole race trembling for the destruction of their
fatherland, were now re-lighted with a thousand brands plucked from the
sacred domestic hearth. Fathers and children, brothers and sisters,
husbands and wives, were beginning to wrangle, and were prepared to
persecute. Catholic and Protestant, during the momentary relief from
pressure, forgot their voluntary and most blessed Pacification, to renew
their internecine feuds. The banished Reformers, who had swarmed back in
droves at the tidings of peace and good-will to all men, found themselves
bitterly disappointed. They were exposed in the Walloon provinces to the
persecutions of the Malcontents, in the Frisian regions to the still
powerful coercion of the royal stadholders.

Persecution begat counter-persecution. The city of Ghent became the
centre of a system of insurrection, by which all the laws of God and man
were outraged under the pretence of establishing a larger liberty in
civil and religious matters. It was at Ghent that the opening scenes, in
Parma's administration took place. Of the high-born suitors for the
Netherland bride, two were still watching each other with jealous eyes.
Anjou was at Mons, which city he had secretly but unsuccessfully
attempted to master for, his, own purposes. John Casimir was at Ghent,
fomenting an insurrection which he had neither skill to guide, nor
intelligence to comprehend. There was a talk of making him Count of
Flanders,--and his paltry ambition was dazzled by the glittering prize.
Anjou, who meant to be Count of Flanders himself, as well as Duke or
Count of all the other Netherlands, was highly indignant at this report,
which he chose to consider true. He wrote to the estates to express his
indignation. He wrote to Ghent to offer his mediation between the
burghers and the Malcontents. Casimir wanted money for his troops. He
obtained a liberal supply, but he wanted more. Meantime, the mercenaries
were expatiating on their own account throughout the southern provinces;
eating up every green leaf, robbing and pillaging, where robbery and
pillage had gone so often that hardly anything was left for rapine. Thus
dealt the soldiers in the open country, while their master at Ghent was
plunging into the complicated intrigues spread over that unfortunate city
by the most mischievous demagogues that ever polluted a sacred cause.
Well had Cardinal Granvelle, his enemy, William of Hesse, his friend and
kinsman, understood the character of John Casimir. Robbery and pillage
were his achievements, to make chaos more confounded was his destiny.
Anjou--disgusted with the temporary favor accorded to a rival whom he
affected to despise--disbanded his troops in dudgeon, and prepared to
retire to France. Several thousand of these mercenaries took service
immediately with the Malcontents under Montigny, thus swelling the ranks
of the deadliest foes to that land over which Anjou had assumed the title
of protector. The states' army, meanwhile, had been rapidly dissolving.
There were hardly men enough left to make a demonstration in the field,
or properly to garrison the more important towns. The unhappy provinces,
torn by civil and religious dissensions, were overrun by hordes of unpaid
soldiers of all nations, creeds, and tongues-Spaniards, Italians,
Burgundians, Walloons, Germans, Scotch and English; some who came to
attack and others to protect, but who all achieved nothing and agreed in
nothing save to maltreat and to outrage the defenceless peasantry and
denizens of the smaller towns. The contemporary chronicles are full of
harrowing domestic tragedies, in which the actors are always the insolent
foreign soldiery and their desperate victims.

Ghent energetic, opulent, powerful, passionate, unruly Ghent--was now the
focus of discord, the centre from whence radiated not the light and
warmth of reasonable and intelligent liberty, but the bale-fires of
murderous licence and savage anarchy. The second city of the Netherlands,
one of the wealthiest and most powerful cities of Christendom, it had
been its fate so often to overstep the bounds of reason and moderation in
its devotion to freedom, so often to incur ignominious chastisement from
power which its own excesses had made more powerful, that its name was
already becoming a bye-word. It now, most fatally and for ever, was to
misunderstand its true position. The Prince of Orange, the great
architect of his country's fortunes, would have made it the keystone of
the arch which he was laboring to construct. Had he been allowed to
perfect his plan, the structure might have endured for ages, a perpetual
bulwark against, tyranny and wrong. The temporary and slender frame by
which the great artist had supported his arch while still unfinished, was
plucked away by rude and ribald hands; the keystone plunged into the
abyss, to be lost for ever, and the great work of Orange remained a
fragment from its commencement. The acts of demagogues, the conservative
disgust at licence, the jealousy of rival nobles, the venality of
military leaders, threw daily fresh stumbling-blocks in his heroic path.
It was not six months after the advent of Farnese to power, before that
bold and subtle chieftain had seized the double-edged sword of religious
dissension as firmly as he had grasped his celebrated brand when he
boarded the galley of Muatapha Bey, and the Netherlands were cut in
twain, to be re-united nevermore. The separate treaty of the Walloon
provinces was soon destined to separate the Celtic and Romanesque
elements from the Batavian and Frisian portion of a nationality, which;
thoroughly fused in all its parts, would have formed as admirable a
compound of fire and endurance as history has ever seen.

Meantime, the grass was growing and the cattle were grazing in the
streets of Ghent, where once the tramp of workmen going to and from their
labor was like the movement of a mighty army. The great majority of the
burghers were of the Reformed religion, and disposed to make effectual
resistance to the Malcontents, led by the disaffected nobles. The city,
considering itself the natural head of all the southern country, was
indignant that the Walloon provinces should dare to reassert that
supremacy of Romanism which had been so effectually suppressed, and to
admit the possibility of friendly relations with a sovereign who had been
virtually disowned. There were two parties, however, in Ghent. Both were
led by men of abandoned and dangerous character. Imbize, the worse of the
two demagogues, was inconstant, cruel, cowardly, and treacherous, but
possessed of eloquence and a talent for intrigue. Ryhove was a bolder
ruffian--wrathful, bitter, and unscrupulous. Imbize was at the time
opposed to Orange, disliking his moderation, and trembling at his
firmness. Ryhove considered himself the friend of the Prince. We have
seen that he had consulted him previously to his memorable attack upon
Aerschot, in the autumn of the preceding year, and we know the result of
that conference.

The Prince, with the slight dissimulation which belonged less to his
character than to his theory of politics, and which was perhaps not to be
avoided, in that age of intrigue, by any man who would govern his
fellow-men, whether for good or evil, had winked at a project which he
would not openly approve. He was not thoroughly acquainted, however, with
the desperate character of the man, for he would have scorned an
instrument so thoroughly base as Ryhove subsequently proved. The violence
of that personage on the occasion of the arrest of Aerschot and his
colleagues was mildness compared with the deed with which he now
disgraced the cause of freedom. He had been ordered out from Ghent to
oppose a force of Malcontents which was gathering in the neighbourhood of
Courtray; but he swore that he would not leave the gates so long as two
of the gentlemen whom he had arrested on the twenty-eighth of the
previous October, and who yet remained in captivity, were still alive.
These two prisoners were ex-procurator Visch and Blood-Councillor
Hessels. Hessels, it seemed, had avowed undying hostility to Ryhove for
the injury sustained at his hands, and he had sworn, "by his grey beard,"
that the ruffian should yet hang for the outrage. Ryhove, not feeling
very safe in the position of affairs which then existed, and knowing that
he could neither trust Imbize, who had formerly been his friend, nor the
imprisoned nobles, who had ever been his implacable enemies, was resolved
to make himself safe in one quarter at least, before he set forth against
the Malcontents. Accordingly, Hessels and Visch, as they sat together in
their prison, at chess, upon the 4th of October, 1578, were suddenly
summoned to leave the house, and to enter a carriage which stood at the
door. A force of armed men brought the order, and were sufficiently
strong to enforce it. The prisoners obeyed, and the coach soon rolled
slowly through the streets, left the Courtray gate, and proceeded a short
distance along the road towards that city.

After a few minutes a halt was made. Ryhove then made his appearance at
the carriage-window, and announced to the astonished prisoners that, they
were forthwith to be hanged upon a tree which stood by the road-side. He
proceeded to taunt the aged Hessels with his threat against himself, and
with his vow "by his grey beard." "Such grey beard shalt thou never live
thyself to wear, ruffian," cried Hessels, stoutly-furious rather than
terrified at the suddenness of his doom. "There thou liest, false
traitor!" roared Ryhove in reply; and to prove the falsehood, he
straightway tore out a handful of the old man's beard, and fastened it
upon his own cap like a plume. His action was imitated by several of his
companions, who cut for themselves locks from the same grey beard, and
decorated themselves as their leader had done. This preliminary ceremony
having been concluded, the two aged prisoners were forthwith hanged on a
tree, without-the least pretence of trial or even sentence.

Such was the end of the famous councillor who had been wont to shout "ad
patibulum" in his sleep. It was cruel that the fair face of civil liberty
showing itself after years of total eclipse, should be insulted by such
bloody deeds on the part of her votaries. It was sad that the crimes of
men like Imbize and Ryhove should have cost more to the cause of
religious and political freedom than the lives of twenty thousand such
ruffians were worth. But for the influence of demagogues like these,
counteracting the lofty efforts and pure life of Orange, the separation
might never have occurred between the two portions of the Netherlands.
The Prince had not power enough, however, nor the nascent commonwealth
sufficient consistency, to repress the disorganizing tendency of a
fanatical Romanism on the one side, and a retaliatory and cruel
ochlocracy on the other.

Such events, with the hatred growing daily more intense between the
Walloons and the Ghenters, made it highly important that some kind of an
accord should be concluded, if possible. In the country, the Malcontents,
under pretence of protecting the Catholic clergy, were daily abusing and
plundering the people, while in Ghent the clergy were maltreated, the
cloisters pillaged, under the pretence of maintaining liberty. In this
emergency the eyes of all honest men turned naturally to Orange.

Deputies went to and fro between Antwerp and Ghent, Three points were
laid down by the Prince as indispensable to any arrangement--firstly,
that the Catholic clergy should be allowed the free use of their
property; secondly, that they should not be disturbed in the exercise of
their religion; thirdly, that the gentlemen kept in prison since the
memorable twenty-eighth of October should be released. If these points
should be granted, the Archduke Matthias, the states-general, and the
Prince of Orange would agree to drive off the Walloon soldiery, and to
defend Ghent against all injury. The two first points were granted, upon
condition that sufficient guarantees should be established for the safety
of the Reformed religion. The third was rejected, but it was agreed that
the prisoners, Champagny, Sweveghem, and the rest--who, after the horrid
fate of Hessels and Visch, might be supposed to be sufficiently anxious
as to their own doom--should have legal trial, and be defended in the
meantime from outrage.

On the 3rd of November, 1578, a formal act of acceptance of these terms
was signed at Antwerp. At the same time, there was murmuring at Ghent,
the extravagant portion of the liberal party averring that they had no
intention of establishing the "religious peace" when they agreed not to
molest the Catholics. On the 11th of November, the Prince of Orange sent
messengers to Ghent in the name of the Archduke and the states-general,
summoning the authorities to a faithful execution of the act of
acceptance. Upon the same day the English envoy, Davidson, made an
energetic representation to the same magistrates, declaring that the
conduct of the Ghenters was exciting regret throughout the world, and
affording a proof that it was their object to protract, not suppress, the
civil war which had so long been raging. Such proceedings, he observed,
created doubts whether they were willing to obey any law or any
magistracy. As, however, it might be supposed that the presence of John
Casimir in Ghent at that juncture was authorized by Queen
Elizabeth--inasmuch as it was known that he had received a subsidy from
her--the envoy took occasion to declare that her Majesty entirely
disavowed his proceedings. He observed further that, in the opinion of
her Majesty, it was still possible to maintain peace by conforming to the
counsels of the Prince of Orange and of the states-general. This,
however, could be done only by establishing the three points which he had
laid down. Her Majesty likewise warned the Ghenters that their conduct
would soon compel her to abandon the country's cause altogether, and, in
conclusion, she requested, with characteristic thriftiness, to be
immediately furnished with a city bond for forty-five thousand pounds
sterling.

Two days afterwards, envoys arrived from Brussels to remonstrate, in
their turn, with the sister city, and to save her, if possible, from the
madness which had seized upon her. They recalled to the memory of the
magistrates the frequent and wise counsels of the Prince of Orange. He
had declared that he knew of no means to avert the impending desolation
of the fatherland save union of all the provinces and obedience to the
general government. His own reputation, and the honor of his house, he
felt now to be at stake; for, by reason of the offices which he now held,
he had been ceaselessly calumniated as the author of all the crimes which
had been committed at Ghent. Against these calumnies he had avowed his
intention of publishing his defence. After thus citing the opinion of the
Prince, the envoys implored the magistrates to accept the religious peace
which he had proposed, and to liberate the prisoners as he had demanded.
For their own part, they declared that the inhabitants of Brussels would
never desert him; for, next to God, there was no one who understood their
cause so entirely, or who could point out the remedy so intelligently.

Thus reasoned the envoys from the states-general and from Brussels, but
even while they were reasoning, a fresh tumult occurred at Ghent. The
people had been inflamed by demagogues, and by the insane howlings of
Peter Dathenus, the unfrocked monk of Poperingen, who had been the
servant and minister both of the Pope and of Orange, and who now hated
each with equal fervor. The populace, under these influences, rose in its
wrath upon the Catholics, smote all their images into fragments,
destroyed all their altar pictures, robbed them of much valuable
property, and turned all the Papists themselves out of the city. The riot
was so furious that it seemed, says a chronicler, as if all the
inhabitants had gone raving mad. The drums beat the alarm, the
magistrates went forth to expostulate, but no commands were heeded till
the work of destruction had been accomplished, when the tumult expired at
last by its own limitation.

Affairs seemed more threatening than ever. Nothing more excited the
indignation of the Prince of Orange than such senseless iconomachy. In
fact, he had at one time procured an enactment by the Ghent authorities,
making it a crime punishable with death. He was of Luther's opinion, that
idol-worship was to be eradicated from the heart, and that then the idols
in the churches would fall of themselves. He felt too with Landgrave
William, that "the destruction of such worthless idols was ever avenged
by torrents of good human blood." Therefore it may be well supposed that
this fresh act of senseless violence, in the very teeth of his
remonstrances, in the very presence of his envoys, met with his stern
disapprobation. He was on the point of publishing his defence against the
calumnies which his toleration had drawn upon him from both Catholic and
Calvinist. He was deeply revolving the question, whether it were not
better to turn his back at once upon a country which seemed so incapable
of comprehending his high purposes, or seconding his virtuous efforts.
From both projects he was dissuaded; and although bitterly wronged by
both friend and foe, although, feeling that even in his own Holland,
there were whispers against his purity, since his favorable inclinations
towards Anjou had become the general topic, yet he still preserved his
majestic tranquillity, and smiled at the arrows which fell harmless at
his feet. "I admire his wisdom, daily more and more," cried Hubert
Languet; "I see those who profess themselves his friends causing him more
annoyance than his foes; while, nevertheless, he ever remains true to
himself, is driven by no tempests from his equanimity, nor provoked by
repeated injuries to immoderate action."

The Prince had that year been chosen unanimously by the four "members" of
Flanders to be governor of that province, but had again declined the
office. The inhabitants, notwithstanding the furious transactions at
Ghent, professed attachment to his person, and respect for his authority.
He was implored to go to the city. His presence, and that alone, would
restore the burghers to their reason, but the task was not a grateful
one. It was also not unattended with danger; although this was a
consideration which never influenced him, from the commencement of his
career to its close. Imbize and his crew were capable of resorting to any
extremity or any ambush; to destroy the man whom they feared and hated.
The presence of John Casimir was an additional complication; for Orange,
while he despised the man, was unwilling to offend his friends. Moreover,
Casimir had professed a willingness to assist the cause, and to, defer to
the better judgment of the Prince: He had brought an army into the field,
with which, however, he had accomplished nothing except a thorough
pillaging of the peasantry, while, at the same time, he was loud in his
demands upon the states to pay his soldiers' wages. The soldiers of the
different armies who now overran the country, indeed, vied with each
other in extravagant insolence. "Their outrages are most execrable,"
wrote Marquis Havre; "they demand the most exquisite food, and drink
Champagne and Burgundy by the bucketfull." Nevertheless, on the 4th of
December, the Prince came to Ghent. He held constant and anxious
conferences with the magistrates. He was closeted daily with John
Casimir, whose vanity and extravagance of temper he managed with his
usual skill. He even dined with Imbue, and thus, by smoothing
difficulties and reconciling angry passions, he succeeded at last in
obtaining the consent of all to a religious peace, which was published on
the 27th of December, 1578. It contained the same provisions as those of
the project prepared and proposed during the previous summer throughout
the Netherlands. Exercise of both religions was established; mutual
insults and irritations--whether by word, book, picture, song, or
gesture--were prohibited, under severe penalties, while all persons were
sworn to protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life. The
Catholics, by virtue of this accord, re-entered into possession of their
churches and cloisters, but nothing could be obtained in favor of the
imprisoned gentlemen.

The Walloons and Malcontents were now summoned to lay down their arms;
but, as might be supposed, they expressed dissatisfaction with the
religious peace, proclaiming it hostile to the Ghent treaty and the
Brussels union. In short, nothing would satisfy them but total
suppression of the Reformed religion; as nothing would content Imbize and
his faction but the absolute extermination of Romanism. A strong man
might well seem powerless in the midst of such obstinate and worthless
fanatics.

The arrival of the Prince in Ghent was, on the whole, a relief to John
Casimir. As usual, this addle-brained individual had plunged headlong
into difficulties, out of which he was unable to extricate himself. He
knew not what to do, or which way to turn. He had tampered with Imbue and
his crew, but he had found that they were not the men for a person of his
quality to deal with. He had brought a large army into the field, and had
not a stiver in his coffers. He felt bitterly the truth of the
Landgrave's warning--"that 'twas better to have thirty thousand devils at
one's back than thirty thousand German troopers, with no money to give
them;" it being possible to pay the devils with the sign of the cross,
while the soldiers could be discharged only with money or hard knocks.
Queen Elizabeth, too, under whose patronage he had made this most
inglorious campaign, was incessant in her reproofs, and importunate in
her demands for reimbursement. She wrote to him personally, upbraiding
him with his high pretensions and his shortcomings. His visit to Ghent,
so entirely unjustified and mischievous; his failure to effect that
junction of his army with the states' force under Bossu, by which the
royal army was to have been surprised and annihilated; his having given
reason to the common people to suspect her Majesty and the Prince of
Orange of collusion with his designs, and of a disposition to seek their
private advantage and not the general good of the whole Netherlands; the
imminent danger, which he had aggravated, that the Walloon provinces,
actuated by such suspicions, would fall away from the "generality" and
seek a private accord with Parma; these and similar sins of omission and
commission were sharply and shrewishly set forth in the Queen's epistle.
'Twas not for such marauding and intriguing work that she had appointed
him her lieutenant, and furnished him with troops and subsidies. She
begged him forthwith to amend his ways, for the sake of his name and
fame, which were sufficiently soiled in the places where his soldiers had
been plundering the country which they came to protect.

The Queen sent Daniel Rogers with instructions of similar import to the
states-general, repeatedly and expressly disavowing Casimir's proceedings
and censuring his character. She also warmly insisted on her bonds. In
short, never was unlucky prince more soundly berated by his superiors,
more thoroughly disgraced by his followers. In this contemptible
situation had Casimir placed himself by his rash ambition to prove before
the world that German princes could bite and scratch like griffins and
tigers as well as carry them in their shields. From this position Orange
partly rescued him. He made his peace with the states-general. He
smoothed matters with the extravagant Reformers, and he even extorted
from the authorities of Ghent the forty-five thousand pounds bond, on
which Elizabeth had insisted with such obduracy. Casimir repaid these
favors of the Prince in the coin with which narrow minds and jealous
tempers are apt to discharge such obligations--ingratitude. The
friendship which he openly manifested at first grew almost immediately
cool. Soon afterwards he left Ghent and departed for Germany, leaving
behind him a long and tedious remonstrance, addressed to the
states-general, in which document he narrated the history of his
exploits, and endeavored to vindicate the purity of his character. He
concluded this very tedious and superfluous manifesto by observing
that--for reasons which he thought proper to give at considerable
length--he felt himself "neither too useful nor too agreeable to the
provinces." As he had been informed, he said, that the states-general had
requested the Queen of England to procure his departure, he had resolved,
in order to spare her and them inconvenience, to return of his own
accord, "leaving the issue of the war in the high and mighty hand of
God."

The estates answered this remonstrance with words of unlimited courtesy;
expressing themselves "obliged to all eternity" for his services, and
holding out vague hopes that the monies which he demanded on behalf of
his troops should ere long be forthcoming.

Casimir having already answered Queen Elizabeth's reproachful letter by
throwing the blame of his apparent misconduct upon the states-general,
and having promised soon to appear before her Majesty in person, tarried
accordingly but a brief season in Germany, and then repaired to England.
Here he was feasted, flattered, caressed, and invested with the order of
the Garter. Pleased with royal blandishments, and highly enjoying the
splendid hospitalities of England he quite forgot the "thirty thousand
devils" whom he had left running loose in the Netherlands, while these
wild soldiers, on their part, being absolutely in a starving
condition--for there was little left for booty in a land which had been
so often plundered--now had the effrontery to apply to the Prince of
Parma for payment of their wages. Alexander Farnese laughed heartily at
the proposition, which he considered an excellent jest. It seemed in
truth, a jest, although but a sorry one. Parma replied to the messenger
of Maurice of Saxony who had made the proposition, that the Germans must
be mad to ask him for money, instead of offering to pay him, a heavy sum
for permission to leave the country. Nevertheless, he was willing to be
so far indulgent as to furnish them with passports, provided they
departed from the Netherlands instantly. Should they interpose the least
delay, he would set upon them without further preface, and he gave them
notice, with the arrogance becoming a Spanish general; that the courier
was already waiting to report to Spain the number of them left alive
after the encounter. Thus deserted by their chief, and hectored by the
enemy, the mercenaries, who had little stomach for fight without wages,
accepted the passports proffered by Parma. They revenged themselves for
the harsh treatment which they had received from Casimir and from the
states-general, by singing, everywhere as they retreated, a doggerel
ballad--half Flemish, half German--in which their wrongs were expressed
with uncouth vigor.

Casimir received the news of the departure of his ragged soldiery on the
very day which witnessed his investment with the Garter by the fair hands
of Elizabeth herself.  A few days afterwards he left England, accompanied
by an escort of lords and gentlemen, especially appointed for that
purpose by the Queen. He landed in Flushing, where he was received with
distinguished hospitality, by order of the Prince of Orange, and on the
14th of February, 1579, he passed through Utrecht. Here he conversed
freely at his lodgings in the "German House" on the subject of his
vagabond troops, whose final adventures and departure seemed to afford
him considerable amusement; and he, moreover, diverted his company by
singing, after supper, a few verses of the ballad already mentioned.

   O, have you been in Brabant, fighting for the states?
   O, have you brought back anything except your broken pates?
   O, I have been in Brabant, myself and all my mates.
   We'll go no more to Brabant, unless our brains were addle,
   We're coming home on foot, we went there in the saddle;
   For there's neither gold nor glory got, in fighting for the states.

The Duke of Anjou, meantime, after disbanding his troops, had lingered
for a while near the frontier. Upon taking his final departure, he sent
his resident minister, Des Pruneaux, with a long communication to the
states-general, complaining that they had not published their contract
with himself, nor fulfilled its conditions. He excused, as well as he
could, the awkward fact that his disbanded troops had taken refuge with
the Walloons, and he affected to place his own departure upon the ground
of urgent political business in France, to arrange which his royal
brother had required his immediate attendance. He furthermore most
hypocritically expressed a desire for a speedy reconciliation of the
provinces with their sovereign, and a resolution that--although for their
sake he had made himself a foe to his Catholic Majesty--he would still
interpose no obstacle to so desirable a result.

To such shallow discourse the states answered with infinite urbanity, for
it was the determination of Orange not to make enemies, at that juncture,
of France and England in the same breath. They had foes enough already,
and it seemed obvious at that moment, to all persons most observant of
the course of affairs, that a matrimonial alliance was soon to unite the
two crowns. The probability of Anjou's marriage with Elizabeth was, in
truth, a leading motive with Orange for his close alliance with the Duke.
The political structure, according to which he had selected the French
Prince as protector of the Netherlands, was sagaciously planned; but
unfortunately its foundation was the shifting sandbank of female and
royal coquetry. Those who judge only by the result, will be quick to
censure a policy which might have had very different issue. They who
place themselves in the period anterior to Anjou's visit to England, will
admit that it was hardly human not to be deceived by the apolitical
aspects of that moment. The Queen, moreover, took pains to upbraid the
states-general, by letter, with their disrespect and ingratitude towards
the Duke of Anjou--behaviour with which he had been "justly scandalized."
For her own part, she assured them of her extreme displeasure at learning
that such a course of conduct had been held with a view to her especial
contentment--"as if the person of Monsieur, son of France, brother of the
King, were disagreeable to her, or as if she wished him ill;" whereas, on
the contrary, they would best satisfy her wishes by showing him all the
courtesy to which his high degree and his eminent services entitled him.

The estates, even before receiving this letter, had, however, acted in
its spirit. They had addressed elaborate apologies and unlimited
professions to the Duke. They thanked him heartily for his achievements,
expressed unbounded regret at his departure, with sincere hopes for his
speedy return, and promised "eternal remembrance" of his heroic virtues.
They assured him, moreover, that should the first of the following March
arrive without bringing with it an honorable peace with his Catholic
Majesty, they should then feel themselves compelled to declare that the
King had forfeited his right to the sovereignty of these provinces. In
this case they concluded that, as the inhabitants would be then absolved
from their allegiance to the Spanish monarch, it would then be in their
power to treat with his Highness of Anjou concerning the sovereignty,
according to the contract already existing.

These assurances were ample, but the states, knowing the vanity of the
man, offered other inducements, some of which seemed sufficiently
puerile. They promised that "his statue, in copper, should be placed in
the public squares of Antwerp and Brussels, for the eternal admiration of
posterity," and that a "crown of olive-leaves should be presented to him
every year." The Duke--not inexorable to such courteous
solicitations--was willing to achieve both immortality and power by
continuing his friendly relations with the states, and he answered
accordingly in the most courteous terms. The result of this interchange
of civilities it will be soon our duty to narrate.

At the close of the year the Count of Bossu died, much to the regret of
the Prince of Orange, whose party--since his release from prison by
virtue of the Ghent treaty--he had warmly espoused. "We are in the
deepest distress in the world," wrote the Prince to his brother, three
days before the Count's death, "for the dangerous malady of M. de Bossu.
Certainly, the country has much to lose in his death, but I hope that God
will not so much afflict us." Yet the calumniators of the day did not
scruple to circulate, nor the royalist chroniclers to perpetuate, the
most senseless and infamous fables on the subject of this nobleman's
death. He died of poison, they said, administered to him "in oysters," by
command of the Prince of Orange, who had likewise made a point of
standing over him on his death-bed, for the express purpose of sneering
at the Catholic ceremonies by which his dying agonies were solaced. Such
were the tales which grave historians have recorded concerning the death
of Maximilian of Bossu, who owed so much to the Prince. The command of
the states' army, a yearly pension of five thousand florins, granted at
the especial request of Orange but a few months before, and the profound
words of regret in the private letter jest cited, are a sufficient answer
to such slanders.

The personal courage and profound military science of Parma were
invaluable to the royal cause; but his subtle, unscrupulous, and
subterranean combinations of policy were even more fruitful at this
period. No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly or
practised it more skillfully. He bought a politician, or a general, or a
grandee, or a regiment of infantry, usually at the cheapest price at
which those articles could be purchased, and always with the utmost
delicacy with which such traffic could be conducted. Men conveyed
themselves to government for a definite price--fixed accurately in
florins and groats, in places and pensions--while a decent gossamer of
conventional phraseology was ever allowed to float over the nakedness of
unblushing treason. Men high in station, illustrious by ancestry,
brilliant in valor, huckstered themselves, and swindled a confiding
country for as ignoble motives as ever led counterfeiters or bravoes to
the gallows, but they were dealt with in public as if actuated only by
the loftiest principles. Behind their ancient shields, ostentatiously
emblazoned with fidelity to church and king, they thrust forth their
itching palms with the mendicity which would be hardly credible, were it
not attested by the monuments more perennial than brass, of their own
letters and recorded conversations.

Already, before the accession of Parma to power, the true way to dissever
the provinces had been indicated by the famous treason of the Seigneur de
la Motte. This nobleman commanded a regiment in the service of the
states-general, and was Governor of Gravelines. On promise of forgiveness
for all past disloyalty, of being continued in the same military posts
under Philip which he then held for the patriots, and of a "merced" large
enough to satisfy his most avaricious dreams, he went over to the royal
government. The negotiation was conducted by Alonzo Curiel, financial
agent of the King, and was not very nicely handled. The paymaster,
looking at the affair purely as a money transaction--which in truth it
was--had been disposed to drive rather too hard a bargain. He offered
only fifty thousand crowns for La Motte and his friend Baron Montigny,
and assured his government that those gentlemen, with the soldiers under
their command, were very dear at the price. La Motte higgled very hard
for more, and talked pathetically of his services and his wounds--for he
had been a most distinguished and courageous campaigner--but Alonzo was
implacable. Moreover, one Robert Bien-Aime, Prior of Renty, was present
at all the conferences. This ecclesiastic was a busy intriguer, but not
very adroit. He was disposed to make himself useful to government, for he
had set his heart upon putting the mitre of Saint Omer upon his head, and
he had accordingly composed a very ingenious libel upon the Prince of
Orange, in which production, "although the Prior did not pretend to be
Apelles or Lysippus," he hoped that the Governor-General would recognize
a portrait colored to the life. This accomplished artist was, however,
not so successful as he was picturesque and industrious. He was
inordinately vain of his services, thinking himself, said Alonzo,
splenetically, worthy to be carried in a procession like a little saint,
and as he had a busy brain, but an unruly tongue, it will be seen that he
possessed a remarkable faculty of making himself unpleasant. This was not
the way to earn his bishopric. La Motte, through the candid
communications of the Prior, found himself the subject of mockery in
Parma's camp and cabinet, where treachery to one's country and party was
not, it seemed, regarded as one of the loftier virtues, however
convenient it might be at the moment to the royal cause. The Prior
intimated especially that Ottavio Gonzaga had indulged in many sarcastic
remarks at La Motte's expense. The brave but venal warrior, highly
incensed at thus learning the manner in which his conduct was estimated
by men of such high rank in the royal service, was near breaking off the
bargain. He was eventually secured, however, by still larger offers--Don
John allowing him three hundred florins a month, presenting him with the
two best horses in his stable, and sending him an open form, which he was
to fill out in the most stringent language which he could devise, binding
the government to the payment of an ample and entirely satisfactory
"merced." Thus La Motte's bargain was completed a crime which, if it had
only entailed the loss of the troops under his command, and the
possession of Gravelines, would have been of no great historic
importance. It was, however, the first blow of a vast and carefully
sharpened treason, by which the country was soon to be cut in twain for
ever--the first in a series of bargains by which the noblest names of the
Netherlands were to be contaminated with bribery and fraud.

While the negotiations with La Notte were in progress, the government of
the states-general at Brussels had sent Saint Aldegonde to Arras. The
states of Artois, then assembled in that city, had made much difficulty
in acceding to an assessment of seven thousand florins laid upon them by
the central authority. The occasion was skillfully made use of by the
agents of the royal party to weaken the allegiance of the province, and
of its sister Walloon provinces, to the patriot cause. Saint Aldegonde
made his speech before the assembly, taking the ground boldly, that the
war was made for liberty of conscience and of fatherland, and that all
were bound, whether Catholic or Protestant, to contribute to the sacred
fund. The vote passed, but it was provided that a moiety of the
assessment should be paid by the ecclesiastical branch, and the
stipulation excited a tremendous uproar. The clerical bench regarded the
tax as both a robbery and an affront. "We came nearly to knife-playing,"
said the most distinguished priest in the assembly, "and if we had done
so, the ecclesiastics would not have been the first to cry enough." They
all withdrew in a rage, and held a private consultation upon "these
exorbitant and more than Turkish demands." John Sarrasin, Prior of Saint
Yaast, the keenest, boldest, and most indefatigable of the royal
partisans of that epoch, made them an artful harangue. This man--a better
politician than the other prior--was playing for a mitre too, and could
use his cards better. He was soon to become the most invaluable agent in
the great treason preparing. No one could, be more delicate, noiseless,
or unscrupulous, and he was soon recognized both by Governor-General and
King as the individual above all others to whom the re-establishment of
the royal authority over the Walloon provinces was owing. With the shoes
of swiftness on his feet, the coat of darkness on his back, and the
wishing purse in his hand, he sped silently and invisibly from one great
Malcontent chieftain to another, buying up centurions, and captains, and
common soldiers; circumventing Orangists, Ghent democrats, Anjou
partisans; weaving a thousand intrigues, ventilating a hundred hostile
mines, and passing unharmed through the most serious dangers and the most
formidable obstacles. Eloquent, too, at a pinch, he always understood his
audience, and upon this occasion unsheathed the most incisive, if not the
most brilliant weapon which could be used in the debate. It was most
expensive to be patriotic, he said, while silver was to be saved, and
gold to be earned by being loyal. They ought to keep their money to
defend themselves, not give it to the Prince of Orange, who would only
put it into his private pocket on pretence of public necessities. The
Ruward would soon be slinking back to his lair, he observed, and leave
them all in the fangs of their enemies. Meantime, it was better to rush
into the embrace of a bountiful king, who was still holding forth his
arms to them. They were approaching a precipice, said the Prior; they
were entering a labyrinth; and not only was the "sempiternal loss of body
and soul impending over them, but their property was to be taken also,
and the cat to be thrown against their legs." By this sudden descent into
a very common proverbial expression, Sarrasin meant to intimate that they
were getting themselves into a difficult position, in which they were
sure to reap both danger and responsibility.

The harangue had much effect upon his hearers, who were now more than
ever determined to rebel against the government which they had so
recently accepted, preferring, in the words of the Prior, "to be
maltreated by their prince, rather than to be barbarously tyrannized over
by a heretic." So much anger had been excited in celestial minds by a
demand of thirty-five hundred florins.

Saint Aldegonde was entertained in the evening at a great banquet,
followed by a theological controversy, in which John Sarrasin complained
that "he had been attacked upon his own dunghill." Next day the
distinguished patriot departed on a canvassing tour among the principal
cities; the indefatigable monk employing the interval of his absence in
aggravating the hostility of the Artesian orders to the pecuniary demands
of the general government. He was assisted in his task by a peremptory
order which came down from Brussels, ordering, in the name of Matthias, a
levy upon the ecclesiastical property, "rings, jewels, and reliquaries,"
unless the clerical contribution should be forthcoming. The rage of the
bench was now intense, and by the time of Saint Aldegonde's return a
general opposition had been organized. The envoy met with a chilling
reception; there were no banquets anymore--no discussions of any kind. To
his demands for money, "he got a fine nihil," said Saint Vaast; and as
for polemics, the only conclusive argument for the country would be, as
he was informed on the same authority, the "finishing of Orange and of
his minister along with him." More than once had the Prior intimated to
government--as so many had done before him--that to "despatch Orange,
author of all the troubles," was the best preliminary to any political
arrangement. From Philip and his Governor-General, down to the humblest
partisan, this conviction had been daily strengthening. The knife or
bullet of an assassin was the one thing needful to put an end to this
incarnated rebellion.

Thus matters grew worse and worse in Artois. The Prior, busier than ever
in his schemes, was one day arrested along with other royal emissaries,
kept fifteen days "in a stinking cellar, where the scullion washed the
dishes," and then sent to Antwerp to be examined by the states-general.
He behaved with great firmness, although he had good reason to tremble
for his neck. Interrogated by Leoninus on the part of the central
government, he boldly avowed that these pecuniary demands upon the
Walloon estates, and particularly upon their ecclesiastical branches,
would never be tolerated. "In Alva's time," said Sarrasin, "men were
flayed, but not shorn." Those who were more attached to their skin than
their fleece might have thought the practice in the good old times of the
Duke still more objectionable. Such was not the opinion of the Prior and
the rest of his order. After an unsatisfactory examination and a brief
duresse, the busy ecclesiastic was released; and as his secret labors had
not been detected, he resumed them after his return more ardently than
ever.

A triangular intrigue was now fairly established in the Walloon country.
The Duke of Alencon's head-quarters were at Mons; the rallying-point of
the royalist faction was with La Motte at Gravelines; while the
ostensible leader of the states' party, Viscount Ghent, was governor of
Artois, and supposed to be supreme in Arras. La Motte was provided by
government with a large fund of secret-service money, and was instructed
to be very liberal in his bribes to men of distinction; having a tender
regard, however, to the excessive demands of this nature now daily made
upon the royal purse. The "little Count," as the Prior called Lalain,
together with his brother, Baron Montigny, were considered highly
desirable acquisitions for government, if they could be gained. It was
thought, however, that they had the "fleur-de-lys imprinted too deeply
upon their hearts," for the effect produced upon Lalain, governor of
Hainault, by Margaret of Valois, had not yet been effaced. His brother
also had been disposed to favor the French prince, but his mind was more
open to conviction. A few private conferences with La Motte, and a course
of ecclesiastical tuition from the Prior--whose golden opinions had
irresistible resonance--soon wrought a change in the Malcontent
chieftain's mind. Other leading seigniors were secretly dealt with in the
same manner. Lalain, Heze, Havre, Capres, Egmont, and even the Viscount
of Ghent, all seriously inclined their ears to the charmer, and looked
longingly and lovingly as the wily Prior rolled in his tangles before
them--"to mischief swift." Few had yet declared themselves; but of the
grandees who commanded large bodies of troops, and whose influence with
their order was paramount, none were safe for the patriot cause
throughout the Walloon country.

The nobles and ecclesiastics were ready to join hands in support of
church and king, but in the city of Arras, the capital of the whole
country, there was a strong Orange and liberal party. Gosson, a man of
great wealth, one of the most distinguished advocates in the Netherlands,
and possessing the gift of popular eloquence to a remarkable degree, was
the leader of this burgess faction. In the earlier days of Parma's
administration, just as a thorough union of the Walloon provinces in
favor of the royal government had nearly been formed, these Orangists of
Arras risked a daring stroke. Inflamed by the harangues of Gosson, and
supported by five hundred foot soldiers and fifty troopers under one
Captain Ambrose, they rose against the city magistracy, whose sentiments
were unequivocally for Parma, and thrust them all into prison. They then
constituted a new board of fifteen, some Catholics and some Protestants,
but all patriots, of whom Gosson was chief. The stroke took the town by
surprise; and was for a moment successful. Meantime, they depended upon
assistance from Brussels. The royal and ecclesiastical party was,
however, not so easily defeated, and an old soldier, named Bourgeois,
loudly denounced Captain Ambrose, the general of the revolutionary
movement, as a vile coward, and affirmed that with thirty good
men-at-arms he would undertake to pound the whole rebel army to powder--
"a pack of scarecrows," he said, "who were not worth as many owls for
military purposes."

Three days after the imprisonment of the magistracy, a strong Catholic
rally was made in their behalf in the Fishmarket, the ubiquitous Prior of
Saint Vaast flitting about among the Malcontents, blithe and busy as
usual when storms were brewing. Matthew Doucet, of the revolutionary
faction--a man both martial and pacific in his pursuits, being eminent
both as a gingerbread baker and a swordplayer--swore he would have the
little monk's life if he had to take him from the very horns of the
altar; but the Prior had braved sharper threats than these. Moreover, the
grand altar would have been the last place to look fox him on that
occasion. While Gosson was making a tremendous speech in favor of
conscience and fatherland at the Hotel de Ville, practical John Sarrasin,
purse in hand, had challenged the rebel general, Ambrose to private
combat. In half an hour, that warrior was routed, and fled from the field
at the head of his scarecrows, for there was no resisting the power
before which the Montignys and the La Mottes had succumbed. Eloquent
Gosson was left to his fate. Having the Catholic magistracy in durance,
and with nobody to guard them, he felt, as was well observed by an
ill-natured contemporary, like a man holding a wolf by the ears, equally
afraid to let go or to retain his grasp.

His dilemma was soon terminated. While he was deliberating with his
colleagues--Mordacq, an old campaigner, Crugeot, Bertoul, and
others--whether to stand or, fly, the drums and trumpets of the advancing
royalists were heard. In another instant the Hotel de Ville was swarming
with men-at-arms, headed by Bourgeois, the veteran who had expressed so
alighting an opinion as to the prowess of Captain Ambrose. The tables
were turned, the miniature revolution was at an end, the
counter-revolution effected. Gosson and his confederates escaped out of a
back door, but were soon afterwards arrested. Next morning, Baron Capres,
the great Malcontent seignior, who was stationed with his regiment in the
neighbourhood, and who had long been secretly coquetting with the Prior
and Parma, marched into the city at the head of a strong detachment, and
straightway proceeded to erect a very tall gibbet in front of the Hotel
de Ville. This looked practical in the eyes of the liberated and
reinstated magistrates, and Gosson, Crugeot, and the rest were summoned
at once before them. The advocate thought, perhaps, with a sigh, that his
judges, so recently his prisoners, might have been the fruit for another
gallowstree, had he planted it when the ground was his own; but taking
heart of grace, he encouraged his colleagues--now his fellow-culprits.
Crugeot, undismayed, made his appearance before the tribunal, arrayed in
a corslet of proof, with a golden hilted sword, a scarf embroidered with
pearls and gold, and a hat bravely plumaged with white, blue, and, orange
feathers--the colors of William the Silent--of all which finery he was
stripped, however, as soon as he entered the court.

The process was rapid. A summons from Brussels was expected every hour
from the general government, ordering the cases to be brought before the
federal tribunal; and as the Walloon provinces were not yet ready for
open revolt, the order would be an inconvenient one. Hence the necessity
for haste. The superior court of Artois, to which an appeal from the
magistrates lay, immediately held a session in another chamber of the
Hotel de Ville while the lower court was trying the prisoners, and
Bertoul, Crugeot, Mordacq, with several others, were condemned in a few
hours to the gibbet. They were invited to appeal, if they chose, to the
council of Artois, but hearing that the court was sitting next door, so
that there was no chance of a rescue in the streets, they declared
themselves satisfied with the sentence. Gosson had not been tried, his
case being reserved for the morrow.

Meantime, the short autumnal day had drawn to a close. A wild, stormy,
rainy night then set in, but still the royalist party--citizens and
soldiers intermingled--all armed to the teeth, and uttering fierce cries,
while the whole scene was fitfully illuminated with the glare of
flambeaux and blazing tar-barrels, kept watch in the open square around
the city hall. A series of terrible Rembrandt-like nightpieces
succeeded--grim, fantastic, and gory. Bertoul, an old man, who for years
had so surely felt himself predestined to his present doom that he had
kept a gibbet in his own house to accustom himself to the sight of the
machine, was led forth the first, and hanged at ten in the evening. He
was a good man, of perfectly blameless life, a sincere Catholic, but a
warm partisan of Orange.

Valentine de Mordacq, an old soldier, came from the Hotel de Ville to the
gallows at midnight. As he stood on the ladder, amid the flaming torches,
he broke forth into furious execrations, wagging his long white beard to
and fro, making hideous grimaces, and cursing the hard fate which, after
many dangers on the battle-field and in beleaguered cities, had left him
to such a death. The cord strangled his curses. Crugeot was executed at
three in the morning, having obtained a few hours' respite in order to
make his preparations, which he accordingly occupied himself in doing as
tranquilly as if he had been setting forth upon an agreeable journey. He
looked like a phantom, according to eye-witnesses, as he stood under the
gibbet, making a most pious and, Catholic address to the crowd.

The whole of the following day was devoted to the trial of Gosson. He was
condemned at nightfall, and heard by appeal before the superior court
directly afterwards. At midnight, of the 25th of October, 1578, he was
condemned to lose his head, the execution to take place without delay.
The city guards and the infantry under Capres still bivouacked upon the
square; the howling storm still continued, but the glare of fagots and
torches made the place as light as day. The ancient advocate, with
haggard eyes and features distorted by wrath, walking between the sheriff
and a Franciscan monk, advanced through the long lane of halberdiers, in
the grand hall of the Town House, and thence emerged upon the scaffold
erected before the door. He shook his fists with rage at the released
magistrates, so lately his prisoners, exclaiming that to his misplaced
mercy it was owing that his head, instead of their own, was to be placed
upon the block. He bitterly reproached the citizens for their cowardice
in shrinking from dealing a blow for their fatherland, and in behalf of
one who had so faithfully served them. The clerk of the court then read
the sentence amid a silence so profound that every syllable he uttered,
and, every sigh and ejaculation of the victim were distinctly heard in
the most remote corner of the square. Gosson then, exclaiming that he was
murdered without cause, knelt upon the scaffold. His head fell while an
angry imprecation was still upon his lips.

Several other persons of lesser note were hanged daring the week-among
others, Matthew Doucet, the truculent man of gingerbread, whose rage had
been so judiciously but so unsuccessfully directed against the Prior of
Saint Vaast. Captain Ambrose, too, did not live long to enjoy the price
of his treachery. He was arrested very soon afterwards by the states'
government in Antwerp, put to the torture, hanged and quartered. In
troublous times like those, when honest men found it difficult to keep
their heads upon their shoulders, rogues were apt to meet their deserts,
unless they had the advantage of lofty lineage and elevated position.

     "Ille crucem sceleris pretium tulit, hic diadema."

This municipal revolution and counter-revolution, obscure though they
seem, were in reality of very grave importance. This was the last blow
struck for freedom in the Walloon country. The failure of the movement
made that scission of the Netherlands certain, which has endured till our
days, for the influence of the ecclesiastics in the states of Artois and
Hainault, together with the military power of the Malcontent grandees,
whom Parma and John Sarrasin had purchased, could no longer be resisted.
The liberty of the Celtic provinces was sold, and a few high-born
traitors received the price. Before the end of the year (1578) Montigny
had signified to the Duke of Alencon that a prince who avowed himself too
poor to pay for soldiers was no master for him. The Baron, therefore,
came, to an understanding with La Motte and Sarrasin, acting for
Alexander Farnese, and received the command of the infantry in the
Walloon provinces, a merced of four thousand crowns a year, together with
as large a slice of La Motte's hundred thousand florins for himself and
soldiers, as that officer could be induced to part with.

Baron Capres, whom Sarrasin--being especially enjoined to purchase
him--had, in his own language, "sweated blood and water" to secure, at
last agreed to reconcile himself with the King's party upon condition of
receiving the government-general of Artois, together with the particular
government of Hesdin--very lucrative offices, which the Viscount of Ghent
then held by commission of the states-general. That politic personage,
however, whose disinclination to desert the liberty party which had
clothed him with such high functions, was apparently so marked that the
Prior had caused an ambush to be laid both for him and the Marquis Havre,
in-order to obtain bodily possession of two such powerful enemies, now,
at the last moment, displayed his true colors. He consented to reconcile
himself also, on condition of receiving the royal appointment to the same
government which he then held from the patriot authorities, together with
the title of Marquis de Richebourg, the command of all the cavalry in the
royalist provinces, and certain rewards in money besides. By holding
himself at a high mark, and keeping at a distance, he had obtained his
price. Capres, for whom Philip, at Parma's suggestion, had sent the
commission as governor of Artois and of Hesdin, was obliged to renounce
those offices, notwithstanding his earlier "reconciliation," and the
"blood and water" of John Sarrasin. Ghent was not even contented with
these guerdons, but insisted upon the command of all the cavalry,
including the band of ordnance which, with handsome salary, had been
assigned to Lalain as a part of the wages for his treason, while the
"little Count"--fiery as his small and belligerent cousin whose exploits
have been recorded in the earlier pages of this history--boldly taxed
Parma and the King with cheating him out of his promised reward, in order
to please a noble whose services had been less valuable than those of the
Lalain family. Having thus obtained the lion's share, due, as he thought,
to his well known courage and military talents, as well as to the
powerful family influence, which he wielded--his brother, the Prince of
Espinoy, hereditary seneschal of Hainault, having likewise rallied to the
King's party--Ghent jocosely intimated to Parma his intention of helping
himself to the two best horses in the Prince's stables in exchange for
those lost at Gemblours, in which disastrous action he had commanded the
cavalry for the states. He also sent two terriers to Farnese, hoping that
they would "prove more useful than beautiful." The Prince might have
thought, perhaps, as much of the Viscount's treason.

John Sarrasin, the all-accomplished Prior, as the reward of his
exertions, received from Philip the abbey of Saint Vaast, the richest and
most powerful ecclesiastical establishment in the Netherlands. At a
subsequent period his grateful Sovereign created him Archbishop of
Cambray.

Thus the "troubles of Arras"--as they were called--terminated. Gosson the
respected, wealthy, eloquent, and virtuous advocate; together with his
colleagues--all Catholics, but at the same time patriots and
liberals--died the death of felons for their unfortunate attempt to save
their fatherland from an ecclesiastical and venal conspiracy; while the
actors in the plot, having all performed well their parts, received their
full meed of prizes and applause.

The private treaty by which the Walloon provinces of Artois, Hainault,
Lille, Douay, and Orchies, united themselves in a separate league was
signed upon the 6th of January, 1579; but the final arrangements for the
reconciliation of the Malcontent nobles and their soldiers were not
completed until April 6th, upon which day a secret paper was signed at
Mount Saint Eloi.

The secret current of the intrigue had not, however, flowed on with
perfect smoothness until this placid termination. On the contrary, here
had been much bickering, heart-burning, and mutual suspicions and
recriminations. There had been violent wranglings among the claimants of
the royal rewards. Lalain and Capres were not the only Malcontents who
had cause to complain of being cheated of the promised largess. Montigny,
in whose favor Parma had distinctly commanded La Motte to be liberal of
the King's secret-service money, furiously charged the Governor of
Gravelines with having received a large supply of gold from Spain, and of
"locking the rascal counters from his friends," so that Parma was obliged
to quiet the Baron, and many other barons in the same predicament, out of
his own purse. All complained bitterly, too, that the King, whose
promises had been so profuse to the nobles while the reconciliation was
pending, turned a deaf ear to their petitions and left their letters
unanswered; after the deed was accomplished.

The unlucky Prior of Renty, whose disclosures to La Motte concerning the
Spanish sarcasms upon his venality, had so nearly caused the preliminary
negotiation with that seignior to fail, was the cause of still further
mischief through the interception of Alonzo Curiel's private letters.
Such revelations of corruption, and of contempt on the part of the
corrupters, were eagerly turned to account by the states' government. A
special messenger was despatched to Montigny with the intercepted
correspondence, accompanied by an earnest prayer that he would not
contaminate his sword and his noble name by subserviency to men who
despised even while they purchased traitors. That noble, both confounded
and exasperated, was for a moment inclined to listen to the voice of
honor and patriotism, but reflection and solitude induced him to pocket
up his wrongs and his "merced" together. The states-general also sent the
correspondence to the Walloon provincial authorities, with an eloquent
address, begging them to study well the pitiful part which La Motte had
enacted in the private comedy then performing, and to behold as in a
mirror their own position, if they did not recede ere it was too late.

The only important effect produced by the discovery was upon the Prior of
Renty himself. Ottavio Gonzaga, the intimate friend of Don John, and now
high in the confidence of Parma, wrote to La Motte, indignantly denying
the truth of Bien Aime's tattle, and affirming that not a word had ever
been uttered by himself or by any gentleman in his presence to the
disparagement of the Governor of Gravelines. He added that if the Prior
had worn another coat, and were of quality equal to his own, he would
have made him eat his words or a few inches of steel. In the same
vehement terms he addressed a letter to Bien Aime himself. Very soon
afterwards, notwithstanding his coat and his quality, that unfortunate
ecclesiastic found himself beset one dark night by two soldiers, who left
him, severely wounded and bleeding nearly to death upon the high road,
but escaping with life, he wrote to Parma, recounting his wrongs and the
"sword-thrust in his left thigh," and made a demand for a merced.

The Prior recovered from this difficulty only to fall into another, by
publishing what he called an apologue, in which he charged that the
reconciled nobles were equally false to the royal and to the rebel
government, and that, although "the fatted calf had been killed for them,
after they had so long been feeding with perverse heretical pigs," they
were, in truth, as mutinous as ever, being bent upon establishing an
oligarchy in the Netherlands, and dividing the territory among
themselves, to the exclusion of the sovereign. This naturally excited the
wrath of the Viscount and others. The Seigneur d'Auberlieu, in a letter
written in what the writer himself called the "gross style of a
gendarme," charged the Prior with maligning honorable lords and--in the
favorite colloquial phrase of the day--with attempting "to throw the cat
against their legs." The real crime of the meddling priest, however, was
to have let that troublesome animal out of the bag. He was accordingly
waylaid again, and thrown into prison by Count Lalain. While in durance
he published an abject apology for his apologue, explaining that his
allusions to "returned prodigals," "heretic swine," and to "Sodom and
Gomorrah," had been entirely misconstrued. He was, however, retained in
custody until Parma ordered his release on the ground that the punishment
had been already sufficient for the offence. He then requested to be
appointed Bishop of Saint Omer, that see being vacant. Parma advised the
King by no means to grant the request--the Prior being neither endowed
with the proper age nor discretion for such a dignity--but to bestow some
lesser reward, in money or otherwise, upon the discomfited ecclesiastic,
who had rendered so many services and incurred so many dangers.

The states-general and the whole national party regarded, with prophetic
dismay, the approaching dismemberment of their common country. They sent
deputation on deputation to the Walloon states, to warn them of their
danger, and to avert, if possible, the fatal measure. Meantime, as by the
already accomplished movement, the "generality" was fast disappearing,
and was indeed but the shadow of its former self, it seemed necessary to
make a vigorous effort to restore something like unity to the struggling
country. The Ghent Pacification had been their outer wall, ample enough
and strong enough to enclose and to protect all the provinces. Treachery
and religious fanaticism had undermined the bulwark almost as soon as
reared. The whole beleaguered country was in danger of becoming utterly
exposed to a foe who grew daily more threatening. As in besieged cities,
a sudden breastwork is thrown up internally, when the outward defences
are crumbling--so the energy of Orange had been silently preparing the
Union of Utrecht, as a temporary defence until the foe should be beaten
back, and there should be time to decide on their future course of
action.

During the whole month of December, an active correspondence had been
carried on by the Prince and his brother John with various agents in
Gelderland, Friesland, and Groningen, as well as with influential
personages in the more central provinces and cities. Gelderland, the
natural bulwark to Holland and Zealand, commanding the four great rivers
of the country, had been fortunately placed under the government of the
trusty John of Nassau, that province being warmly in favor of a closer
union with its sister provinces, and particularly with those more nearly
allied to itself in religion and in language.

Already, in December (1578), Count John, in behalf of his brother, had
laid before the states of Holland and Zealand, assembled at Gorcum, the
project of a new union with "Gelderland, Ghent, Friesland, Utrecht,
Overyssel, and Groningen." The proposition had been favorably
entertained, and commissioners had been appointed to confer with other
commissioners at Utrecht, whenever they should be summoned by Count John.
The Prince, with the silence and caution which belonged to his whole
policy, chose not to be the ostensible mover in the plan himself. He did
not choose to startle unnecessarily the Archduke Matthias--the cipher who
had been placed by his side, whose sudden subtraction would occasion more
loss than his presence had conferred benefit. He did not choose to be
cried out upon as infringing the Ghent Pacification, although the whole
world knew that treaty to be hopelessly annulled. For these and many
other weighty motives, he proposed that the new Union should be the
apparent work of other hands, and only offered to him and to the country,
when nearly completed. January, the deputies of Gelderland and Zutfelt,
with Count John, stadholder of these provinces, at their head, met with
the deputies of Holland, Zealand, and the provinces between the Ems and
the Lauwers, early in January, 1579, and on the 23rd of that month,
without waiting longer for the deputies of the other provinces, they
agreed provisionally upon a treaty of union which was published
afterwards on the 29th, from the Town House of Utrecht.

This memorable document--which is ever regarded as the foundation of the
Netherland Republic--contained twenty-six articles.

The preamble stated the object of the union. It was to strengthen, not to
forsake the Ghent Pacification, already nearly annihilated by the force
of foreign soldiery. For this purpose, and in order more conveniently to
defend themselves against their foes, the deputies of Gelderland, Zutfen,
Holland, Zealand, Utrecht, and the Frisian provinces, thought it
desirable to form a still closer union. The contracting provinces agreed
to remain eternally united, as if they were but one province. At the same
time, it was understood that each was to retain its particular
privileges, liberties, laudable and traditionary customs, and other laws.
The cities, corporations, and inhabitants of every province were to be
guaranteed as to their ancient constitutions. Disputes concerning these
various statutes and customs were to be decided by the usual tribunals,
by "good men," or by amicable compromise. The provinces, by virtue of the
Union, were to defend each other "with life, goods, and blood," against
all force brought against them in the King's name or behalf. They were
also to defend each other against all foreign or domestic potentates,
provinces, or cities, provided such defence were controlled by the
"generality" of the union. For the expense occasioned by the protection
of the provinces, certain imposts and excises were to be equally assessed
and collected. No truce or peace was to be concluded, no war commenced,
no impost established affecting the "generality," but by unanimous advice
and consent of the provinces. Upon other matters the majority was to
decide; the votes being taken in the manner then customary in the
assembly of states-general. In case of difficulty in coming to a
unanimous vote when required, the matter was to be referred to the
stadholders then in office. In case cf their inability to agree, they
were to appoint arbitrators, by whose decision the parties were to be
governed. None of the united provinces, or of their cities or
corporations, were to make treaties with other potentates or states,
without consent of their confederates. If neighbouring princes,
provinces, or cities, wished to enter into this confederacy, they were to
be received by the unanimous consent of the united provinces. A common
currency was to be established for the confederacy. In the matter of
divine worship, Holland and Zealand were to conduct themselves as they
should think proper. The other provinces of the union, however, were
either to conform to the religious peace already laid down by Archduke
Matthias and his council, or to make such other arrangements as each
province should for itself consider appropriate for the maintenance of
its internal tranquillity--provided always that every individual should
remain free in his religion, and that no man should be molested or
questioned on the subject of divine worship, as had been already
established by the Ghent Pacification. As a certain dispute arose
concerning the meaning of this important clause, an additional paragraph
was inserted a few days afterwards. In this it was stated that there was
no intention of excluding from the confederacy any province or city which
was wholly Catholic, or in which the number of the Reformed was not
sufficiently large to entitle them, by the religious peace, to public
worship. On the contrary, the intention was to admit them, provided they
obeyed the articles of union, and conducted themselves as good patriots;
it being intended that no province or city should interfere with another
in the matter of divine service. Disputes between two provinces were to
be decided by the others, or--in case the generality were concerned--by
the provisions of the ninth article.

The confederates were to assemble at Utrecht whenever summoned by those
commissioned for that purpose. A majority of votes was to decide on
matters then brought before them, even in case of the absence of some
members of the confederacy, who might, however, send written proxies.
Additions or amendments to these articles could only be made by unanimous
consent. The articles were to be signed by the stadholders, magistrates,
and principal officers of each province and city, and by all the
train-bands, fraternities, and sodalities which might exist in the cities
or villages of the union.

Such were the simple provisions of that instrument which became the
foundation of the powerful Commonwealth of the United Netherlands. On the
day when it was concluded, there were present deputies from five
provinces only. Count John of Nassau signed first, as stadholder of
Gelderland and Zutfen. His signature was followed by those of four
deputies from that double province; and the envoys of Holland, Zealand,
Utrecht and the Frisian provinces, then signed the document.

The Prince himself, although in reality the principal director of the
movement, delayed appending his signature until May the 3rd, 1579. Herein
he was actuated by the reasons already stated, and by the hope which he
still entertained that a wider union might be established, with Matthias
for its nominal chief. His enemies, as usual, attributed this patriotic
delay to baser motives. They accused him of a desire to assume the
governor-generalship himself, to the exclusion of the Archduke--an
insinuation which the states of Holland took occasion formally to
denounce as a calumny. For those who have studied the character and
history of the man, a defence against such slander is superfluous.
Matthias was but the shadow, Orange the substance. The Archduke had been
accepted only to obviate the evil effects of a political intrigue, and
with the express condition that the Prince should be his
lieutenant-general in name, his master in fact. Directly after his
departure in the following year, the Prince's authority, which nominally
departed also, was re-established in his own person, and by express act
of the states-general.

The Union of Utrecht was the foundation-stone of the Netherland Republic;
but the framers of the confederacy did not intend the establishment of a
Republic, or of an independent commonwealth of any kind. They had not
forsworn the Spanish monarch. It was not yet their intention to forswear
him. Certainly the act of union contained no allusion to such an
important step. On the contrary, in the brief preamble they expressly
stated their intention to strengthen the Ghent Pacification, and the
Ghent Pacification acknowledged obedience to the King. They intended no
political innovation of any kind. They expressly accepted matters as they
were. All statutes, charters, and privileges of provinces, cities, or
corporations were to remain untouched. They intended to form neither an
independent state nor an independent federal system. No doubt the formal
renunciation of allegiance, which was to follow within two years, was
contemplated by many as a future probability; but it could not be
foreseen with certainty.

The simple act of union was not regarded as the constitution of a
commonwealth. Its object was a single one--defence against a foreign
oppressor. The contracting parties bound themselves together to spend all
their treasure and all their blood in expelling the foreign soldiery from
their soil. To accomplish this purpose, they carefully abstained from
intermeddling with internal politics and with religion. Every man was to
worship God according to the dictates of his conscience. Every
combination of citizens, from the provincial states down to the humblest
rhetoric club, was to retain its ancient constitution. The establishment
of a Republic, which lasted two centuries, which threw a girdle of rich
dependencies entirely round the globe, and which attained so remarkable a
height of commercial prosperity and political influence, was the result
of the Utrecht Union; but, it was not a premeditated result. A state,
single towards the rest of the world, a unit in its external relations,
while permitting internally a variety of sovereignties and
institutions--in many respects the prototype of our own much more
extensive and powerful union--was destined to spring from the act thus
signed by the envoys of five provinces. Those envoys were acting,
however, under the pressure of extreme necessity, and for what was
believed an evanescent purpose. The future confederacy was not to
resemble the system of the German empire, for it was to acknowledge no
single head. It was to differ from the Achaian league, in the far
inferior amount of power which it permitted to its general assembly, and
in the consequently greater proportion of sovereign attributes which were
retained by the individual states. It was, on the other hand, to furnish
a closer and more intimate bond than that of the Swiss confederacy, which
was only a union for defence and external purposes, of cantons otherwise
independent. It was, finally, to differ from the American federal
commonwealth in the great feature that it was to be merely a confederacy
of sovereignties, not a representative Republic. Its foundation was a
compact, not a constitution. The contracting parties were states and
corporations, who considered themselves as representing small
nationalities 'dejure et de facto', and as succeeding to the supreme
power at the very instant in which allegiance to the Spanish monarch was
renounced. The general assembly was a collection of diplomatic envoys,
bound by instructions from independent states. The voting was not by
heads, but by states. The deputies were not representatives of the
people, but of the states; for the people of the United States of the
Netherlands never assembled--as did the people of the United States of
America two centuries later--to lay down a constitution, by which they
granted a generous amount of power to the union, while they reserved
enough of sovereign attributes to secure that local self-government which
is the life-blood of liberty.

The Union of Utrecht; narrowed as it was to the nether portion of that
country which, as a whole, might have formed a commonwealth so much more
powerful, was in origin a proof of this lamentable want of patriotism.
Could the jealousy of great nobles, the rancour of religious differences,
the Catholic bigotry of the Walloon population, on the one side,
contending with the democratic insanity of the Ghent populace on the
other, have been restrained within bounds by the moderate counsels of
William of Orange, it would have been possible to unite seventeen
provinces instead of seven, and to save many long and blighting years of
civil war.

The Utrecht Union was, however, of inestimable value. It was time for
some step to be taken, if anarchy were not to reign until the inquisition
and absolutism were restored. Already, out of Chaos and Night, the coming
Republic was assuming substance and form. The union, if it created
nothing else, at least constructed a league against a foreign foe whose
armed masses were pouring faster and faster into the territory of the
provinces. Farther than this it did not propose to go. It maintained what
it found. It guaranteed religious liberty, and accepted the civil and
political constitutions already in existence. Meantime, the defects of
those constitutions, although visible and sensible, had not grown to the
large proportions which they were destined to attain.

Thus by the Union of Utrecht on the one hand, and the fast approaching
reconciliation of the Walloon provinces on the other, the work of
decomposition and of construction went Land in hand.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
     Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
     Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
     No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
     Not so successful as he was picturesque
     Plundering the country which they came to protect
     Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
     Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
     Republic, which lasted two centuries
     Throw the cat against their legs
     Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 32

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




CHAPTER II.

   Parma's feint upon Antwerp--He invests Maestricht--Deputation and
   letters from the states-general, from Brussels, and from Parma, to
   the Walloon provinces--Active negotiations by Orange and by Farnese
   --Walloon envoys in Parma's camp before Maestricht--Festivities--The
   Treaty of Reconciliation--Rejoicings of the royalist party--Comedy
   enacted at the Paris theatres--Religious tumults in Antwerp,
   Utrecht, and other cities--Religious Peace enforced by Orange--
   Philip Egmont's unsuccessful attempt upon Brussels--Siege of
   Maestricht--Failure at the Tongres gate--Mining and countermining--
   Partial destruction of the Tongres ravelin--Simultaneous attack upon
   the Tongres and Bolls-le-Duo gates--The Spaniards repulsed with
   great loss--Gradual encroachments of the besiegers--Bloody contests
   --The town taken--Horrible massacre--Triumphal entrance and solemn
   thanksgiving--Calumnious attacks upon Orange--Renewed troubles in
   Ghent--Imbue and Dathenus--The presence of the Prince solicited--
   Coup d'etat of Imbue--Order restored, and Imbue expelled by Orange

The political movements in both directions were to be hastened by the
military operations of the opening season. On the night of the 2nd of
March, 1579, the Prince of Parma made a demonstration against Antwerp. A
body of three thousand Scotch and English, lying at Borgerhout, was
rapidly driven in, and a warm skirmish ensued, directly under the walls
of the city. The Prince of Orange, with the Archduke Matthias, being in
Antwerp at the time, remained on the fortifications; superintending the
action, and Parma was obliged to retire after an hour or two of sharp
fighting, with a loss of four hundred men. This demonstration was,
however, only a feint. His real design was upon Maestricht; before which
important city he appeared in great force, ten days afterwards, when he
was least expected.

Well fortified, surrounded by a broad and deep moat; built upon both
sides of the Meuse, upon the right bank of which river, however, the
portion of the town was so inconsiderable that it was merely called the
village of Wyk, this key to the German gate of the Netherlands was,
unfortunately, in brave but feeble hands. The garrison was hardly one
thousand strong; the trained bands of burghers amounted to twelve hundred
more; while between three and four thousand peasants; who had taken
refuge within the city walls, did excellent service as sappers and
miners. Parma, on the other hand, had appeared before the walls with
twenty thousand men; to which number he received constant reinforcements.
The Bishop of Liege, too, had sent him four thousand pioneers--a most
important service; for mining and countermining was to decide the fate of
Maestricht.

Early in January the royalists had surprised the strong chateau of
Carpen, in the neighbourhood of the city, upon which occasion the
garrison were all hanged by moonlight on the trees in the orchard. The
commandant shared their fate; and it is a curious fact that he had,
precisely a year previously, hanged the royalist captain, Blomaert, on
the same spot, who, with the rope around his neck, had foretold a like
doom to his destroyer.

The Prince of Orange, feeling the danger of Maestricht, lost no time in
warning the states to the necessary measures, imploring them "not to fall
asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation," while meantime Parma threw
two bridges over the Meuse, above and below the city, and then invested
the place so closely that all communication was absolutely suspended.
Letters could pass to and fro only at extreme peril to the messengers,
and all possibility of reinforcing the city at the moment was cut off.

While this eventful siege was proceeding, the negotiations with the
Walloons were ripening. The siege and the conferences went hand in hand.
Besides the secret arrangements already described for the separation of
the Walloon provinces, there had been much earnest and eloquent
remonstrance on the part of the states-general and of Orange--many solemn
embassies and public appeals. As usual, the Pacification of Ghent was the
two-sided shield which hung between the parties to cover or to justify
the blows which each dealt at the other. There is no doubt as to the real
opinion entertained concerning that famous treaty by the royal party.
"Through the peace of Ghent," said Saint Vaast, "all our woes have been
brought upon us." La Motte informed Parma that it was necessary to
pretend a respect for the Pacification, however, on account of its
popularity, but that it was well understood by the leaders of the Walloon
movement, that the intention was to restore the system of Charles the
Fifth. Parma signified his consent to make use of that treaty as a basis,
"provided always it were interpreted healthily, and not dislocated by
cavillations and sinister interpolations, as had been done by the Prince
of Orange." The Malcontent generals of the Walloon troops were
inexpressibly anxious lest the cause of religion should be endangered;
but the arguments by which Parma convinced those military casuists as to
the compatibility of the Ghent peace with sound doctrine have already
been exhibited. The influence of the reconciled nobles was brought to
bear with fatal effect upon the states of Artois, Hainault, and of a
portion of French Flanders. The Gallic element in their blood, and an
intense attachment to the Roman ceremonial, which distinguished the
Walloon population from their Batavian brethren, were used successfully
by the wily Parma to destroy the unity of the revolted Netherlands.
Moreover, the King offered good terms. The monarch, feeling safe on the
religious point, was willing to make liberal promises upon the political
questions. In truth, the great grievance of which the Walloons complained
was the insolence and intolerable outrages of the foreign soldiers. This,
they said, had alone made them malcontent. It was; therefore, obviously
the cue of Parma to promise the immediate departure of the troops. This
could be done the more easily, as he had no intention of keeping the
promise.

Meantime the efforts of Orange, and of the states-general, where his
influence was still paramount, were unceasing to counteract the policy of
Parma. A deputation was appointed by the generality to visit the estates
of the Walloon provinces. Another was sent by the authorities of
Brussels. The Marquis of Havre, with several colleagues on behalf of the
states-general, waited upon the Viscount of Ghent, by whom they were
received with extreme insolence. He glared upon them, without moving, as
they were admitted to his presence; "looking like a dead man, from whom
the soul had entirely departed." Recovering afterwards from this stony
trance of indignation, he demanded a sight of their instructions. This
they courteously refused, as they were accredited not to him, but to the
states of Artois. At this he fell into a violent passion, and threatened
them with signal chastisement for daring to come thither with so
treasonable a purpose. In short, according to their own expression; he
treated them "as if they had been rogues and vagabonds." The Marquis of
Havre, high-born though he was, had been sufficiently used to such
conduct. The man who had successively served and betrayed every party,
who had been the obsequious friend and the avowed enemy of Don John
within the same fortnight, and who had been able to swallow and inwardly
digest many an insult from that fiery warrior, was even fain to brook the
insolence of Robert Melun.

The papers which the deputation had brought were finally laid before the
states of Artois, and received replies as prompt and bitter as the
addresses were earnest and eloquent. The Walloons, when summoned to hold
to that aegis of national unity, the Ghent peace, replied that it was not
they, but the heretic portion of the states-general, who were for dashing
it to the ground. The Ghent treaty was never intended to impair the
supremacy of the Catholic religion, said those provinces, which were
already on the point of separating for ever from the rest. The Ghent
treaty was intended expressly to destroy the inquisition and the
placards, answered the national-party. Moreover, the "very marrow of that
treaty" was the-departure of the foreign soldiers, who were even then
overrunning the land. The Walloons answered that Alexander had expressly
conceded the withdrawal of the troops. "Believe not the fluting and the
piping of the crafty foe," urged the patriots. "Promises are made
profusely enough--but only to lure you to perdition. Your enemies allow
you to slake your hunger and thirst with this idle hope of the troops'
departure, but you are still in fetters, although the chain be of Spanish
pinchbeck, which you mistake for gold." "'Tis not we," cried the
Walloons, "who wish to separate from the generality; 'tis the generality
which separates from us. We had rather die the death than not maintain
the union. In the very same breath, however, they boasted of the
excellent terms which the monarch was offering, and of their strong
inclination to accept them." "Kings, struggling to recover a lost
authority, always promise golden mountains and every sort of miracles,"
replied the patriots; but the warning was uttered in vain.

Meantime the deputation from the city of Brussels arrived on the 28th of
March at Mons, in Hainault, where they were received with great courtesy
by Count de Lalain, governor of the province. The enthusiasm with which
he had espoused the cause of Queen Margaret and her brother Anjou had
cooled, but the Count received the Brussels envoys with a kindness in
marked contrast with the brutality of Melun. He made many fine
speeches--protesting his attachment to, the union, for which he was ready
to shed the last drop of his blood--entertained the deputies at dinner,
proposed toasts to the prosperity of the united provinces, and dismissed
his guests at last with many flowery professions. After dancing
attendance for a few days, however, upon the estates of the Walloon
provinces, both sets of deputies were warned to take their instant
departure as mischief-makers and rebels. They returned, accordingly, to
Brussels, bringing the written answers which the estates had vouchsafed
to send.

The states-general, too, inspired by William of Orange, addressed a
solemn appeal to their sister provinces, thus about to abjure the bonds
of relationship for ever. It seemed right, once for all, to grapple with
the Ghent Pacification for the last time, and to strike a final blow in
defence of that large statesmanlike interpretation, which alone could
make the treaty live. This was done eloquently and logically. The
Walloons were reminded that at the epoch of the Ghent peace the number of
Reformers outside of Holland and Zealand was supposed small. Now the new
religion had spread its roots through the whole land, and innumerable
multitudes desired its exercise. If Holland and Zealand chose to
reestablish the Catholic worship within their borders, they could
manifestly do so without violating the treaty of Ghent. Why then was it
not competent to other provinces, with equal allegiance to the treaty, to
sanction the Reformed religion within their limits?

Parma, on his part, publicly invited the states-general, by letter, to
sustain the Ghent treaty by accepting the terms offered to the Walloons,
and by restoring the system of the Emperor Charles, of very lofty memory.
To this superfluous invitation the states-general replied, on the 19th of
March, that it had been the system of the Emperor Charles; of lofty
memory, to maintain the supremacy of Catholicism and of Majesty in the
Netherlands by burning Netherlanders--a custom which the states, with
common accord, had thought it desirable to do away with.

In various fervently-written appeals by Orange, by the states-general,
and by other bodies, the wavering provinces were warned against
seduction. They were reminded that the Prince of Parma was using this
minor negotiation "as a second string to his bow;" that nothing could be
more puerile than to suppose the Spaniards capable, after securing
Maestricht, of sending away their troops thus "deserting the bride in the
midst of the honeymoon." They expressed astonishment at being invited to
abandon the great and general treaty which had been made upon the theatre
of the whole world by the intervention of the principal princes of
Christendom, in order to partake in underhand negotiation with the
commissioners of Parma-men, "who, it would not be denied, were felons and
traitors." They warned their brethren not to embark on the enemy's ships
in the dark, for that, while chaffering as to the price of the voyage,
they would find that the false pilots had hoisted sail and borne them
away in the night. In vain would they then seek to reach the shore again.
The example of La Motte and others, "bird-limed with Spanish gold,"
should be salutary for all-men who were now driven forward with a whip,
laughed to scorn by their new masters, and forced to drink the bitter
draught of humiliation along with the sweet poison of bribery. They were
warned to study well the intercepted letters of Curiel, in order fully to
fathom the deep designs and secret contempt of the enemy.

Such having been the result of the negotiations between the
states-general and the Walloon provinces, a strong deputation now went
forth from those provinces, towards the end of April, to hold a final
colloquy with Parma, then already busied with the investment of
Maestricht. They were met upon the road with great ceremony, and escorted
into the presence of Farnese with drum, trumpet, and flaunting banners.
He received them with stately affability, in a magnificently decorated
pavilion, carelessly inviting them to a repast, which he called an
afternoon's lunch, but which proved a most sumptuous and splendidly
appointed entertainment. This "trifling foolish banquet" finished, the
deputies were escorted, with great military parade, to the lodgings which
had been provided for them in a neighbouring village. During the period
of their visit, all the chief officers of the army and the household were
directed to entertain the Walloons with showy festivals, dinners,
suppers, dances, and carousals of all kinds. At one of the most brilliant
of these revels--a magnificent ball, to which all the matrons and maids
of the whole country round had been bidden--the Prince of Parma himself
unexpectedly made his appearance. He gently rebuked the entertainers for
indulging in such splendid hospitality without, at least, permitting him
to partake of it. Charmingly affable to the ladies assembled in the
ball-room, courteous, but slightly reserved, towards the Walloon envoys,
he excited the admiration of all by the splendid decorum of his manners.
As he moved through the halls, modulating his steps in grave cadence to
the music, the dignity and grace of his deportment seemed truly majestic;
but when he actually danced a measure himself the enthusiasm was at its
height. They should, indeed, be rustics, cried the Walloon envoys in a
breath, not to give the hand of fellowship at once to a Prince so
condescending and amiable. The exclamation seemed to embody the general
wish, and to foreshadow a speedy conclusion.

Very soon afterwards a preliminary accord was signed between the King's
government and the Walloon provinces. The provisions on his Majesty's
part were sufficiently liberal. The religious question furnishing no
obstacle, it was comparatively easy for Philip to appear benignant. It
was stipulated that the provincial privileges should be respected; that a
member of the King's own family, legitimately born, should always be
Governor-General, and that the foreign troops should be immediately
withdrawn. The official exchange and ratification of this treaty were
delayed till the 4th of the following September, but the news that, the
reconciliation had been definitely settled soon spread through the
country. The Catholics were elated, the patriots dismayed. Orange-the
"Prince of Darkness," as the Walloons of the day were fond of calling
him--still unwilling to despair, reluctant to accept this dismemberment,
which he foresaw was to be a perpetual one, of his beloved country,
addressed the most passionate and solemn adjurations to the Walloon
provinces, and to their military chieftains. He offered all his children
as hostages for his good faith in keeping sacredly any covenant which his
Catholic countrymen might be willing to close with him. It was in vain.
The step was irretrievably taken; religious bigotry, patrician jealousy,
and wholesale bribery, had severed the Netherlands in twain for ever. The
friends of Romanism, the enemies of civil and religious liberty, exulted
from one end of Christendom to the other, and it was recognized that
Parma had, indeed, achieved a victory which although bloodless, was as
important to the cause of absolutism as any which even his sword was
likely to achieve.

The joy of the Catholic party in Paris manifested itself in a variety of
ways. At the principal theatre an uncouth pantomime was exhibited, in
which his Catholic Majesty was introduced upon the stage, leading by a
halter a sleek cow, typifying the Netherlands. The animal by a sudden
effort, broke the cord, and capered wildly about. Alexander of Parma
hastened to fasten the fragments together, while sundry personages,
representing the states-general, seized her by the horns, some leaping
upon her back, others calling upon the bystanders to assist in holding
the restive beast. The Emperor, the King of France, and the Queen of
England--which last personage was observed now to smile upon one party,
now to affect deep sympathy with the other--remained stationary; but the
Duke of Alencon rushed upon the stage, and caught the cow by the tail.
The Prince of Orange and Hans Casimir then appeared with a bucket, and
set themselves busily to milk her, when Alexander again seized the
halter. The cow gave a plunge, upset the pail, prostrated Casimir with
one kick and Orange with another, and then followed Parma with docility
as he led her back to Philip. This seems not very "admirable fooling,"
but it was highly relished by the polite Parisians of the sixteenth
century, and has been thought worthy of record by classical historians.

The Walloon accord was an auspicious prelude, in the eyes of the friends
of absolutism, to the negotiations which were opened in the month of May,
at Cologne. Before sketching, as rapidly as possible, those celebrated
but barren conferences, it is necessary, for the sake of unity in the
narrative, to cast a glance at certain synchronical events in different
parts of the Netherlands.

The success attained by the Catholic party in the Walloon negotiations
had caused a corresponding bitterness in the hearts of the Reformers
throughout the country. As usual, bitterness had begot bitterness;
intolerance engendered intolerance. On the 28th of May, 1579, as the
Catholics of Antwerp were celebrating the Ommegang--the same festival
which had been the exciting cause of the memorable tumults of the year
sixty-five--the irritation of the populace could not be repressed. The
mob rose in its wrath to put down these demonstrations--which, taken in
connection with recent events, seemed ill-timed and insolent--of a
religion whose votaries then formed but a small minority of the Antwerp
citizens. There was a great tumult. Two persons were killed. The Archduke
Matthias, who was himself in the Cathedral of Notre Dame assisting at the
ceremony, was in danger of his life. The well known cry of "paapen uit"
(out with the papists) resounded through the streets, and the priests and
monks were all hustled out of town amid a tempest of execrations. Orange
did his utmost to quell the mutiny, nor were his efforts fruitless--for
the uproar, although seditious and disgraceful, was hardly sanguinary.
Next day the Prince summoned the magistracy, the Monday council, the
guild officers, with all the chief municipal functionaries, and expressed
his indignation in decided terms. He protested that if such tumults,
originating in that very spirit of intolerance which he most deplored,
could not be repressed for the future, he was determined to resign his
offices, and no longer to affect authority in a city where his counsels
were derided. The magistrates, alarmed at his threats, and sympathizing
with his anger, implored him not to desert them, protesting that if he
should resign his offices, they would instantly lay down their own. An
ordinance was then drawn up and immediately, proclaimed at the Town
House, permitting the Catholics to re-enter the city, and to enjoy the
privileges of religious worship. At the same time, it was announced that
a new draft of a religious peace would be forthwith issued for the
adoption of every city.

A similar tumult, arising from the same cause, at Utrecht, was attended
with the like result. On the other hand, the city of Brussels was
astonished by a feeble and unsuccessful attempts at treason, made by a
youth who bore an illustrious name. Philip, Count of Egmont, eldest son
of the unfortunate Lamoral, had command of a regiment in the service of
the states. He had, besides, a small body of cavalry in immediate
attendance upon his person. He had for some time felt inclined--like the
Lalains, Meluns, La Mottes, and others to reconcile himself with the
Crown, and he wisely thought that the terms accorded to him would be more
liberal if he could bring the capital of Brabant with him as a peace
offering to his Majesty. His residence was in Brussels. His regiment was
stationed outside the gates, but in the immediate neighbourhood of the
city. On the morning of the 4th of June he despatched his troopers--as
had been frequently his custom--on various errands into the country. On
their return, after having summoned the regiment, they easily mastered
and butchered the guard at the gate through which they had re-entered,
supplying their place with men from their own ranks. The Egmont regiment
then came marching through the gate in good order--Count Philip at their
head--and proceeded to station themselves upon the Grande Place in the
centre of the city. All this was at dawn of day. The burghers, who looked
forth from their houses, were astounded and perplexed by this movement at
so unwonted an hour, and hastened to seize their weapons. Egmont sent a
detachment to take possession of the palace. He was too late. Colonel Van
der Tympel, commandant of the city, had been beforehand with him, had got
his troops under arms, and now secured the rebellious detachment.
Meantime, the alarm had spread. Armed burghers came from every house, and
barricades were hastily thrown up across every one of the narrow streets
leading to the square. Every issue was closed. Not a man of Egmont's
adherents--if he indeed had adherents among the townsmen--dared to show
his face. The young traitor and his whole regiment, drawn up on the
Grande Place, were completely entrapped. He had not taken Brussels, but
assuredly Brussels had taken him. All day long he was kept in his
self-elected prison and pillory, bursting with rage and shame. His
soldiers, who were without meat or drink, became insolent and uproarious,
and he was doomed also to hear the bitter and well-merited taunts of the
towns-people. A thousand stinging gibes, suggested by his name and the
locality, were mercilessly launched upon him. He was asked if he came
thither to seek his father's head. He was reminded that the morrow was
the anniversary of that father's murder upon that very spot--by those
with whom the son would now make his treasonable peace. He was bidden to
tear up but a few stones from the pavement beneath his feet, that the
hero's blood might cry out against him from the very ground.

Tears of shame and fury sprang from the young man's eyes as he listened
to these biting sarcasms, but the night closed upon that memorable
square, and still the Count was a prisoner. Eleven years before, the
summer stars had looked down upon a more dense array of armed men within
that place. The preparations for the pompous and dramatic execution,
which on the morrow was to startle all Europe, had been carried out in
the midst of a hushed and overawed population; and now, on the very
anniversary of the midnight in which that scaffold had risen, should not
the grand spectre of the victim have started from the grave to chide his
traitorous son?

Thus for a whole day and night was the baffled conspirator compelled to
remain in the ignominious position which he had selected for himself. On
the morning of the 5th of June he was permitted to depart, by a somewhat
inexplicable indulgence, together with all his followers. He rode out of
the gate at early dawn, contemptible and crest-fallen, at the head of his
regiment of traitors, and shortly afterwards--pillaging and levying black
mail as he went--made his way to Montigny's quarters.

It might have seemed natural, after such an exhibition, that Philip
Egmont should accept his character of renegade, and confess his intention
of reconciling himself with the murderers of his father. On the contrary,
he addressed a letter to the magistracy of Brussels, denying with
vehemence "any intention of joining the party of the pernicious
Spaniards," warmly protesting his zeal and affection for the states, and
denouncing the "perverse inventors of these calumnies against him as the
worst enemies of the poor afflicted country." The magistrates replied by
expressing their inability to comprehend how the Count, who had suffered
villainous wrongs from the Spaniards, such as he could never sufficiently
deplore or avenge, should ever be willing to enslave himself, to those
tyrants. Nevertheless, exactly at the moment of this correspondence,
Egmont was in close negotiation with Spain, having fifteen days before
the date of his letter to the Brussels senate, conveyed to Parma his
resolution to "embrace the cause of his Majesty and the ancient
religion"--an intention which he vaunted himself to have proved "by
cutting the throats of three companies of states' soldiers at Nivelle,
Grandmont, and Ninove." Parma had already written to communicate the
intelligence to the King, and to beg encouragement for the Count. In
September, the monarch wrote a letter to Egmont, full of gratitude and
promises, to which the Count replied by expressing lively gratification
that his Majesty was pleased with his little services, by avowing
profound attachment to Church and King, and by asking eagerly for money,
together with the government of Alost. He soon became singularly
importunate for rewards and promotion, demanding, among other posts, the
command of the "band of ordnance," which had been his father's. Parma, in
reply, was prodigal of promises, reminding the young noble "that he was
serving a sovereign who well knew how to reward the distinguished
exploits of his subjects." Such was the language of Philip the Second and
his Governor to the son of the headless hero of Saint Quentin; such was
the fawning obsequiousness with which Egmont could kiss that royal hand
reeking with his father's blood.

Meanwhile the siege of Maestricht had been advancing with steady
precision. To military minds of that epoch--perhaps of later ages--this
achievement of Parma seemed a masterpiece of art. The city commanded the
Upper Meuse, and was the gate into Germany. It contained thirty-four
thousand inhabitants. An army, numbering almost as many Souls, was
brought against it; and the number of deaths by which its capture was at
last effected, was probably equal to that of a moiety of the population.
To the technical mind, the siege no doubt seemed a beautiful creation of
human intelligence. To the honest student of history, to the lover of
human progress, such a manifestation of intellect seems a sufficiently
sad exhibition. Given, a city with strong walls and towers, a slender
garrison and a devoted population on one side; a consummate chieftain on
the other, with an army of veterans at his back, no interruption to fear,
and a long season to work in; it would not seem to an unsophisticated
mind a very lofty exploit for the soldier to carry the city at the end of
four months' hard labor.

The investment of Maestricht was commenced upon the 12th of March, 1579.
In the city, besides the population, there were two thousand peasants,
both men and women, a garrison of one thousand soldiers; and a trained
burgher guard; numbering about twelve hundred. The name of the military
commandant was Melchior. Sebastian Tappin, a Lorraine officer of much
experience and bravery, was next in command, and was, in truth, the
principal director of the operations. He had been despatched thither by
the Prince of Orange, to serve under La None, who was to have commanded
in Maestricht, but had been unable to enter the city. Feeling that the
siege was to be a close one, and knowing how much depended upon the
issue, Sebastian lost no time in making every needful preparation for
coming events. The walls were strengthened everywhere; shafts were sunk,
preparatory to the countermining operations which were soon to become
necessary; the moat was deepened and cleared, and the forts near the
gates were put in thorough repair. On the other hand, Alexander had
encircled the city, and had thrown two bridges, well fortified, across
the river. There were six gates to the town, each provided with ravelins,
and there was a doubt in what direction the first attack should be made.
Opinions wavered between the gate of Bois-le-Duc, next the river, and
that of Tongres on the south-western side, but it was finally decided to
attempt the gate of Tongres.

Over against that point the platforms were accordingly constructed, and
after a heavy cannonade from forty-six great guns continued for several
days, it was thought, by the 25th of March, that an impression had been
made upon the city. A portion of the brick curtain had crumbled, but
through the breach was seen a massive terreplein, well moated, which,
after six thousand shots already delivered on the outer wall--still
remained uninjured. It was recognized that the gate of Tongres was not
the most assailable, but rather the strongest portion of the defences,
and Alexander therefore determined to shift his batteries to the gate of
Bois-le-Duc. At the same time, the attempt upon that of Tongres was to be
varied, but not abandoned. Four thousand miners, who had passed half
their lives in burrowing for coal in that anthracite region, had been
furnished by the Bishop of Liege, and this force was now set to their
subterranean work. A mine having been opened at a distance, the besiegers
slowly worked their way towards the Tongres gate, while at the same time
the more ostensible operations were in the opposite direction. The
besieged had their miners also, for the peasants in the city had been
used to work with mattock and pickaxe. The women, too, enrolled
themselves into companies, chose their officers--or "mine-mistresses," as
they were called--and did good service daily in the caverns of the earth.
Thus a whole army of gnomes were noiselessly at work to destroy and
defend the beleaguered city. The mine advanced towards the gate; the
besieged delved deeper, and intersected it with a transverse excavation,
and the contending forces met daily, in deadly encounter, within these
sepulchral gangways. Many stratagems were, mutually employed. The
citizens secretly constructed a dam across the Spanish mine, and then
deluged their foe with hogsheads of boiling water. Hundreds were thus
scalded to death. They heaped branches and light fagots in the hostile
mine, set fire to the pile, and blew thick volumes of smoke along the
passage with organ-bellows brought from the churches for the purpose.
Many were thus suffocated. The discomfited besiegers abandoned the mine
where they had met with such able countermining, and sunk another shaft,
at midnight, in secret, at a long distance from the Tongres gate. Still
towards that point, however, they burrowed in the darkness; guiding
themselves to their destination with magnet, plumbline and level, as the
mariner crosses the trackless ocean with compass and chart. They worked
their way, unobstructed, till they arrived at their subterranean port,
directly beneath the doomed ravelin. Here they constructed a spacious
chamber, supporting it with columns, and making all their architectural
arrangements with as much precision and elegance as if their object had
been purely esthetic. Coffers full of powder, to an enormous amount, were
then placed in every direction across the floor, the train was laid, and
Parma informed that all was ready. Alexander, having already arrayed the
troops destined for the assault, then proceeded in person to the mouth of
the shaft, and gave orders to spring the mine. The explosion was
prodigious; a part of the tower fell with the concussion, and the moat
was choked with heaps of rubbish. The assailants sprang across the
passage thus afforded, and mastered the ruined portion of the fort. They
were met in the breach, however, by the unflinching defenders of the
city, and, after a fierce combat of some hours, were obliged to retire;
remaining masters, however, of the moat, and of the ruined portion of the
ravelin. This was upon the 3rd of April.

Five days afterwards, a general assault was ordered. A new mine having
been already constructed towards the Tongres ravelin, and a faithful
cannonade having been kept up for a fortnight against the Bois-le-Duc
gate, it was thought advisable to attack at both points at once. On the
8th of April, accordingly, after uniting in prayer, and listening to a
speech from Alexander Farnese, the great mass of the Spanish army
advanced to the breach. The moat had been rendered practicable in many
places by the heaps of rubbish with which it had been encumbered, and by
the fagots and earth with which it had been filled by the besiegers. The
action at the Bois-le-Duc gate was exceedingly warm. The tried veterans
of Spain, Italy, and Burgundy, were met face to face by the burghers of
Maestricht, together with their wives and children. All were armed to the
teeth, and fought with what seemed superhuman valor. The women, fierce as
tigresses defending their young, swarmed to the walls, and fought in the
foremost rank. They threw pails of boiling water on the besiegers, they
hurled firebrands in their faces; they quoited blazing pitch-hoops with,
unerring dexterity about their necks. The rustics too, armed with their
ponderous flails, worked as cheerfully at this bloody harvesting as if
thrashing their corn at home. Heartily did they winnow the ranks of the
royalists who came to butcher them, and thick and fast fell the invaders,
fighting bravely, but baffled by these novel weapons used by peasant and
woman, coming to the aid of the sword; spear, and musket of trained
soldiery. More than a thousand had fallen at the Bois-le-Duc gate, and
still fresh besiegers mounted the breach, only to be beaten back, or to
add to the mangled heap of the slain. At the Tongres gate, meanwhile, the
assault had fared no better. A herald had been despatched thither in hot
haste, to shout at the top of his lungs, "Santiago! Santiago! the
Lombards have the gate of Bois-le-Duc!" while the same stratagem was
employed to persuade the invaders on the other side of the town that
their comrades had forced the gate of Tongres. The soldiers, animated by
this fiction, and advancing with fury against the famous ravelin; which
had been but partly destroyed, were received with a broadside from the
great guns of the unshattered portion, and by a rattling discharge of
musketry from the walls. They wavered a little. At the same instant the
new mine--which was to have been sprung between the ravelin and the gate,
but which had been secretly countermined by the townspeople, exploded
with a horrible concussion, at a moment least expected by the besiegers.
Five hundred royalists were blown into the air. Ortiz, a Spanish captain
of engineers, who had been inspecting the excavations, was thrown up
bodily from the subterranean depth. He fell back again instantly into the
same cavern, and was buried by the returning shower of earth which had
spouted from the mine. Forty-five years afterwards, in digging for the
foundations of a new wall, his skeleton was found. Clad in complete
armor, the helmet and cuirass still sound, with his gold chain around his
neck, and his mattock and pickaxe at his feet, the soldier lay
unmutilated, seeming almost capable of resuming his part in the same war
which--even after his half century's sleep--was still ravaging the land.

Five hundred of the Spaniards, perished by the explosion, but none of the
defenders were injured, for they, had been prepared. Recovering from the
momentary panic, the besiegers again rushed to the attack. The battle
raged. Six hundred and seventy officers, commissioned or
non-commissioned, had already fallen, more than half mortally wounded.
Four thousand royalists, horribly mutilated, lay on the ground. It was
time that the day's work should be finished, for Maastricht was not to be
carried upon that occasion. The best and bravest of the surviving
officers besought Parma to put an end to the carnage by recalling the
troops; but the gladiator heart of the commander was heated, not
softened, by the savage spectacle. "Go back to the breach," he cried,
"and tell the soldiers that Alexander is coming to lead them into the
city in triumph, or to perish with his comrades." He rushed forward with
the fury which had marked him when he boarded Mustapha's galley at
Lepanto; but all the generals who were near him threw themselves upon his
path, and implored him to desist from such insensate rashness. Their
expostulations would have probably been in vain, had not his confidential
friend, Serbelloni, interposed with something like paternal authority,
reminding him of the strict commands contained in his Majesty's recent
letters, that the Governor-General, to whom so much was entrusted, should
refrain, on pain of the royal displeasure, from exposing his life like a
common fighter.

Alexander reluctantly gave the signal of recal at last, and accepted the
defeat. For the future he determined to rely more upon the sapper and
miner, and less upon the superiority of veterans to townsmen and rustics
in open fight. Sure to carry the city at last, according to line and
rule, determined to pass the whole summer beneath the walls, rather than
abandon his purpose, he calmly proceeded to complete his
circumvallations. A chain of eleven forts upon the left, and five upon
the right side of the Meuse, the whole connected by a continuous wall,
afforded him perfect security against interruptions, and allowed him to
continue the siege at leisure. His numerous army was well housed and
amply supplied, and he had built a strong and populous city in order to
destroy another. Relief was impossible. But a few thousand men were now
required to defend Farnese's improvised town, while the bulk of his army
could be marched at any moment against an advancing foe. A force of seven
thousand, painfully collected by the Prince of Orange, moved towards the
place, under command of Hohenlo and John of Nassau, but struck with
wonder at what they saw, the leaders recognized the hopelessness of
attempting relief. Maestricht was surrounded by a second Maestricht.

The efforts of Orange were now necessarily directed towards obtaining, if
possible, a truce of a few weeks from the negotiators at Cologne. Parma
was too crafty, however, to allow Terranova to consent, and as the Duke
disclaimed any power over the direct question of peace and war, the siege
proceeded. The gates of Bois-le-Duc and Tongres having thus far resisted
the force brought against them, the scene was changed to the gate of
Brussels. This adjoined that of Tongres, was farthest from the river, and
faced westwardly towards the open country. Here the besieged had
constructed an additional ravelin, which they had christened, in
derision, "Parma," and against which the batteries of Parma were now
brought to bear. Alexander erected a platform of great extent and
strength directly opposite the new work, and after a severe and constant
cannonade from this elevation, followed by a bloody action, the "Parma"
fort was carried. One thousand, at least, of the defenders fell, as,
forced gradually from one defence to another, they saw the triple walls
of their ravelin crumble successively before their eyes. The tower was
absolutely annihilated before they abandoned its ruins, and retired
within their last defences. Alexander being now master of the fosa and
the defences of the Brussels gate, drew up a large force on both aides of
that portal, along the margin of the moat, and began mining beneath the
inner wall of the city.

Meantime, the garrison had been reduced to four hundred soldiers, nearly
all of whom were wounded: wearied and driven to despair, these soldiers
were willing to treat. The townspeople, however, answered the proposition
with a shout of fury, and protested that they would destroy the garrison
with their own hands if such an insinuation were repeated. Sebastian
Tappin, too, encouraged them with the hope of speedy relief, and held out
to them the wretched consequences of trusting to the mercy of their foes.
The garrison took heart again, while that of the burghers and their wives
had, never faltered. Their main hope now was in a fortification which
they had been constructing inside the Brussels gate--a demilune of
considerable strength. Behind it was a breastwork of turf and masonry, to
serve as a last bulwark when every other defence should be forced. The
whole had been surrounded by a foss thirty feet in depth, and the
besiegers, as they mounted upon the breaches which they had at last
effected in the outer curtain, near the Brussels gate, saw for the first
time this new fortification.

The general condition of the defences, and the disposition of the
inhabitants, had been revealed to Alexander by a deserter from the town.
Against this last fortress the last efforts of the foe were now directed.
Alexander ordered a bridge to be thrown across the city moat. As it was
sixty feet wide and as many deep, and lay directly beneath the guns of
the new demilune, the enterprise was sufficiently hazardous. Alexander
led the way in person, with a mallet in one hand and a mattockin the
other. Two men fell dead instantly, one on his right hand and his left,
while he calmly commenced, in his own person, the driving of the first
piles for the bridge. His soldiers fell fast around him. Count Berlaymont
was shot dead, many officers of distinction were killed or wounded, but
no soldier dared recoil while their chieftain wrought amid the bullets
like a common pioneer. Alexander, unharmed, as by a miracle, never left
the spot till the bridge had been constructed, and till ten great guns
had been carried across it, and pointed against the demilune. The battery
was opened, the mines previously excavated were sprung, a part of the
demilune was blown into the air, and the assailants sprang into the
breach. Again a furious hand-to-hand conflict succeeded; again, after an
obstinate resistance, the townspeople were forced to yield. Slowly
abandoning the shattered fort, they retired behind the breastwork in its
rear--their innermost and last defence. To this barrier they clung as to
a spar in shipwreck, and here at last they stood at bay, prepared dearly
to sell their lives.

The breastwork, being still strong, was not attempted upon that day. The
assailants were recalled, and in the mean time a herald was sent by
Parma, highly applauding the courage of the defenders, and begging them
to surrender at discretion. They answered the messenger with words of
haughty defiance, and, rushing in a mass to the breastwork, began with
spade, pickax, and trowel, to add to its strength. Here all the
able-bodied men of the town took up their permanent position, and here
they ate, drank, and slept upon their posts, while their food was brought
to them by the women and children.

A little letter, "written in a fine neat handwriting," now mysteriously
arrived in the city, encouraging them in the name of the Archduke and the
Prince of Orange, and assuring them of relief within fourteen days. A
brief animation was thus produced, attended by a corresponding languor
upon the part of the besiegers, for Alexander had been lying ill with a
fever since the day when the demilune had been carried. From his sick bed
he rebuked his officers severely that a temporary breastwork, huddled
together by boors and burghers in the midst of a siege, should prove an
insurmountable obstacle to men who had carried everything before them.
The morrow was the festival of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and it was
meet that so sacred a day should be hallowed by a Christian and Apostolic
victory. Saint Peter would be there with, his keys to open the gate;
Saint Paul would lead them to battle with his invincible sword. Orders
were given accordingly, and the assault was assigned for the following
morning.

Meantime, the guards were strengthened and commanded to be more than
usually watchful. The injunction had a remarkable effect. At the dead of
night, a soldier of the watch was going his rounds on the outside of the
breastwork, listening, if perchance he might catch, as was not unusual, a
portion of the conversation among the beleaguered burghers within. Prying
about on every side, he at last discovered a chink in the wall, the
result, doubtless, of the last cannonade, and hitherto overlooked. He
enlarged the gap with his fingers, and finally made an opening wide
enough to admit his person. He crept boldly through, and looked around in
the clear starlight. The sentinels were all slumbering at their posts. He
advanced stealthily in the dusky streets. Not a watchman was going his
rounds. Soldiers, burghers, children, women, exhausted by incessant
fatigue, were all asleep. Not a footfall was heard; not a whisper broke
the silence; it seemed a city of the dead. The soldier crept back through
the crevice, and hastened to apprise his superiors of his adventure.

Alexander, forthwith instructed as to the condition of the city, at once
ordered the assault, and the last wall was suddenly stormed before the
morning broke. The soldiers forced their way through the breach or sprang
over the breastwork, and surprised at last--in its sleep--the city which
had so long and vigorously defended itself. The burghers, startled from
their slumber, bewildered, unprepared, found themselves engaged in
unequal conflict with alert and savage foes. The battle, as usual when
Netherland towns were surprised by Philip's soldiers, soon changed to a
massacre. The townspeople rushed hither and thither, but there was
neither escape, nor means of resisting an enemy who now poured into the
town by thousands upon thousands. An indiscriminate slaughter succeeded:
Women, old men, and children, had all been combatants; and all,
therefore, had incurred the vengeance of the conquerors. A cry of agony
arose which was distinctly heard at the distance of a league. Mothers
took their infants in their arms, and threw themselves by hundreds into
the Meuse--and against women the blood-thirst of the assailants was
especially directed. Females who had fought daily in the trenches, who
had delved in mines and mustered on the battlements, had unsexed
themselves in the opinion of those whose comrades they had helped to
destroy. It was nothing that they had laid aside the weakness of women in
order to defend all that was holy and dear to them on earth. It was
sufficient that many a Spanish, Burgundian, or Italian mercenary had died
by their hands. Women were pursued from house to house, and hurled from
roof and window. They were hunted into the river; they were torn limb
from limb in the streets. Men and children fared no better; but the heart
sickens at the oft-repeated tale. Horrors, alas, were commonplaces in the
Netherlands. Cruelty too monstrous for description, too vast to be
believed by a mind not familiar with the outrages practised by the
soldiers of Spain and Italy upon their heretic fellow-creatures, were now
committed afresh in the streets of Maestricht.

On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered. The
massacre lasted two days longer; nor would it be an exaggerated estimate,
if we assume that the amount of victims upon the two last days was equal
to half the number sacrificed on the first. It was said that not four
hundred citizens were left alive after the termination of the siege.
These soon wandered away, their places being supplied by a rabble rout of
Walloon sutlers and vagabonds. Maestricht was depopulated as well as
captured. The booty obtained after the massacre was very large, for the
city had been very thriving, its cloth manufacture extensive and
important. Sebastian Tappin, the heroic defender of the place, had been
shot through the shoulder at the taking of the Parma ravelin, and had
been afterwards severely injured at the capture of the demilune. At the
fall of the city he was mortally wounded, and carried a prisoner to the
hostile camp, only to expire. The governor, Swartsenberg, also lost his
life.

Alexander, on the contrary, was raised from his sick bed with the joyful
tidings of victory, and as soon as he could be moved, made his appearance
in the city. Seated in a splendid chair of state, borne aloft on the
shoulders of his veterans, with a golden canopy above his head to protect
him from the summer's sun, attended by the officers of his staff, who
were decked by his special command in, their gayest trappings, escorted
by his body-guard, followed by his "plumed troops," to the number of
twenty thousand, surrounded by all the vanities of war, the hero made his
stately entrance into the town. His way led through deserted streets of
shattered houses. The pavement ran red with blood. Headless corpses,
mangled limbs--an obscene mass of wretchedness and corruption, were
spread on every side, and tainted the summer air. Through the thriving
city which, in the course of four months Alexander had converted into a
slaughter-house and a solitude, the pompous procession took its course to
the church of Saint Servais. Here humble thanks were offered to the God
of Love, and to Jesus of Nazareth, for this new victory. Especially was
gratitude expressed to the Apostles Paul and Peter; upon whose festival,
and by whose sword and key the crowning mercy had been accomplished,--and
by whose special agency eight thousand heretics now lay unburied in the
streets. These acts of piety performed, the triumphal procession returned
to the camp, where, soon afterwards, the joyful news of Alexander
Farnese's entire convalescence was proclaimed.

The Prince of Orange, as usual, was blamed for the tragical termination
to this long drama. All that one man could do, he had done to awaken his
countrymen to the importance of the siege. He had repeatedly brought the
subject solemnly before the assembly, and implored for Maestricht, almost
upon his knees. Lukewarm and parsimonious, the states had responded to
his eloquent appeals with wrangling addressee and insufficient votes.
With a special subsidy obtained in April and May, he had organized the
slight attempt at relief, which was all which he had been empowered to
make, but which proved entirely unsuccessful. Now that the massacre to be
averted was accomplished, men were loud in reproof, who had been silent,
and passive while there was yet time to speak and to work. It was the
Prince, they said, who had delivered so many thousands of his
fellow-countrymen to, butchery. To save himself, they insinuated he was
now plotting to deliver the land into the power of the treacherous
Frenchman, and he alone, they asserted, was the insuperable obstacle to
an honorable peace with Spain.

A letter, brought by an unknown messenger, was laid before the states'
assembly, in full session, and sent to the clerk's table, to be read
aloud. After the first few sentences, that functionary faltered in his
recital. Several members also peremptorily ordered him to stop; for the
letter proved to be a violent and calumnious libel upon Orange, together
with a strong appeal in favor of the peace propositions then under debate
at Cologne. The Prince alone, of all the assembly, preserving his
tranquillity, ordered the document to be brought to him, and forthwith
read it aloud himself, from beginning to end. Afterwards, he took
occasion to express his mind concerning the ceaseless calumnies of which
he was the mark. He especially alluded to the oft-repeated accusation
that he was the only obstacle to peace, and repeated that he was ready at
that moment to leave the land, and to close his lips for ever, if by so
doing he could benefit his country, and restore her to honorable repose.
The outcry, with the protestations of attachment and confidence which at
once broke from the assembly, convinced him, however, that he was deeply
rooted in the hearts of all patriotic Netherlanders, and that it was
beyond the power of slanderers to loosen his hold upon their affection.

Meantime, his efforts had again and again been demanded to restore order
in that abode of anarchy, the city of Ghent. After his visit during the
previous winter, and the consequent departure of John Casimir to the
palatinate, the pacific arrangements made by the Prince had for a short
time held good. Early in March, however, that master of misrule, John van
Imbize, had once more excited the populace to sedition. Again the
property of Catholics, clerical and lay, was plundered; again the persons
of Catholics, of every degree, were maltreated. The magistrates, with
first senator Imbize at their head, rather encouraged than rebuked the
disorder; but Orange, as soon as he received official intelligence of the
event, hastened to address them in the words of earnest warning and
wisdom. He allowed that the inhabitants of the province had reason to be
discontented with the presence and the misconduct of the Walloon
soldiery. He granted that violence and the menaces of a foreign tyranny
made it difficult for honest burghers to gain a livelihood. At the same
time he expressed astonishment that reasonable men should seek a remedy
for such evils in tumults which would necessarily bring utter destruction
upon the land. "It was," he observed, "as if a patient should from
impatience, tear the bandages from his wounds, and, like a maniac,
instead of allowing himself to be cured, plunge a dagger into his own
heart."

These exhortations exerted a wholesome effect for a moment, but matters
soon went from bad to worse. Imbize, fearing the influence of the Prince,
indulged in open-mouthed abuse of a man whose character he was unable
even to comprehend, He accused him of intriguing with France for his own
benefit, of being a Papist in disguise, of desiring to establish what he
called a "religious peace," merely to restore Roman idolatry. In all
these insane ravings, the demagogue was most ably seconded by the
ex-monk. Incessant and unlicensed were the invectives hurled by Peter
Dathenus from his pulpit upon William the Silent's head. He denounced
him--as he had often done before--as an atheist in heart; as a man who
changed his religion as easily as his garments; as a man who knew no God
but state expediency, which was the idol of his worship; a mere
politician who would tear his shirt from his back and throw it in the
fire, if he thought it were tainted with religion.

Such witless but vehement denunciation from a preacher who was both
popular and comparatively sincere, could, not but affect the imagination
of the weaker portion of his, healers. The faction of Imbize became
triumphant. Ryhove--the ruffian whose hands were stained with the recent
blood of Visch and Hessels--rather did damage than service to the cause
of order. He opposed himself to the demagogue who was prating daily of
Greece, Rome, and Geneva, while his clerical associate was denouncing
William of Orange, but he opposed himself in vain. An attempt to secure
the person of Imbize failed, but by the influence of Ryhove, however, a
messenger was despatched to Antwerp in the name of a considerable portion
of the community of Ghent. The counsel and the presence of the man to
whom all hearts in every part of the Netherlands instinctively turned in
the hour of need, were once more invoked.

The Prince again addressed them in language which none but he could
employ with such effect. He told them that his life, passed in service
and sacrifice, ought to witness sufficiently for his fidelity.
Nevertheless, he thought it necessary--in view of the calumnies which
were circulated--to repeat once more his sentiment that no treaty of
peace, war, or alliance, ought to be negotiated, save with the consent of
the people. His course in Holland and Zealand had proved, he said, his
willingness always to consult the wishes of his countrymen. As for the
matter of religion it was almost incredible that there should be any who
doubted the zeal which he bore the religion for which he had suffered so
much. "I desire," he continued, fervently, "that men should compare that
which has been done by my accusers during ten years past with that which
I have done. In that which touches the true advancement of religion, I
will yield to no man. They who so boldly accuse me have no liberty of
speech, save that which has been acquired for them by the blood of my
kindred, by my labors, and my excessive expenditures. To me they owe it
that they dare speak at all." This letter, (which was dated on the 24th
of July, 1579) contained an assurance that the writer was about to visit
Ghent.

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

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

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

In this collapsed state was the windy demagogue, who had filled half
Flanders with his sound and fury, conveyed before the patriot Prince. He
met with grave and bitter rebukes, but felt sufficiently relieved when
allowed to depart unharmed. Judging of his probable doom by the usual
practice of himself and his fellows in similar cases, he had anticipated
nothing short of the gibbet. That punishment, however, was to be
inflicted at a later period, by other hands, and not until he had added
treason to his country and a shameless recantation of all his violent
professions in favor of civil and religious liberty to the list of his
crimes. On the present occasion he was permitted to go free. In company
with his clerical companion, Peter Dathenus, he fled to the abode of his
excellent friend, John Casimir, who received both with open arms, and
allowed them each a pension.

Order being thus again restored in Ghent by the exertions of the Prince,
when no other human hand could have dispelled the anarchy which seemed to
reign supreme, William the Silent, having accepted the government of
Flanders, which had again and again been urged upon him, now returned to
Antwerp.




CHAPTER III.

   The Cologne conferences--Intentions of the parties--Preliminary
   attempt by government to purchase the Prince of Orange--Offer and
   rejection of various articles among the plenipotentiaries--Departure
   of the imperial commissionere--Ultimatum of the States compared with
   that of the royal government--Barren negotiations terminated--
   Treason of De Bours, Governor of Mechlin--Liberal theories
   concerning the nature of government--Abjuration of Philip imminent--
   Self-denial of Orange--Attitude of Germany--of England--Marriage
   negotiations between Elizabeth and Anjou--Orange favors the election
   of the Duke as sovereign--Address and speeches of the Prince--
   Parsimony and interprovincial jealousy rebuked----Secret
   correspondence of Count Renneberg with the royal government--
   His treason at Groningen.

Since the beginning of May, the Cologne negotiations had been dragging
their slow length along. Few persons believed that any good was likely to
result from these stately and ponderous conferences; yet men were so
weary of war, so desirous that a termination might be put to the atrophy
under which the country was languishing, that many an eager glance was
turned towards the place where the august assembly was holding its
protracted session. Certainly, if wisdom were to be found in mitred
heads--if the power to heal angry passions and to settle the conflicting
claims of prerogative and conscience were to be looked for among men of
lofty station, then the Cologne conferences ought to have made the rough
places smooth and the crooked paths straight throughout all Christendom.
There was the Archbishop of Rossano, afterwards Pope Urban VII, as
plenipotentiary from Rome; there was Charles of Aragon, Duke of
Terranova, supported by five councillors, as ambassador from his Catholic
Majesty; there were the Duke of Aerschot, the Abbot of Saint Gertrude,
the Abbot of Marolles, Doctor Bucho Aytta, Caspar Schetz, Lord of
Grobbendonck, that learned Frisian, Aggeus van Albada, with seven other
wise men, as envoys from the states-general: There were their Serene
Highnesses the Elector and Archbishops of Cologne and Treves, with the
Bishop of Wurtzburg. There was also a numerous embassy from his Imperial
Majesty, with Count Otto de Schwartzenburg at its head.

Here then were holiness, serenity, dignity, law, and learning in
abundance. Here was a pope 'in posse', with archbishops, princes, dukes,
jurisconsults, and doctors of divinity 'in esse', sufficient to remodel a
world, if worlds were to be remodelled by such instruments. If protocols,
replications, annotations, apostilles, could heal a bleeding country,
here were the physicians to furnish those drugs in unlimited profusion.
If reams of paper, scrawled over with barbarous technicalities, could
smother and bury a quarrel which had its origin in the mutual antagonism
of human elements, here were the men to scribble unflinchingly, till the
reams were piled to a pyramid. If the same idea presented in many aspects
could acquire additional life, here were the word-mongers who, could
clothe one shivering thought in a hundred thousand garments, till it
attained all the majesty which decoration could impart. In truth, the
envoys came from Spain, Rome, and Vienna, provided with but two ideas.
Was it not a diplomatic masterpiece, that from this frugal store they
could contrive to eke out seven mortal months of negotiation? Two
ideas--the supremacy of his Majesty's prerogative, the exclusive exercise
of the Roman Catholic religion--these were the be-all and the end-all of
their commission. Upon these two strings they were to harp, at least till
the walls of Maestricht had fallen. The envoys did their duty well; they
were sent to enact a solemn comedy, and in the most stately manner did
they walk through their several parts. Not that the King was belligerent;
on, the contrary, he was heartily weary of the war. Prerogative was
weary--Romanism was weary--Conscience was weary--the Spirit of Freedom
was weary but the Prince of Orange was not weary. Blood and treasure had
been pouring forth so profusely during twelve flaming years, that all but
that one tranquil spirit were beginning to flag.

At the same time, neither party had more disposition to concede than
stomach to fight. Certainly the royal party had no inclination to yield.
The King had granted easy terms to the Walloons, because upon the one
great point of religion there was, no dispute, and upon the others there
was no intention of keeping faith. With regard to the present
negotiation, it was desirable to gain a little time. It was thought
probable that the religious difference, judiciously managed at this
juncture, might be used to effect a permanent severance of the provinces
so lately banded together in a common union. "To, divide them," wrote
Tassis, in a very confidential letter, "no better method can be found
than to amuse them with this peace negotiation. Some are ready for a
pacification from their desire of repose, some from their fear of war,
some from the differences which exist among themselves, and which it is
especially important to keep alive." Above all things, it was desirable
to maintain the religious distraction till Maestricht had been taken.
That siege was the key to the whole situation. If the separate Walloon
accord could be quietly made in a corner, while Parma was battering that
stronghold on the Meuse, and while decorous negotiation was smoothly
holding its course on the Rhine, much disorganization, it was hoped,
would be handsomely accomplished before the end of the year.

"As for a suspension of arms," wrote Alexander to Terranova, on the 21st
of May, "the longer 'tis deferred the better. With regard to Maestricht,
everything depends upon it that we possess, or desire to possess. Truly,
if the Prince of Orange can relieve the city he will do it. If he does
so, neither will this expedition of ours, nor any other expedition, be
brought to a good end. As soon as men are aware that our affairs are
looking badly, they will come again to a true union, and all will join
together, in hope to accomplish their boasts." Therefore, it was natural
that the peace-wrights of Cologne should industriously ply their task.

It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust, after its three
centuries' repose. A rapid sketch of the course of the proceedings, with
an indication of the spirit which animated the contending parties, will
be all that is necessary. They came and they separated with precisely
opposite views. "The desires of Terranova and of the estates," says the
royalist, Tassis, "were diametrically contrary, to each other. The King
wished that the exercise of the Roman Catholic religion should be
exclusively established, and the absolute prerogative preserved in its
integrity." On the other hand, the provinces desired their charters and a
religious' peace. In these perpetual lines and curves ran the
asymptotical negotiation from beginning to end--and so it might have run
for two centuries, without hope of coincidence. Neither party was yet
vanquished. The freshly united provinces were no readier now than before
to admit that the Holy Office formed part of their national institutions.
The despotic faction was not prepared to renounce that establishment.
Foiled, but not disheartened, sat the Inquisition, like a beldame, upon
the border, impotently threatening the land whence she had been for ever
excluded; while industrious as the Parcae, distaff in hand, sat, in
Cologne, the inexorable three--Spain, the Empire, and Rome--grimly,
spinning and severing the web of mortal destinies.

The first step in the proceedings had been a secret one. If by any means
the Prince of Orange could be detached from his party--if by bribery,
however enormous, he could be induced--to abandon a tottering cause, and
depart for the land of his birth--he was distinctly but indirectly given
to understand that he had but to name his terms. We have seen the issue
of similar propositions made by Don John of Austria. Probably there was
no man living who would care to make distinct application of this
dishonorable nature to the Father of his country. The Aerschots, the
Meluns, the Lalains, and a swarm of other nobles, had their price, and
were easily transferable from one to another, but it was not easy to make
a direct offer to William of Orange. They knew--as he said shortly
afterwards in his famous Apology--that "neither for property nor for
life, neither for wife nor for children, would he mix in his cup a single
drop of treason." Nevertheless, he was distinctly given to understand
that "there was nothing he could demand for himself personally that would
not be granted." All his confiscated property, restoration of his
imprisoned son, liberty of worship for himself, payment of all his debts,
reimbursement of all his past expenses, and anything else which he could
desire, were all placed within his reach. If he chose to retire into
another land, his son might be placed in possession of all his cities,
estates, and dignities, and himself indemnified in Germany; with a
million of money over and above as a gratuity. The imperial envoy, Count
Schwartzenburg, pledged his personal honor and reputation that every
promise which might be made to the Prince should be most sacredly
fulfilled.

It was all in vain. The indirect applications of the imperial
commissioners made to his servants and his nearest relations were
entirely unsuccessful. The Prince was not to be drawn into a negotiation
in his own name or for his own benefit. If the estates were satisfied, he
was satisfied. He wanted no conditions but theirs; "nor would he
directly, or indirectly," he said, "separate himself from the cause on
which hung all his evil or felicity." He knew that it was the object of
the enemy to deprive the country of its head, and no inducements were
sufficient to make him a party to the plot. At the same time, he was
unwilling to be an obstacle, in his own person, to the conclusion of an
honorable peace. He would resign his offices which he held at the
solicitation of the whole country, if thus a negotiation were likely to
be more successful. "The Prince of Parma and the disunited provinces,"
said he to the states-general, "affect to consider this war as one waged
against me and in my name--as if the question alone concerned the name
and person of the general. If it be so, I beg you to consider whether it
is not because I have been ever faithful to the land. Nevertheless, if I
am an obstacle, I am ready to remove it. If you, therefore, in order to
deprive the enemy of every right to inculpate us, think proper to choose
another head and conductor of your affairs, I promise you to serve and to
be obedient to him with all my heart. Thus shall we leave the enemy no
standing-place to work dissensions among us." Such was his language to
friend and foe, and here, at least, was one man in history whom kings
were not rich enough to purchase.

On the 18th of May, the states' envoys at Cologne presented fourteen
articles, demanding freedom of religion and the ancient political
charters. Religion, they said, was to be referred; not to man, but to
God. To him the King was subject as well as the people. Both King and
people--"and by people was meant every individual in the land"--were
bound to serve God according to their conscience.

The imperial envoys found such language extremely reprehensible, and
promptly refused, as umpires, to entertain the fourteen articles. Others
drawn up by Terranova and colleagues, embodying the claims of the royal
and Roman party, were then solemnly presented, and as promptly rejected.
Then the imperial umpires came forward with two bundles of
proposisitions--approved beforehand by the Spanish plenipotentiaries. In
the political bundle; obedience due to the King was insisted upon, "as in
the time of the Emperor Charles." The religious category declared that
"the Roman religion--all others excluded--should thenceforth be exercised
in all the provinces." Both these categories were considered more
objectionable by the states' envoys than the terms of Terranova, and
astonishment was expressed that "mention should again be made of the
edicts--as if blood enough had not been shed already in the cause of
religion."

The Netherland envoys likewise gave the imperial commissioners distinctly
to understand that--in case peace were not soon made--"the states would
forthwith declare the King fallen from his sovereignty;" would for ever
dispense the people from their oaths of allegiance to him, and would
probably accept the Duke of Anjou in his place. The states-general, to
which body the imperial propositions had been sent, also rejected the
articles in a logical and historical argument of unmerciful length.

An appeal secretly made by the imperial and Spanish commissioners, from
the states' envoys to the states themselves, and even to the people of
the various provinces, had excited the anger of the plenipotentiaries.
They complained loudly of this violation of all diplomatic etiquette, and
the answer of the states-general, fully confirming the views of their
ambassadors, did not diminish their wrath.

On the 13th of November, 1579, the states' envoys were invited into the
council chamber of the imperial commissioners, to hear the last solemn
commonplaces of those departing, functionaries. Seven months long they
had been waiting in vain, they said, for the states' envoys to accede to
moderate demands. Patience was now exhausted. Moreover, their mediatory
views had been the subject of bitter lampooning throughout the country,
while the authorities of many cities had publicly declared that all the
inhabitants would rather, die the death than accept such terms. The
peace-makers, accordingly, with endless protestations as to, their own
purity, wisdom, and benevolence, left the whole "in the hands of God and
the parties concerned."

The reply to this elaborate farewell was curt and somewhat crusty. "Had
they known," said the states' envoys, "that their transparencies and
worthinesses had no better intention, and the Duke of Terranova no ampler
commission, the whole matter might have been despatched, not in six
months, but in six days."

Thus ended the conferences, and the imperial commissioners departed.
Nevertheless, Schwartzenburg remained yet a little time at Cologne, while
five of the states' envoys also protracted their stay, in order to make
their private peace with the King. It is hardly necessary to observe that
the chief of these penitents was the Duke of Aerschot. The ultimatum of
the states was deposited by the departing envoys with Schwartzenburg, and
a comparison of its terms with those offered by the imperial mediators,
as the best which could be obtained from Spain, shows the hopelessness of
the pretended negotiation. Departure of the foreign troops, restitution
of all confiscated property, unequivocal recognition of the Ghent treaty
and the perpetual edict, appointment to office of none but natives, oaths
of allegiance to the King and the states-general, exercise of the
Reformed religion and of the Confession of Augsburg in all places where
it was then publicly practised: such were the main demands of the patriot
party.

In the secret instructions furnished by the states to their envoys, they
were told to urge upon his Majesty the absolute necessity, if he wished
to retain the provinces, of winking at the exercise of the Reformed and
the Augsburg creeds. "The new religion had taken too deep root," it was
urged, "ever to be torn forth, save with the destruction of the whole
country."

Thus, after seven dreary months of negotiation, after protocols and
memoranda in ten thousand folia, the august diplomatists had travelled
round to the points from which they had severally started. On the one
side, unlimited prerogative and exclusive Catholicism; on the other,
constitutional liberty, with freedom of conscience for Catholic and
Protestant alike: these were the claims which each party announced at the
commencement, and to which they held with equal firmness at the close of
the conferences.

The congress had been expensive. Though not much had been accomplished
for the political or religious advancement of mankind, there had been
much excellent eating and drinking at Cologne during the seven months.
Those drouthy deliberations had needed moistening. The Bishop of
Wurtzburg had consumed "eighty hogsheads of Rhenish wine and twenty great
casks of beer." The expense of the states' envoys were twenty-four
thousand guldens. The Archbishop of Cologne had expended forty thousand
thalers. The deliberations were, on the whole, excessively detrimental to
the cause of the provinces, "and a great personage" wrote to the
states-general, that the King had been influenced by no motive save to
cause dissension. This was an exaggeration, for his Majesty would have
been well pleased to receive the whole of the country on the same terms
which had been accepted by the Walloons. Meantime, those southern
provinces had made their separate treaty, and the Netherlands were
permanently dissevered. Maestricht had fallen. Disunion and dismay had
taken possession of the country.

During the course of the year other severe misfortunes had happened to
the states. Treachery, even among the men who had done good service to
the cause of freedom, was daily showing her hateful visage. Not only the
great chieftains who had led the Malcontent Walloon party, with the
fickle Aerschot and the wavering Havre besides, had made their separate
reconciliation with Parma, but the epidemic treason had mastered such
bold partisans as the Seigneur de Bours, the man whose services in
rescuing the citadel of Antwerp had been so courageous and valuable. He
was governor of Mechlin; Count Renneberg was governor of Friesland. Both
were trusted implicitly by Orange and by the estates; both were on the
eve of repaying the confidence reposed in them by the most venal treason.

It was already known that Parma had tampered with De Bours; but Renneberg
was still unsuspected. "The Prince," wrote Count John, "is deserted by
all the noblemen; save the stadholder of Friesland and myself, and has no
man else in whom he can repose confidence." The brothers were doomed to
be rudely awakened from the repose with regard to Renneberg, but
previously the treason of a less important functionary was to cause a
considerable but less lasting injury to the national party.

In Mechlin was a Carmelite friar, of audacious character and great
eloquence; a man who, "with his sweet, poisonous tongue, could ever
persuade the people to do his bidding." This dangerous monk, Peter Lupus,
or Peter Wolf, by name, had formed the design of restoring Mechlin to the
Prince of Parma, and of obtaining the bishopric of Namur as the reward of
his services. To this end he had obtained a complete mastery over the
intellect of the bold but unprincipled De Bours. A correspondence was
immediately opened between Parma and the governor, and troops were
secretly admitted into the city. The Prince of Orange, in the name of the
Archduke and the estates, in vain endeavoured to recal the infatuated
governor to his duty. In vain he conjured him, by letter after letter, to
be true to his own bright fame so nobly earned. An old friend of De
Bours, and like himself a Catholic, was also employed to remonstrate with
him. This gentleman, De Fromont by name, wrote him many letters; but De
Bours expressed his surprise that Fromont, whom he had always considered
a good Catholic and a virtuous gentleman, should wish to force him into a
connection with the Prince of Orange and his heretic supporters. He
protested that his mind was quite made up, and that he had been
guaranteed by Parma not only the post which he now held, but even still
farther advancement.

De Fromont reminded him, in reply, of the frequent revolutions of
fortune's wheel, and warned him that the advancement of which he boasted
would probably be an entire degradation. He bitterly recalled to the
remembrance of the new zealot for Romanism his former earnest efforts to
establish Calvinism. He reproached him, too, with having melted up the
silver images of the Mechlin churches, including even the renowned shrine
of Saint Rombout, which the Prince of Orange had always respected. "I
don't say how much you took of that plunder for your own share,"
continued the indignant De Fromont, "for the very children cry it in your
ears as you walk the streets. 'Tis known that if God himself had been
changed into gold you would have put him in your pocket."

This was plain language, but as just as it was plain. The famous shrine
of Saint Rombout--valued at seventy thousand guldens, of silver gilt, and
enriched with precious stones--had been held sacred alike by the
fanatical iconoclasts and the greedy Spaniards who had successively held
the city. It had now been melted up, and appropriated by Peter Lupin; the
Carmelite, and De Bours, the Catholic convert, whose mouths were full of
devotion to the ancient Church and of horror for heresy.

The efforts of Orange and of the states were unavailing. De Bours
surrendered the city, and fled to Parma, who received him with
cordiality, gave him five thousand florins--the price promised for his
treason, besides a regiment of infantry--but expressed surprise that he
should have reached the camp alive. His subsequent career was short, and
he met his death two years afterwards, in the trenches before Tournay.
The archiepiscopal city was thus transferred to the royal party, but the
gallant Van der Tympel, governor of Brussels, retook it by surprise
within six months of its acquisition by Parma, and once more restored it
to the jurisdiction of the states. Peter Lupus, the Carmelite, armed to
the teeth, and fighting fiercely at the head of the royalists, was slain
in the street, and thus forfeited his chance for the mitre of Namur.

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

"What reason is there," said the states-general, "why the provinces
should suffer themselves to be continually oppressed by their sovereign,
with robbings, burnings, stranglings, and murderings? Why, being thus
oppressed, should they still give their sovereign--exactly as if he were
well conducting himself--the honor and title of lord of the land?" On the
other hand, if hereditary rule were an established fact, so also were
ancient charters. To maintain, not to overthrow, the political compact,
was the purpose of the states. "Je maintiendrai" was the motto of
Orange's escutcheon. That a compact existed between prince and people,
and that the sovereign held office only on condition of doing his duty,
were startling truths which men were beginning, not to whisper to each
other in secret, but to proclaim in the market-place. "'Tis well known to
all," said the famous Declaration of Independence, two years afterwards,
"that if a prince is appointed by God over the land, 'tis to protect them
from harm, even as a shepherd to the guardianship of his flock. The
subjects are not appointed by God for the behoof of the prince, but the
prince for his subjects, without whom he is no prince. Should he violate
the laws, he is to be forsaken by his meanest subject, and to be
recognized no longer as prince."

William of Orange always recognized these truths, but his scheme of
government contemplated a permanent chief, and as it was becoming obvious
that the Spanish sovereign would soon be abjured, it was necessary to fix
upon a substitute. "As to governing these provinces in the form of a
republic," said he, speaking for the states-general, "those who know the
condition, privileges, and ordinances of the country, can easily
understand that 'tis hardly possible to dispense with a head or
superintendent." At the same time, he plainly intimated that this "head
or superintendent" was to be, not a monarch--a one-ruler--but merely the
hereditary chief magistrate of a free commonwealth.

Where was this hereditary chief magistrate to be found? His own claims he
absolutely withdrew. The office was within his grasp, and he might easily
have constituted himself sovereign of all the Netherlands. Perhaps it
would have been better at that time had he advanced his claims and
accepted the sovereignty which Philip had forfeited. As he did not
believe in the possibility of a republic, he might honestly have taken
into his own hands the sceptre which he considered indispensable. His
self-abnegation was, however, absolute. Not only did he decline
sovereignty, but he repeatedly avowed his readiness to, lay down all the
offices which he held, if a more useful substitute could be found. "Let
no man think," said he, in a remarkable speech to the states-general,
"that my good-will is in any degree changed or diminished. I agree to
obey--as the least of the lords or gentlemen of the land could
do--whatever person it may, please you to select. You have but to command
my services wheresoever they are most wanted; to guard a province or a
single city, or in any capacity in which I may be found most useful. I
promise to do my duty, with all my strength and skill, as God and my
conscience are witnesses that I have done it hitherto."

The negotiations pointed to a speedy abjuration of Philip; the Republic
was contemplated by none; the Prince of Orange absolutely refused to
stretch forth his own hand; who then was to receive the sceptre which was
so soon to be bestowed? A German Prince--had been tried--in a somewhat
abnormal position--but had certainly manifested small capacity for aiding
the provinces. Nothing could well be more insignificant than the figure
of Matthias; and, moreover, his imperial brother was anything but
favorably disposed. It was necessary to manage Rudolph. To treat the
Archduke with indignity, now that he had been partly established in the
Netherlands, would be to incur the Emperor's enmity. His friendship,
however, could hardly be secured by any advancement bestowed upon his
brother; for Rudolph's services against prerogative and the Pope were in
no case to be expected. Nor was there much hope from the Protestant
princes of Germany. The day had passed for generous sympathy with those
engaged in the great struggle which Martin Luther had commenced. The
present generation of German Protestants were more inclined to put down
the Calvinistic schism at home than to save it from oppression abroad.
Men were more disposed to wrangle over the thrice-gnawed bones of
ecclesiastical casuistry, than to assist their brethren in the field. "I
know not," said Gaultherus, "whether the calamity of the Netherlands, or
the more than bestial stupidity of the Germans, be most deplorable. To
the insane contests on theological abstractions we owe it that many are
ready to breathe blood and slaughter against their own brethren. The
hatred of the Lutherans has reached that point that they can rather
tolerate Papists than ourselves."

In England, there was much sympathy for the provinces and there--although
the form of government was still arbitrary--the instincts for civil and
religious freedom, which have ever characterized the Anglo-Saxon race,
were not to be repressed. Upon many a battle-field for liberty in the
Netherlands, "men whose limbs were made in England" were found contending
for the right. The blood and treasure of Englishmen flowed freely in the
cause of their relatives by religion and race, but these were the efforts
of individuals. Hitherto but little assistance had been rendered by the
English Queen, who had, on the contrary, almost distracted the provinces
by her fast-and-loose policy, both towards them and towards Anjou. The
political rivalry between that Prince and herself in the Netherlands had,
however, now given place to the memorable love-passage from which
important results were expected, and it was thought certain that
Elizabeth would view with satisfaction any dignity conferred upon her
lover.

Orange had a right to form this opinion. At the same time, it is well
known that the chief councillors of Elizabeth--while they were all in
favor of assisting the provinces--looked with anything but satisfaction
upon the Anjou marriage. "The Duke," wrote Davidson to Walsingham in
July, 1579, "seeks, forsooth, under a pretext of marriage with her
Highness, the rather to espouse the Low Countries--the chief ground and
object of his pretended love, howsoever it be disguised." The envoy
believed both Elizabeth and the provinces in danger of taking unto
themselves a very bad master. "Is there any means," he added, "so apt to
sound the very bottom of our estate, and to hinder and breake the neck of
all such good purpose as the necessity of the tyme shall set abroch?"

The provinces of Holland and Zealand, notwithstanding the love they bore
to William of Orange, could never be persuaded by his arguments into
favoring Anjou. Indeed, it was rather on account of the love they bore
the Prince--whom they were determined to have for their sovereign--that
they refused to listen to any persuasion in favor of his rival, although
coming from his own lips. The states-general, in a report to the states
of Holland, drawn up under the superintendence of the Prince, brought
forward all the usual arguments for accepting the French duke, in case
the abjuration should take place. They urged the contract with Anjou (of
August 13th, 1578), the great expenses he had already incurred in their
behalf; the danger of offending him; the possibility that in such case he
would ally himself with Spain; the prospect that, in consequence of such
a result, there would be three enemies in the field against them--the
Walloons, the Spaniards, and the French, all whose forces would
eventually be turned upon Holland and Zealand alone. It was represented
that the selection of Anjou would, on the other hand, secure the
friendship of France--an alliance which would inspire both the Emperor
and the Spanish monarch with fear; for they could not contemplate without
jealousy a possible incorporation of the provinces with that kingdom.
Moreover, the geographical situation of France made its friendship
inexpressibly desirable. The states of Holland and Zealand were,
therefore, earnestly invited to send deputies to an assembly of the
states-general, in order to conclude measures touching the declaration of
independence to be made against the King, and concerning the election of
the Duke of Anjou.

The official communications by speech or writing of Orange to the
different corporations and assemblies, were at this period of enormous
extent. He was moved to frequent anger by the parsimony, the
inter-provincial jealousy, the dull perception of the different estates,
and he often expressed his wrath in unequivocal language. He dealt
roundly with all public bodies. His eloquence was distinguished by a
bold, uncompromising, truth-telling spirit, whether the words might prove
palatable or bitter to his audience. His language rebuked his hearers
more frequently than it caressed them, for he felt it impossible, at all
times, to consult both the humors and the high interests of the people,
and he had no hesitation, as guardian of popular liberty, in denouncing
the popular vices by which it was endangered.

By both great parties, he complained, his shortcomings were all noted,
the good which he had accomplished passed over in silence.

   [Letter to the States-general, August, 1579, apud Bor, xiv. 97,
   sqq. This was the opinion frequently expressed by Languet: "Cherish
   the friendship of the Prince, I beseech you," he writes to Sir
   Philip Sydney, "for there is no man like him in all Christendom.
   Nevertheless, his is the lot of all men of prudence--to be censured
   by all parties. The people complain that he despises them; the
   nobility declare that it is their order which he hates; and this is
   as sensible as if you were to tell me that you were the son of a
   clown."]

He solemnly protested that he desired, out of his whole heart, the
advancement of that religion which he publicly professed, and with God's
blessing, hoped to profess to the end of his life, but nevertheless, he
reminded the states that he had sworn, upon taking office as
Lieutenant-General, to keep "all the subjects of the land equally under
his protection," and that he had kept his oath. He rebuked the parsimony
which placed the accepted chief of the provinces in a sordid and
contemptible position. "The Archduke has been compelled," said he, in
August, to the states-general, "to break up housekeeping, for want of
means. How shameful and disreputable for the country, if he should be
compelled, for very poverty, to leave the land!" He offered to lay down
all the power with which he had himself been clothed, but insisted, if he
were to continue in office, upon being provided with, larger means of
being useful. "'Twas impossible," he said, "for him to serve longer on
the same footing as heretofore; finding himself without power or
authority, without means, without troops, without money, without
obedience." He reminded the states-general that the enemy--under pretext
of peace negotiations--were ever circulating calumnious statements to the
effect that he was personally the only obstacle to peace. The real object
of these hopeless conferences was to sow dissension through the land, to
set burgher against burgher, house against house. As in Italy, Guelphs
and Ghibellines--as in Florence, the Neri and Bianchi--as in Holland, the
Hooks and Cabbeljaws had, by their unfortunate quarrels, armed fellow
countrymen and families against each other--so also, nothing was so
powerful as religious difference to set friend against friend, father
against son, husband against wife.

He warned the States against the peace propositions of the enemy. Spain
had no intention to concede, but was resolved to extirpate. For himself;
he had certainly everything to lose by continued war. His magnificent
estates were withheld, and--added he with simplicity--there is no man who
does not desire to enjoy his own. The liberation of his son, too, from
his foreign captivity, was, after the glory of God and the welfare of the
fatherland, the dearest object of his heart. Moreover, he was himself
approaching the decline of life. Twelve years he had spent in perpetual
anxiety and labor for the cause. As he approached old age, he had
sufficient reason to desire repose. Nevertheless, considering the great
multitude of people who were leaning upon him, he should account himself
disgraced if, for the sake of his own private advantage, he were to
recommend a peace which was not perfectly secure. As regarded his own
personal interests, he could easily place himself beyond danger--yet it
would be otherwise with the people. The existence of the religion which,
through the mercy of God he professed, would be sacrificed, and countless
multitudes of innocent men would, by his act, be thrown bodily into the
hands of the blood-thirsty inquisitors who, in times past, had murdered
so many persons, and so utterly desolated the land. In regard to the
ceaseless insinuations against his character which men uttered "over
their tables and in the streets," he observed philosophically, that
"mankind were naturally inclined to calumny, particularly against those
who exercised government over them. His life was the best answer to those
slanders. Being overwhelmed with debt, he should doubtless do better in a
personal point of view to accept the excellent and profitable offers
which were daily made to him by the enemy." He might be justified in such
a course, when it was remembered how many had deserted him and forsworn
their religion. Nevertheless, he had ever refused, and should ever refuse
to listen to offers by which only his own personal interests were
secured. As to the defence of the country, he had thus far done all in
his power, with the small resources placed at his command. He was urged
by the "nearer-united states" to retain the poet of Lieutenant-General.
He was ready to consent. He was, however, not willing to hold office a
moment, unless he had power to compel cities to accept garrisons, to
enforce the collection of needful supplies throughout the provinces, and
in general to do everything which he judged necessary for the best
interests of the country.

Three councils were now established--one to be in attendance upon the
Archduke and the Prince of Orange, the two others to reside respectively
in Flanders and in Utrecht. They were to be appointed by Matthias and the
Prince, upon a double nomination from the estates of the united
provinces. Their decisions were to be made according to a majority of
votes,--and there was to be no secret cabinet behind and above their
deliberations. It was long, however, before these councils were put into
working order. The fatal jealousy of the provincial authorities, the
small ambition of local magistrates, interposed daily obstacles to the
vigorous march of the generality. Never was jealousy more mischievous,
never circumspection more misapplied. It was not a land nor a crisis in
which there was peril of centralization: Local municipal government was
in truth the only force left. There was no possibility of its being
merged in a central authority which did not exist. The country was
without a centre. There was small chance of apoplexy where there was no
head. The danger lay in the mutual repulsiveness of these atoms of
sovereignty--in the centrifugal tendencies which were fast resolving a
nebulous commonwealth into chaos. Disunion and dissension would soon
bring about a more fatal centralization--that of absorption in a distant
despotism.

At the end of November, 1579, Orange made another remarkable speech in
the states-general at Antwerp. He handled the usual topics with his
customary vigor, and with that grace and warmth of delivery which always
made his eloquence so persuasive and impressive. He spoke of the
countless calumnies against himself, the chaffering niggardliness of the
provinces, the slender result produced by his repeated warnings. He told
them bluntly the great cause of all their troubles. It was the absence of
a broad patriotism; it was the narrow power grudged rather than given to
the deputies who sat in the general assembly. They were mere envoys, tied
by instructions. They were powerless to act, except after tedious
reference to the will of their masters, the provincial boards. The
deputies of the Union came thither, he said, as advocates of their
provinces or their cities, not as councillors of a commonwealth--and
sought to further those narrow interests, even at the risk of destruction
to their sister states. The contributions, he complained, were assessed
unequally, and expended selfishly. Upon this occasion, as upon all
occasions, he again challenged inquiry into the purity of his government,
demanded chastisement, if any act of mal-administration on his part could
be found, and repeated his anxious desire either to be relieved from his
functions, or to be furnished with the means of discharging them with
efficiency.

On the 12th of December, 1579, he again made a powerful speech in the
states-general. Upon the 9th of January 1580, following, he made an
elaborate address upon the state of the country, urging the necessity of
raising instantly a considerable army of good and experienced soldiers.
He fixed the indispensable number of such a force at twelve thousand
foot, four thousand horse, and at least twelve hundred pioneers. "Weigh
well the matters," said he, in conclusion; "which I have thus urged, and
which are of the most extreme necessity. Men in their utmost need are
daily coming to me for refuge, as if I held power over all things in my
hand." At the same time he complained that by reason of the dilatoriness
of the states, he was prevented from alleviating misery when he knew the
remedy to be within reach. "I beg you, however, my masters," he
continued, "to believe that this address of mine is no simple discourse.
'Tis a faithful presentment of matters which, if not reformed, will cause
the speedy and absolute ruin of the land. Whatever betide, however, I
pray you to hold yourselves assured, that with God's help, I am
determined to live with you or to die with you."

Early in the year 1580, the Prince was doomed to a bitter disappointment,
and the provinces to a severe loss, in the treason of Count Renneberg,
governor of Friesland. This young noble was of the great Lalain family.
He was a younger brother of: Anthony, Count of Hoogstraaten--the
unwavering friend of Orange. He had been brought up in the family of his
cousin, the Count de Lalain, governor of Hainault, and had inherited the
title of Renneberg from an uncle, who was a dignitary of the church. For
more than a year there had been suspicions of his fidelity. He was
supposed to have been tampered with by the Duke of Terranova, on the
first arrival of that functionary in the Netherlands. Nevertheless, the
Prince of Orange was unwilling to listen to the whispers against him.
Being himself the mark of calumny, and having a tender remembrance of the
elder brother, he persisted in reposing confidence in a man who was in
reality unworthy of his friendship. George Lalain, therefore, remained
stadholder of Friesland and Drenthe, and in possession of the capital
city, Groningen.

The rumors concerning him proved correct. In November, 1579, he entered
into a formal treaty with Terranova, by which he was to receive--as the
price of "the virtuous resolution which he contemplated"--the sum of ten
thousand crowns in hand, a further sum of ten thousand crowns within
three months, and a yearly pension of ten thousand florins. Moreover, his
barony of Ville was to be erected into a marquisate, and he was to
receive the order of the Golden Fleece at the first vacancy. He was
likewise to be continued in the same offices under the King which he now
held from the estates. The bill of sale, by which he agreed with a
certain Quislain le Bailly to transfer himself to Spain, fixed these
terms with the technical scrupulousness of any other mercantile
transaction. Renneberg sold himself as one would sell a yoke of oxen, and
his motives were no whit nobler than the cynical contract would indicate.
"See you not," said he in a private letter to a friend, "that this whole
work is brewed by the Nassaus for the sake of their own greatness, and
that they are everywhere provided with the very best crumbs. They are to
be stadholders of the principal provinces; we are to content ourselves
with Overyssel and Drente. Therefore I have thought it best to make my
peace with the King, from whom more benefits are to be got."

Jealousy and selfishness; then, were the motives of his "virtuous
resolution." He had another, perhaps a nobler incentive. He was in love
with the Countess Meghen, widow of Lancelot Berlaymont, and it was
privately stipulated that the influence of his Majesty's government
should be employed to bring about his marriage with the lady. The treaty,
however, which Renneberg had made with Quislain le Bailly was not
immediately carried out. Early in February, 1580, his sister and evil
genius, Cornelia Lalain, wife of Baron Monceau, made him a visit at
Groningen. She implored him not to give over his soul to perdition by
oppressing the Holy Church. She also appealed to his family pride, which
should keep him, she said, from the contamination of companionship with
"base-born weavers and furriers." She was of opinion that to contaminate
his high-born fingers with base bribes were a lower degradation. The
pension, the crowns in hand, the marquisate, the collar of the Golden
Fleece, were all held before his eyes again. He was persuaded, moreover,
that the fair hand of the wealthy widow would be the crowning prize of
his treason, but in this he was destined to disappointment. The Countess
was reserved for a more brilliant and a more bitter fate. She was to
espouse a man of higher rank, but more worthless character, also a
traitor to the cause of freedom, to which she was herself devoted, and
who was even accused of attempting her life in her old age, in order to
supply her place with a younger rival.

The artful eloquence of Cornelia de Lalain did its work, and Renneberg
entered into correspondence with Parma. It is singular with how much
indulgence his conduct and character were regarded both before and
subsequently to his treason. There was something attractive about the
man. In an age when many German and Netherland nobles were given to
drunkenness and debauchery, and were distinguished rather for coarseness
of manner and brutality of intellect than for refinement or learning,
Count Renneberg, on the contrary, was an elegant and accomplished
gentleman--the Sydney of his country in all but loyalty of character. He
was a classical scholar, a votary of music and poetry, a graceful
troubadour, and a valiant knight. He was "sweet and lovely of
conversation," generous and bountiful by nature. With so many good gifts,
it was a thousand pities that the gift of truth had been denied him.
Never did treason look more amiable, but it was treason of the blackest
die. He was treacherous, in the hour of her utmost need, to the country
which had trusted him. He was treacherous to the great man who had leaned
upon his truth, when all others had abandoned him. He was treacherous
from the most sordid of motives jealousy of his friend and love of place
and pelf; but his subsequent remorse and his early death have cast a veil
over the blackness of his crime.

While Cornelia de Lalain was in Groningen, Orange was in Holland.
Intercepted letters left no doubt of the plot, and it was agreed that the
Prince, then on his way to Amsterdam, should summon the Count to an
interview. Renneberg's trouble at the proximity of Orange could not be
suppressed. He felt that he could never look his friend in the face
again. His plans were not ripe; it was desirable to dissemble for a
season longer; but how could he meet that tranquil eye which "looked
quite through the deeds of men?" It was obvious to Renneberg that his
deed was to be done forthwith, if he would escape discomfiture. The
Prince would soon be in Groningen, and his presence would dispel the
plots which had been secretly constructed.

On the evening of March the 3rd, 1580, the Count entertained a large
number of the most distinguished families of the place at a ball and
banquet. At the supper-table, Hildebrand, chief burgomaster of the city,
bluntly interrogated his host concerning the calumnious reports which
were in circulation, expressing the hope that there was no truth in these
inventions of his enemies. Thus summoned, Renneberg, seizing the hands of
Hildebrand in both his own, exclaimed, "Oh; my father! you whom I esteem
as my father, can you suspect me of such guilt? I pray you, trust me, and
fear me not!"

With this he restored the burgomaster and all the other guests to
confidence. The feast and dance proceeded, while Renneberg was quietly
arranging his plot. During the night all the leading patriots were taken
out of their beds, and carried to prison, notice being at the same time
given to the secret adherents of Renneberg. Before dawn, a numerous mob
of boatmen and vagrants, well armed, appeared upon the public square.
They bore torches and standards, and amazed the quiet little city with
their shouts. The place was formally taken into possession, cannon were
planted in front of the Town House to command the principal streets, and
barricades erected at various important points. Just at daylight,
Renneberg himself, in complete armor, rode into the square, and it was
observed that he looked ghastly as a corpse. He was followed by thirty
troopers, armed like himself, from head to foot. "Stand by me now," he
cried to the assembled throng; "fail me not at this moment, for now I am
for the first time your stadholder."

While he was speaking, a few citizens of the highest class forced their
way through the throng and addressed the mob in tones of authority. They
were evidently magisterial persons endeavoring to quell the riot. As they
advanced, one of Renneberg's men-at-arms discharged his carabine at the
foremost gentleman, who was no other than burgomaster Hildebrand. He fell
dead at the feet of the stadholder--of the man who had clasped his hands
a few hours before, called him father, and implored him to entertain no
suspicions of his honor. The death of this distinguished gentleman
created a panic, during which Renneberg addressed his adherents, and
stimulated them to atone by their future zeal in the King's service for
their former delinquency. A few days afterwards the city was formally
reunited to the royal government; but the Count's measures had been
precipitated to such an extent, that he was unable to carry the province
with him, as he had hoped. On the contrary, although he had secured the
city, he had secured nothing else. He was immediately beleaguered by the
states' force in the province under the command of Barthold Entes,
Hohenlo, and Philip Louis Nassau, and it was necessary to send for
immediate assistance from Parma.

The Prince of Orange, being thus bitterly disappointed by the treachery
of his friend, and foiled in his attempt to avert the immediate
consequences, continued his interrupted journey to Amsterdam. Here he was
received with unbounded enthusiasm.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All the majesty which decoration could impart
     Amuse them with this peace negotiation
     Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
     It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
     Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
     Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
     Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
     More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
     Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
     Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
     On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
     Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
     The disunited provinces
     There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
     To hear the last solemn commonplaces
     Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought




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

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

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.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Character of brave men to act, not to expect
     Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
     God has given absolute power to no mortal man
     Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
     Natural to judge only by the result
     No authority over an army which they did not pay
     Unduly dejected in adversity




MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, Project Gutenberg Edition, Vol. 34

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855




CHAPTER VI.

   Parma recals the foreign troops--Siege of Oudenarde--Coolness of
   Alexander--Capture of the city and of Nineve--Inauguration of Anjou
   at Ghent--Attempt upon his life and that of Orange--Lamoral Egmont's
   implication in the plot--Parma's unsuccessful attack upon Ghent--
   Secret plans of Anjou--Dunkirk, Ostend, and other towns surprised by
   his adherents--Failure at Bruges--Suspicions at Antwerp--Duplicity
   of Anjou--The "French Fury"--Details of that transaction--
   Discomfiture and disgrace of the Duke--His subsequent effrontery--
   His letters to the magistracy of Antwerp, to, the Estates, and to
   Orange--Extensive correspondence between Anjou and the French Court
   with Orange and the Estates--Difficult position of the Prince--His
   policy--Remarkable letter to the States-general--Provisional
   arrangement with Anjou--Marriage of the Archbishop of Cologne--
   Marriage of Orange with Louisa de Coligny--Movements in Holland,
   Brabant, Flanders, and other provinces, to induce the Prince to
   accept sovereignty over the whole country--His steady refusal--
   Treason of Van den Berg in Gueldres--Intrigues of Prince Chimay and
   Imbize in Flanders--Counter efforts of Orange and the patriot party
   --Fate of Imbize--Reconciliation of Bruges--Death of Anjou

During the course of the year 1582, the military operations on both sides
had been languid and desultory, the Prince of Parma, not having a large
force at his command, being comparatively inactive. In consequence,
however, of the treaty concluded between the United states and Anjou,
Parma had persuaded the Walloon provinces that it had now become
absolutely necessary for them to permit the entrance of fresh Italian and
Spanish troops. This, then, was the end of the famous provision against
foreign soldiery in the Walloon treaty of reconciliation. The Abbot of
Saint Vaast was immediately despatched on a special mission to Spain, and
the troops, by midsummer, had already begun to pour, into the
Netherlands.

In the meantime, Farnese, while awaiting these reinforcements, had not
been idle, but had been quietly picking up several important cities.
Early in the spring he had laid siege to Oudenarde, a place of
considerable importance upon the Scheld, and celebrated as the birthplace
of his grandmother, Margaret van Geest. The burghers were obstinate; the
defence was protracted; the sorties were bold; the skirmishes frequent
and sanguinary: Alexander commanded personally in the trenches,
encouraging his men by his example, and often working with the mattock,
or handling a spear in the assault, Like a private pioneer or soldier.
Towards the end of the siege, he scarcely ever left the scene of
operation, and he took his meals near the outer defences, that he might
lose no opportunity of superintending the labors of his troops. One day
his dinner was laid for himself and staff in the open air, close to the
entrenchment. He was himself engaged in planting a battery against a weak
point in the city wall, and would on no account withdraw for all instant.
The tablecloth was stretched over a number of drum-heads, placed close
together, and several, nobles of distinction--Aremberg, Montigny,
Richebourg, La Motte, and others, were his guests at dinner. Hardly had
the repast commenced, when a ball came flying over the table, taking off
the head of a young Walloon officer who was sitting near Parma, and, who
was earnestly requesting a foremost place in the morrow's assault. A
portion of his skull struck out the eye of another gentleman present. A
second ball from the town fortifications, equally well directed,
destroyed two more of the guests as they sat at the banquet--one a German
captain, the other the Judge-Advocate-General. The blood and brains of
these unfortunate individuals were strewn over the festive board, and the
others all started to their feet, having little appetite left for their
dinner. Alexander alone remained in his seat, manifesting no
discomposure. Quietly ordering the attendants to remove the dead bodies,
and to bring a clean tablecloth, he insisted that his guests should
resume their places at the banquet which had been interrupted in such
ghastly fashion. He stated with very determined aspect that he could not
allow the heretic burghers of Oudenarde the triumph of frightening him
from his dinner, or from the post of danger. The other gentlemen could,
of course, do no less than imitate the impassibility of their chief, and
the repast was accordingly concluded without further interruption. Not
long afterwards, the city, close pressed by so determined a commander,
accepted terms, which were more favorable by reason of the respect which
Alexander chose to render to his mother's birthplace. The pillage was
commuted for thirty thousand, crowns, and on the 5th of July the place
was surrendered to Parma almost under the very eyes of Anjou, who was
making a demonstration of relieving the siege.

Ninove, a citadel then belonging to the Egmont family, was next reduced.
Here, too, the defence was more obstinate than could have been expected
from the importance of the place, and as the autumn advanced, Parma's
troops were nearly starved in their trenches, from the insufficient
supplies furnished them. They had eaten no meat but horseflesh for weeks,
and even that was gone. The cavalry horses were all consumed, and even
the chargers of the officers were not respected. An aid-de-camp of Parma
fastened his steed one day at the door of the Prince's tent, while he
entered to receive his commander's instructions. When he came out again,
a few minutes afterwards, he found nothing but the saddle and bridle
hanging where he had fastened the horse. Remonstrance was useless, for
the animal had already been cut into quarters, and the only satisfaction
offered to the aid-de-camp was in the shape of a steak. The famine was
long familiarly known as the "Ninove starvation," but notwithstanding
this obstacle, the place was eventually surrendered.

An attempt upon Lochum, an important city, in Gelderland, was
unsuccessful, the place being relieved by the Duke of Anjou's forces, and
Parma's troops forced to abandon the siege. At Steenwyk, the royal arms
were more successful, Colonel Tassis, conducted by a treacherous Frisian
peasant, having surprised the city which had so, long and so manfully
sustained itself against Renneberg during the preceding winter. With this
event the active operations under Parma closed for the year. By the end
of the autumn, however, he had the satisfaction of numbering, under his
command, full sixty thousand well-appointed and disciplined troops,
including the large reinforcements recently despatched: from Spain and
Italy. The monthly expense of this army-half of which was required for
garrison duty, leaving only the other moiety for field Operations--was
estimated at six hundred and fifty thousand florins. The forces under
Anjou and the united provinces were also largely increased, so that the
marrow of the land was again in fair way of being thoroughly exhausted by
its defenders and its foes.

The incidents of Anjou's administration, meantime, during the year 1582,
had been few and of no great importance. After the pompous and elaborate
"homage-making" at Antwerp, he had, in the month of July, been formally
accepted, by writing, as Duke of Guelders and Lord of Friesland. In the
same month he had been ceremoniously, inaugurated at Bruges as Count of
Flanders--an occasion upon which the Prince of Orange had been present.
In that ancient and stately city there had been, accordingly, much
marching about under triumphal arches, much cannonading and haranguing,
much symbol work of suns dispelling fogs, with other cheerful emblems,
much decoration of ducal shoulders with velvet robes lined with weasel
skin, much blazing of tar-barrels and torches. In the midst of this
event, an attempt was made upon the lives both of Orange and Anjou. An
Italian, named Basa, and a Spaniard, called Salseda, were detected in a
scheme to administer poison to both princes, and when arrested, confessed
that they had been hired by the Prince of Parma to compass this double
assassination. Basa destroyed himself in prison. His body was, however,
gibbeted, with an inscription that he had attempted, at the instigation
of Parma, to take the lives of Orange and Anjou. Salseda, less fortunate,
was sent to Paris, where he was found guilty, and executed by being torn
to pieces by four horses. Sad to relate, Lamoral Egmont, younger son and
namesake of the great general, was intimate with Salseda, and implicated
in this base design. His mother, on her death-bed, had especially
recommended the youth to the kindly care of Orange. The Prince had ever
recognized the claim, manifesting uniform tenderness for the son of his
ill-started friend; and now the youthful Lamoral--as if the name of
Egmont had not been sufficiently contaminated by the elder brother's
treason at Brussels--had become the comrade of hired conspirators against
his guardian's life. The affair was hushed up, but the story was current
and generally believed that Egmont had himself undertaken to destroy the
Prince at his own table by means of poison which he kept concealed in a
ring. Saint Aldegonde was to have been taken off in the same way, and a
hollow ring filled with poison was said to have been found in Egmont's
lodgings.

The young noble was imprisoned; his guilt was far from doubtful; but the
powerful intercessions of Orange himself, combined with Egmont's near
relationship to the French Queen saved his life, and he was permitted,
after a brief captivity, to take his departure for France.

The Duke of Anjou, a month later, was received with equal pomp, in the
city of Ghent. Here the ceremonies were interrupted in another manner.
The Prince of Parma, at the head of a few regiments of Walloons, making
an attack on a body of troops by which Anjou had been escorted into
Flanders, the troops retreated in good order, and without much loss,
under the walls of Ghent, where a long and sharp action took place, much
to the disadvantage of Parma, The Prince, of Orange and the Duke; of
Anjou were on the city walls during the whole skirmish giving orders and
superintending the movements of their troops, and at nightfall Parma was
forced, to retire, leaving a large number of dead behind him.

The 15th day of December, in this year was celebrated according to the
new ordinance of Gregory the Thirteenth--as Christmas. It was the
occasion of more than usual merry-making among the Catholics of Antwerp,
who had procured, during the preceding summer, a renewed right of public
worship from Anjou and the estates. Many nobles of high rank came from
France, to pay their homage to the new Duke of Brabant. They secretly
expressed their disgust, however, at the close constitutional bonds in
which they found their own future sovereign imprisoned by the provinces.
They thought it far beneath the dignity of the "Son of France" to play
the secondary part of titular Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, Lord of
Friesland, and the like, while the whole power of government was lodged
with the states. They whispered that it was time to take measures for the
incorporation of the Netherlands into France, and they persuaded the
false and fickle Anjou that there would never be any hope of his royal
brother's assistance, except upon the understanding that the blood and
treasure of Frenchmen were to be spent to increase the power, not of
upstart and independent provinces, but of the French crown.

They struck the basest chords of the Duke's base nature by awakening his
jealousy of Orange. His whole soul vibrated to the appeal. He already
hated the man by whose superior intellect he was overawed, and by whose
pure character he was shamed. He stoutly but secretly swore that he would
assert his own rights; and that he would no longer serve as a shadow, a
statue, a zero, a Matthias. It is needless to add, that neither in his
own judgment nor in that of his mignons, were the constitutional articles
which he had recently sworn to support, or the solemn treaty which he had
signed and sealed at Bordeaux, to furnish any obstacles to his seizure of
unlimited power, whenever the design could be cleverly accomplished. He
rested not, day or night, in the elaboration of his plan.

Early in January, 1583, he sent one night for several of his intimate
associates, to consult with him after he had retired to bed. He
complained of the insolence of the states, of the importunity of the
council which they had forced upon him, of the insufficient sums which
they furnished both for him and his troops, of the daily insults offered
to the Catholic religion. He protested that he should consider himself
disgraced in the eyes of all Christendom, should he longer consent to
occupy his present ignoble position. But two ways were open to him, he
observed; either to retire altogether from the Nether lands, or to
maintain his authority with the strong hand, as became a prince. The
first course would cover him with disgrace. It was therefore necessary
for him to adopt the other. He then unfolded his plan to his confidential
friends, La Fougere, De Fazy, Palette, the sons of Marechal Biron, and
others. Upon the same day, if possible, he was determined to take
possession, with his own troops, of the principal cities in Flanders.
Dunkirk, Dixmuyde, Denremonde, Bruges, Ghent, Vilvoorde, Alost, and other
important places, were to be simultaneously invaded, under pretext of
quieting tumults artfully created and encouraged between the burghers and
the garrisons, while Antwerp was reserved for his own especial
enterprise. That important capital he would carry by surprise at the same
moment in which the other cities were to be secured by his lieutenants.

The plot was pronounced an excellent one by the friends around his
bed--all of them eager for Catholic supremacy, for the establishment of
the right divine on the part of France to the Netherlands, and for their
share in the sacking of so many wealthy cities at once. These worthless
mignons applauded their weak master to the echo; whereupon the Duke
leaped from his bed, and kneeling on the floor in his night-gown, raised
his eyes and his clasped hands to heaven, and piously invoked the
blessing of the Almighty upon the project which he had thus announced. He
added the solemn assurance that; if favored with success in his
undertaking, he would abstain in future from all unchastity, and forego
the irregular habits by which his youth had been stained. Having thus
bribed the Deity, and received the encouragement of his flatterers, the
Duke got into bed again. His next care was to remove the Seigneur du
Plessis, whom he had observed to be often in colloquy with the Prince of
Orange, his suspicious and guilty imagination finding nothing but
mischief to himself in the conjunction of two such natures. He therefore
dismissed Du Plessis, under pretext of a special mission to his sister,
Margaret of Navarre; but in reality, that he might rid himself of the
presence of an intelligent and honorable countryman.

On the a 15th January, 1583, the day fixed for the execution of the plot,
the French commandant of Dunkirk, Captain Chamois, skillfully took
advantage of a slight quarrel between the citizens and the garrison, to
secure that important frontier town. The same means were employed
simultaneously, with similar results, at Ostend, Dixmuyde, Denremonde,
Alost, and Vilvoorde, but there was a fatal delay at one important city.
La Fougere, who had been with Chamois at Dunkirk, was arrested on his way
to Bruges by some patriotic citizens who had got wind of what had just
been occurring in the other cities, so that when Palette, the provost of
Anjou, and Colonel la Rebours, at the head of fifteen hundred French
troops, appeared before the gates, entrance was flatly refused. De
Grijse, burgomaster of Bruges, encouraged his fellow townsmen by words
and stout action, to resist the nefarious project then on foot against
religious liberty and free government, in favor of a new foreign tyranny.
He spoke to men who could sympathize with, and second his courageous
resolution, and the delay of twenty-four hours, during which the burghers
had time to take the alarm, saved the city. The whole population was on
the alert, and the baffled Frenchmen were forced to retire from the
gates, to avoid being torn to pieces by the citizens whom they had
intended to surprise.

At Antwerp, meanwhile, the Duke of Anjou had been rapidly maturing his
plan, under pretext of a contemplated enterprise against the city of
Endhoven, having concentrated what he esteemed a sufficient number of
French troops at Borgerhout, a village close to the walls of Antwerp.

On the 16th of January, suspicion was aroused in the city. A man in a
mask entered the main guard-house in the night, mysteriously gave warning
that a great crime was in contemplation, and vanished before he could be
arrested. His accent proved him to be a Frenchman. Strange rumors flew
about the streets. A vague uneasiness pervaded the whole population as to
the intention of their new master, but nothing was definitely known, for
of course there was entire ignorance of the events which were just
occurring in other cities. The colonels and captains of the burgher guard
came to consult the Prince of Orange. He avowed the most entire
confidence in the Duke of Anjou, but, at the same time; recommended that
the chains should be drawn, the lanterns hung out, and the drawbridge
raised an hour earlier than usual, and that other precautions; customary
in the expectation of an attack, should be duly taken. He likewise sent
the Burgomaster of the interior, Dr. Alostanus, to the Duke of Anjou, in
order to communicate the suspicions created in the minds of the city
authorities by the recent movements of troops.

Anjou, thus addressed, protested in the most solemn manner that nothing
was farther from his thoughts than any secret enterprise against Antwerp.
He was willing, according to the figure of speech which he had always
ready upon every emergency, "to shed every drop of his blood in her
defence." He swore that he would signally punish all those who had dared
to invent such calumnies against himself and his faithful Frenchmen,
declaring earnestly, at the same time, that the troops had only been
assembled in the regular course of their duty. As the Duke was so loud
and so fervent; as he, moreover, made no objections to the precautionary
measures which had been taken; as the burgomaster thought, moreover, that
the public attention thus aroused would render all evil designs futile,
even if any had been entertained; it was thought that the city might
sleep in security for that night at least.

On the following, morning, as vague suspicions were still entertained by
many influential persons, a deputation of magistrates and militia
officers waited upon the Duke, the Prince of Orange--although
himself still feeling a confidence which seems now almost
inexplicable--consenting to accompany them. The Duke was more vehement
than ever in his protestations of loyalty to his recent oaths, as well as
of deep affection for the Netherlands--for Brabant in particular, and for
Antwerp most of all, and he made use of all his vivacity to persuade the
Prince, the burgomasters, and the colonels, that they had deeply wronged
him by such unjust suspicions. His assertions were accepted as sincere,
and the deputation withdrew, Anjou having first solemnly promised--at the
suggestion of Orange--not to leave the city during the whole day, in
order that unnecessary suspicion might be prevented.

This pledge the Duke proceeded to violate almost as soon as made. Orange
returned with confidence to his own house, which was close to the
citadel, and therefore far removed from the proposed point of attack, but
he had hardly arrived there when he received a visit from the Duke's
private secretary, Quinsay, who invited him to accompany his Highness on
a visit to the camp. Orange declined the request, and sent an earnest
prayer to the Duke not to leave the city that morning. The Duke dined as
usual at noon. While at dinner he received a letter; was observed to turn
pale on reading it, and to conceal it hastily in a muff which he wore on
his left arm. The repast finished, the Duke ordered his horse. The animal
was restive, and so, strenuously resisted being mounted that, although it
was his usual charger; it was exchanged for another. This second horse
started in such a flurry that the Duke lost his cloak, and almost his
seat. He maintained his self-possession, however, and placing himself at
the head of his bodyguard and some troopers, numbering in all three
hundred mounted men, rode out of the palace-yard towards the Kipdorp
gate.

This portal opened on the road towards Borgerhout, where his troops were
stationed, and at the present day bears the name of that village: It is
on the side of the city farthest removed from and exactly opposite the
river. The town was very quiet, the streets almost deserted; for it was
one o'clock, the universal dinner-hour, and all suspicion had been
disarmed by the energetic protestations of the Duke. The guard at the
gate looked listlessly upon the cavalcade as it approached, but as soon
as Anjou had crossed the first drawbridge, he rose in his stirrups and
waved his hand. "There is your city, my lads," said he to the troopers
behind him; "go and take possession of it!"

At the same time he set spurs to his horse, and galloped off towards the
camp at Borgerhout. Instantly afterwards; a gentleman of his suite, Count
Bochepot, affected to have broken his leg through the plunging of his
horse, a circumstance by which he had been violently pressed, against the
wall as he entered the gate. Kaiser, the commanding officer at the
guard-house, stepped kindly forward to render him assistance, and his
reward was a desperate thrust from the Frenchman's rapier. As he wore a
steel cuirass, he fortunately escaped with a slight wound.

The expression, "broken leg," was the watch-word, for at one and the same
instant, the troopers and guardsmen of Anjou set upon the burgher watch
at the gate, and butchered every man. A sufficient force was left to
protect the entrance thus easily mastered, while the rest of the
Frenchmen entered the town at full gallop, shrieking "Ville gaignee,
ville gaignee! vive la messe! vive le Due d'Anjou!" They were followed by
their comrades from the camp outside, who now poured into the town at the
preconcerted signal, at least six hundred cavalry and three thousand
musketeers, all perfectly appointed, entering Antwerp at once. From the
Kipdorp gate two main arteries--the streets called the Kipdorp and the
Meer--led quite through the heart of the city, towards the townhouse and
the river beyond. Along these great thoroughfares the French soldiers
advanced at a rapid pace; the cavalry clattering furiously in the van,
shouting "Ville gaignee, ville gaignee! vive la messe, vive la messe!
tue, tue, tue!"

The burghers coming to door and window to look for the cause of all this
disturbance, were saluted with volleys of musketry. They were for a
moment astonished, but not appalled, for at first they believed it to be
merely an accidental tumult. Observing, however, that the soldiers,
meeting with but little effective resistance, were dispersing into
dwellings and warehouses, particularly into the shops of the goldsmiths
and lapidaries, the citizens remembered the dark suspicions which had
been so rife, and many recalled to mind that distinguished French
officers had during the last few days been carefully examining the
treasures of the jewellers, under pretext of purchasing, but, as it now
appeared, with intent to rob intelligently.

The burghers, taking this rapid view of their position, flew instantly to
arms. Chains and barricades were stretched across the streets; the
trumpets sounded through the city; the municipal guards swarmed to the
rescue. An effective rally was made, as usual, at the Bourse, whither a
large detachment of the invaders had forced their way. Inhabitants of all
classes and conditions, noble and simple, Catholic and Protestant, gave
each other the hand, and swore to die at each other's side in defence of
the city against the treacherous strangers. The gathering was rapid and
enthusiastic. Gentlemen came with lance and cuirass, burghers with musket
and bandoleer, artisans with axe, mallet, and other implements of their
trade. A bold baker, standing by his oven-stark naked, according to the
custom of bakers at that day--rushed to the street as the sound of the
tumult reached his ear. With his heavy bread shovel, which he still held
in his hand, he dealt a French cavalry, officer, just riding and
screaming by, such a hearty blow that he fell dead from his horse. The
baker seized the officer's sword, sprang all unattired as he was, upon
his steed, and careered furiously through the streets, encouraging his
countrymen everywhere to the attack, and dealing dismay through the ranks
of the enemy. His services in that eventful hour were so signal that he
was publicly thanked afterwards by the magistrates for his services, and
rewarded with a pension of three hundred florins for life.

The invaders had been forced from the Bourse, while another portion of
them had penetrated as far as the Market-place. The resistance which they
encountered became every instant more formidable, and Fervacques, a
leading French officer, who was captured on the occasion, acknowledged
that no regular troops could have fought more bravely than did these
stalwart burghers. Women and children mounted to roof and window, whence
they hurled, not only tiles and chimney pots, but tables, ponderous
chairs, and other bulky articles, upon the heads of the assailants, while
such citizens as had used all their bullets, loaded their pieces with the
silver buttons from their doublets, or twisted gold and silver coins with
their teeth into ammunition. With a population so resolute, the four
thousand invaders, however audacious, soon found themselves swallowed up.
The city had closed over them like water, and within an hour nearly a
third of their whole number had been slain. Very few of the burghers had
perished, and fresh numbers were constantly advancing to the attack. The
Frenchmen, blinded, staggering, beaten, attempted to retreat. Many threw
themselves from the fortifications into the moat. The rest of the
survivors struggled through the streets--falling in large numbers at
every step-towards the point at which they had so lately entered the
city. Here at the Kipdorp gate was a ghastly spectacle, the slain being
piled up in the narrow passage full ten feet high, while some of the
heap, not quite dead, were striving to extricate a hand or foot, and
others feebly thrust forth their heads to gain a mouthful of air.

From the outside, some of Anjou's officers were attempting to climb over
this mass of bodies in order to enter the city; from the interior, the
baffled and fugitive remnant of their comrades were attempting to force
their passage through the same horrible barrier; while many dropped at,
every instant upon the heap of slain, under the blows of the unrelenting
burghers. On the other hand, Count Rochepot himself, to whom the
principal command of the enterprise had been entrusted by Anjou, stood
directly in the path of his fugitive soldiers, not only bitterly
upbraiding them with their cowardice, but actually slaying ten or twelve
of them with his own hands, as the most effectual mode of preventing
their retreat. Hardly an hour had elapsed from the time when the Duke of
Anjou first rode out of the Kipdorp gate, before nearly the whole of the
force which he had sent to accomplish his base design was either dead or
captive. Two hundred and fifty nobles of high rank and illustrious name
were killed; recognized at once as they lay in the streets by their
magnificent costume. A larger number of the gallant chivalry of France
had been sacrificed--as Anjou confessed--in this treacherous and most
shameful enterprise, than had often fallen upon noble and honorable
fields. Nearly two thousand of the rank and file had perished, and the
rest were prisoners. It was at first asserted that exactly fifteen
hundred and eighty-three Frenchmen had fallen, but this was only because
this number happened to be the date of the year, to which the lovers of
marvellous coincidences struggled very hard to make the returns of the
dead correspond. Less than one hundred burghers lost their lives.

Anjou, as he looked on at a distance, was bitterly reproached for his
treason by several of the high-minded gentlemen about his person, to whom
he had not dared to confide his plot. The Duke of Montpensier protested
vehemently that he washed his hands of the whole transaction, whatever
might be the issue. He was responsible for the honor of an illustrious
house, which should never be stained, he said, if he could prevent it,
with such foul deeds. The same language was held by Laval, by
Rochefoucauld, and by the Marechal de Biron, the last gentleman, whose
two sons were engaged in the vile enterprise, bitterly cursing the Duke
to his face, as he rode through the gate after revealing his secret
undertaking.

Meanwhile, Anjou, in addition to the punishment of hearing these
reproaches from men of honor, was the victim of a rapid and violent
fluctuation of feeling. Hope, fear, triumph, doubt, remorse, alternately
swayed him. As he saw the fugitives leaping from the walls, he shouted
exultingly, without accurately discerning what manner of men they were,
that the city was his, that four thousand of his brave soldiers were
there, and were hurling the burghers from the battlements. On being made
afterwards aware of his error, he was proportionably depressed; and when
it was obvious at last that the result of the enterprise was an absolute
and disgraceful failure, together with a complete exposure of his
treachery, he fairly mounted his horse, and fled conscience-stricken from
the scene.

The attack had been so unexpected, in consequence of the credence that
had been rendered by Orange and the magistracy to the solemn
protestations of the Duke, that it had been naturally out of any one's
power to prevent the catastrophe. The Prince was lodged in apart of the
town remote from the original scene of action, and it does not appear
that information had reached him that anything unusual was occurring,
until the affair was approaching its termination. Then there was little
for him to do. He hastened, however, to the scene, and mounting the
ramparts, persuaded the citizens to cease cannonading the discomfited and
retiring foe. He felt the full gravity of the situation, and the
necessity of diminishing the rancor of the inhabitants against their
treacherous allies, if such a result were yet possible. The burghers had
done their duty, and it certainly would have been neither in his power
nor his inclination to protect the French marauders from expulsion and
castigation.

Such was the termination of the French Fury, and it seems sufficiently
strange that it should have been so much less disastrous to Antwerp than
was the Spanish Fury of 1576, to which men could still scarcely allude
without a shudder. One would have thought the French more likely to prove
successful in their enterprise than the Spaniards in theirs. The
Spaniards were enemies against whom the city had long been on its guard.
The French were friends in whose sincerity a somewhat shaken confidence
had just been restored. When the Spanish attack was made, a large force
of defenders was drawn up in battle array behind freshly strengthened
fortifications. When the French entered at leisure through a scarcely
guarded gate, the whole population and garrison of the town were quietly
eating their dinners. The numbers of the invading forces on the two
occasions did not materially differ; but at the time of the French Fury
there was not a large force of regular troops under veteran generals to
resist the attack. Perhaps this was the main reason for the result, which
seems at first almost inexplicable. For protection against the Spanish
invasion, the burghers relied on mercenaries, some of whom proved
treacherous, while the rest became panic-struck. On the present occasion
the burghers relied on themselves. Moreover, the French committed the
great error of despising their enemy. Recollecting the ease with which
the Spaniards had ravished the city, they believed that they had nothing
to do but to enter and take possession. Instead of repressing their
greediness, as the Spaniards had done, until they had overcome
resistance, they dispersed almost immediately into by-streets, and
entered warehouses to search for plunder. They seemed actuated by a fear
that they should not have time to rifle the city before additional troops
should be sent by Anjou to share in the spoil. They were less used to the
sacking of Netherland cities than were the Spaniards, whom long practice
had made perfect in the art of methodically butchering a population at
first, before attention should be diverted to plundering, and
supplementary outrages. At any rate, whatever the causes, it is certain
that the panic, which upon such occasions generally decides the fate of
the day, seized upon the invaders and not upon the invaded, almost from
the very first. As soon as the marauders faltered in their purpose and
wished to retreat, it was all over with them. Returning was worse than
advance, and it was the almost inevitable result that hardly a man
escaped death or capture.

The Duke retreated the same day in the direction of Denremonde, and on
his way met with another misfortune, by which an additional number of his
troops lost their lives. A dyke was cut by the Mechlin citizens to impede
his march, and the swollen waters of the Dill, liberated and flowing
across the country which he was to traverse, produced such an inundation,
that at least a thousand of his followers were drowned.

As soon as he had established himself in a camp near Berghem, he opened a
correspondence with the Prince of Orange, and with the authorities of
Antwerp. His language was marked by wonderful effrontery. He found
himself and soldiers suffering for want of food; he remembered that he
had left much plate and valuable furniture in Antwerp; and he was
therefore desirous that the citizens, whom he had so basely outraged,
should at once send him supplies and restore his property. He also
reclaimed the prisoners who still remained in the city, and to obtain all
this he applied to the man whom he had bitterly deceived, and whose life
would have been sacrificed by the Duke, had the enterprise succeeded.

It had been his intention to sack the city, to re-establish exclusively
the Roman Catholic worship, to trample upon the constitution which he had
so recently sworn to maintain, to deprive Orange, by force, of the
Renversal by which the Duke recognized the Prince as sovereign of
Holland; Zealand; and Utrecht, yet notwithstanding that his treason
had-been enacted in broad daylight, and in a most deliberate manner, he
had the audacity to ascribe the recent tragic occurrences to chance. He
had the farther originality to speak of himself as an aggrieved person,
who had rendered great services to the Netherlands, and who had only met
with ingratitude in return. His envoys, Messieurs Landmater and
Escolieres, despatched on the very day of the French Fury to the
burgomasters and senate of Antwerp, were instructed to remind those
magistrates that the Duke had repeatedly exposed his life in the cause of
the Netherlands. The affronts, they were to add, which he had received,
and the approaching ruin of the country, which he foresaw, had so altered
his excellent nature, as to engender the present calamity, which he
infinitely regretted. Nevertheless, the senate was to be assured that his
affection for the commonwealth was still so strong, as to induce a desire
on his part to be informed what course was now to be pursued with, regard
to him. Information upon that important point was therefore to be
requested, while at the same time the liberation of the prisoners at
Antwerp, and the restaration of the Duke's furniture and papers, were to
be urgently demanded.

Letters of similar, import were also despatched by the Duke to the states
of the Union, while to the Prince of Orange; his application was brief
but brazen. "You know well,--my cousin," said he "the just and frequent
causes of offence which this people has given me. The insults which I,
this morning experienced cut me so deeply to the heart that they are the
only reasons of the misfortune which has happened today. Nevertheless, to
those who desire my friendship I shall show equal friendship and
affection. Herein I shall follow the counsel you have uniformly given me,
since I know it comes from one who has always loved me. Therefore I beg
that you will kindly bring it to pass, that I may obtain some decision,
and that no injury may be inflicted upon my people. Otherwise the land
shall pay for it dearly."

To these appeals, neither the Prince nor the authorities of Antwerp
answered immediately in their own names. A general consultation was,
however, immediately held with the estates-general, and an answer
forthwith despatched to the Duke by the hands of his envoys. It was
agreed to liberate the prisoners, to restore the furniture, and to send a
special deputation for the purpose of making further arrangements with
the Duke by word of mouth, and for this deputation his Highness was
requested to furnish a safe conduct.

Anjou was overjoyed when he received this amicable communication.
Relieved for a time from his fears as to the result of his crime, he
already assumed a higher ground. He not only spoke to the states in a
paternal tone, which was sufficiently ludicrous, but he had actually the
coolness to assure them of his forgiveness. "He felt hurt," he said,
"that they should deem a safe conduct necessary for the deputation which
they proposed to send. If they thought that he had reason on account of
the past, to feel offended, he begged them to believe that he had
forgotten it all, and that he had buried the past in its ashes, even as
if it had never been." He furthermore begged them--and this seemed the
greatest insult of all--"in future to trust to his word, and to believe
that if any thing should be attempted to their disadvantage, he would be
the very first to offer himself for their protection."

It will be observed that in his first letters the Duke had not affected
to deny his agency in the outrage--an agency so flagrant that all
subterfuge seemed superfluous. He in fact avowed that the attempt had
been made by his command, but sought to palliate the crime on the ground
that it had been the result of the ill-treatment which he had experienced
from the states. "The affronts which I have received," said he, both to
the magistrates of Antwerp and to Orange, "have engendered the present
calamity." So also, in a letter written at the same time to his brother,
Henry the Third, he observed that "the indignities which were put upon
him, and the manifest intention of the states to make a Matthias of him,
had been the cause of the catastrophe."

He now, however, ventured a step farther. Presuming upon the indulgence
which he had already experienced; and bravely assuming the tone of
injured innocence, he ascribed the enterprise partly to accident, and
partly to the insubordination of his troops. This was the ground which he
adopted in his interviews with the states' commissioners. So also, in a
letter addressed to Van der Tympel, commandant of Brussels, in which he
begged for supplies for his troops, he described the recent invasion of
Antwerp as entirely unexpected by himself, and beyond his control. He had
been intending, he said, to leave the city and to join his army. A tumult
had accidentally arisen between his soldiers and the guard at the gate.
Other troops rushing in from without, had joined in the affray, so that
to, his great sorrow, an extensive disorder had arisen. He manifested the
same Christian inclination to forgive, however, which he had before
exhibited. He observed that "good men would never grow cold in his
regard, or find his affection diminished." He assured Van der Tympel, in
particular, of his ancient goodwill, as he knew him to be a lover of the
common weal.

In his original communications he had been both cringing and threatening
but, at least, he had not denied truths which were plain as daylight. His
new position considerably damaged his cause. This forgiving spirit on the
part of the malefactor was a little more than the states could bear,
disposed as they felt, from policy, to be indulgent, and to smooth over
the crime as gently as possible. The negotiations were interrupted, and
the authorities of Antwerp published a brief and spirited defence of
their own conduct. They denied that any affront or want of respect on
their part could have provoked the outrage of which the Duke had been
guilty. They severely handled his self-contradiction, in ascribing
originally the recent attempt to his just vengeance for past injuries,
and in afterwards imputing it to accident or sudden mutiny, while they
cited the simultaneous attempts at Bruges, Denremonde, Alost, Digmuyde,
Newport, Ostend, Vilvoorde, and Dunkirk, as a series of damning proofs of
a deliberate design.

The publication of such plain facts did not advance the negotiations when
resumed. High and harsh words were interchanged between his Highness and
the commissioners, Anjou complaining, as usual, of affronts and
indignities, but when pushed home for particulars, taking refuge in
equivocation. "He did not wish," he said, "to re-open wounds which had
been partially healed." He also affected benignity, and wishing to
forgive and to forget, he offered some articles as the basis of a fresh
agreement. Of these it is sufficient to state that they were entirely
different from the terms of the Bordeaux treaty, and that they were
rejected as quite inadmissible.

He wrote again to the Prince of Orange, invoking his influence to bring
about an arrangement. The Prince, justly indignant at the recent
treachery and the present insolence of the man whom he had so profoundly
trusted, but feeling certain that the welfare of the country depended at
present upon avoiding, if possible, a political catastrophe, answered the
Duke in plain, firm, mournful, and appropriate language. He had ever
manifested to his Highness, he said, the most uniform and sincere
friendship. He had, therefore, the right to tell him that affairs were
now so changed that his greatness and glory had departed. Those men in
the Netherlands, who, but yesterday, had been willing to die at the feet
of his Highness, were now so exasperated that they avowedly preferred an
open enemy to a treacherous protector. He had hoped, he said, that after
what had happened in so many cities at the same moment, his Highness
would have been pleased to give the deputies a different and a more
becoming answer. He had hoped for some response which might lead to an
arrangement. He, however, stated frankly, that the articles transmitted
by his Highness were so unreasonable that no man in the land would dare
open his mouth to recommend them. His Highness, by this proceeding, had
much deepened the distrust. He warned the Duke accordingly, that he was
not taking the right course to reinstate himself in a position of honor
and glory, and he begged him, therefore, to adopt more appropriate means.
Such a step was now demanded of him, not only by the country, but by all
Christendom.

This moderate but heartfelt appeal to the better nature of the Duke, if
he had a better nature, met with no immediate response.

While matters were in this condition, a special envoy arrived out of
France, despatched by the King and Queen-mother, on the first reception
of the recent intelligence from Antwerp. M. de Mirambeau, the ambassador,
whose son had been killed in the Fury, brought letters of credence to the
states of the Union and to the Prince of Orange. He delivered also a
short confidential note, written in her own hand, from Catherine de
Medici to the Prince, to the following effect:

"My COUSIN,--The King, my son, and myself, send you Monsieur de
Mirambeau, to prove to you that we do not believe--for we esteem you an
honorable man--that you would manifest ingratitude to my son, and to
those who have followed him for the welfare of your country. We feel that
you have too much affection for one who has the support of so powerful a
prince as the King of France, as to play him so base a trick. Until I
learn the truth, I shall not renounce the good hope which I have always
indulged--that you would never have invited my son to your country,
without intending to serve him faithfully. As long as you do this, you
may ever reckon on the support of all who belong to him.

               "Your good Cousin,

                       "CATHERINE."

It would have been very difficult to extract much information or much
comfort from this wily epistle. The menace was sufficiently plain, the
promise disagreeably vague. Moreover, a letter from the same Catherine de
Medici, had been recently found in a casket at the Duke's lodgings in
Antwerp. In that communication, she had distinctly advised her son to
re-establish the Roman Catholic religion, assuring him that by so doing,
he would be enabled to marry the Infanta of Spain. Nevertheless, the
Prince, convinced that it was his duty to bridge over the deep and fatal
chasm which had opened between the French Prince and the provinces, if an
honorable reconciliation were possible, did not attach an undue
importance either to the stimulating or to the upbraiding portion of the
communication from Catherine. He was most anxious to avert the chaos
which he saw returning. He knew that while the tempers of Rudolph, of the
English Queen, and of the Protestant princes of Germany, and the internal
condition of the Netherlands remained the same, it were madness to
provoke the government of France, and thus gain an additional enemy,
while losing their only friend. He did not renounce the hope of forming
all the Netherlands--excepting of course the Walloon provinces already
reconciled to Philip--into one independent commonwealth, freed for ever
from Spanish tyranny. A dynasty from a foreign house he was willing to
accept, but only on condition that the new royal line should become
naturalized in the Netherlands, should, conform itself to the strict
constitutional compact established, and should employ only natives in the
administration of Netherland affairs. Notwithstanding, therefore, the
recent treachery of Anjou, he was willing to treat with him upon the
ancient basis. The dilemma was a very desperate one, for whatever might
be his course, it was impossible that it should escape censure. Even at
this day, it is difficult to decide what might have been the result of
openly braving the French government, and expelling Anjou. The Prince of
Parma--subtle, vigilant, prompt with word and blow--was waiting most
anxiously to take advantage of every false step of his adversary. The
provinces had been already summoned in most eloquent language, to take
warning by the recent fate of Antwerp, and to learn by the manifestation
just made by Anjou, of his real intentions; that their only salvation lay
in a return to the King's arms. Anjou himself, as devoid of shame as of
honor, was secretly holding interviews with Parma's agents, Acosta and
Flaminio Carnero, at the very moment when he was alternately expressing
to the states his resentment that they dared to doubt his truth, or
magnanimously extending to them his pardon for their suspicions. He was
writing letters full of injured innocence to Orange and to the states,
while secretly cavilling over the terms of the treaty by which he was to
sell himself to Spain. Scruples as to enacting so base a part did not
trouble the "Son of France." He did not hesitate at playing this doubly
and trebly false game with the provinces, but he was anxious to drive the
best possible bargain for himself with Parma. He, offered to restore
Dunkirk, Dixmuyde, and the other cities which he had so recently filched
from the states, and to enter into a strict alliance with Philip; but he
claimed that certain Netherland cities on the French frontier, should be
made over to him in exchange. He required; likewise; ample protection for
his retreat from a country which was likely to be sufficiently
exasperated. Parma and his agents smiled, of course, at such exorbitant
terms.  Nevertheless, it was necessary to deal cautiously with a man who,
although but a poor baffled rogue to-day, might to-morrow be seated on
the throne of France. While they were all secretly haggling over the
terms of the bargain, the Prince of Orange discovered the intrigue. It
convinced him of the necessity of closing with a man whose baseness was
so profound, but whose position made his enmity, on the whole, more
dangerous than his friendship. Anjou, backed by so astute and
unscrupulous a politician as Parma, was not to be trifled with. The
feeling of doubt and anxiety was spreading daily through the country:
many men, hitherto firm, were already wavering, while at the same time
the Prince had no confidence in the power of any of the states, save
those of Holland and Utrecht; to maintain a resolute attitude of
defiance, if not assisted from without.

He therefore endeavored to repair the breach, if possible, and thus save
the Union. Mirambeau, in his conferences with the estates, suggested, on
his part, all that words could effect. He expressed the hope that the
estates would use their discretion "in compounding some sweet and
friendly medicine" for the present disorder; and that they would not
judge the Duke too harshly for a fault which he assured them did not come
from his natural disposition. He warned them that the enemy would be
quick to take advantage of the present occasion to bring about, if
possible, their destruction, and he added that he was commissioned to
wait upon the Duke of Anjou, in order to assure him that, however
alienated he might then be from the Netherlands, his Majesty was
determined to effect an entire reconciliation.

The envoy conferred also with the Prince of Orange, and urged him most
earnestly to use his efforts to heal the rupture. The Prince, inspired by
the sentiments already indicated, spoke with perfect sincerity. His
Highness, he said, had never known a more faithful and zealous friend
than himself, He had begun to lose his own credit with the people by
reason of the earnestness with which he had ever advocated the Duke's
cause, and he could not flatter himself that his recommendation would now
be of any advantage to his Highness. It would be more injurious than his
silence. Nevertheless, he was willing to make use of all the influence
which was left to him for the purpose of bringing about a reconciliation,
provided that the Duke were acting in good faith. If his Highness were
now sincerely desirous of conforming to the original treaty, and willing
to atone for the faults committed by him on the same day in so many
cities--offences which could not be excused upon the ground of any
affronts which he might have received from the citizens of Antwerp--it
might even now be possible to find a remedy for the past. He very bluntly
told the envoy, however, that the frivolous excuses offered by the Duke
caused more bitterness than if he had openly acknowledged his fault. It
were better, he said, to express contrition, than to excuse himself by
laying blame on those to whom no blame belonged, but who, on the
contrary, had ever shown themselves faithful servants of his Highness.

The estates of the Union, being in great perplexity as to their proper
course, now applied formally, as they always did in times of danger and
doubt, to the Prince, for a public expression of his views. Somewhat
reluctantly, he complied with their wishes in one of the most admirable
of his state papers.

He told the states-that he felt some hesitation in expressing his views.
The blame of the general ill success was always laid upon his shoulders;
as if the chances of war could be controlled even by a great potentate
with ample means at his disposal. As for himself, with so little actual
power that he could never have a single city provided with what he
thought a sufficient garrison, it could not be expected that he could
command fortune. His advice, he said, was always asked, but ever judged
good or evil according to the result, as if the issue were in any hands
but God's. It did not seem advisable for a man of his condition and
years, who had so often felt the barb of calumny's tongue, to place his
honor, again in the judgment scale of mankind, particularly as he was
likely to incur fresh censure for another man's crime. Nevertheless, he
was willing, for the love he bore the land, once more to encounter this
danger.

He then rapidly reviewed the circumstances which had led to the election
of Anjou, and reminded the estates that they had employed sufficient time
to deliberate concerning that transaction. He recalled to their
remembrance his frequent assurances of support and sympathy if they would
provide any other means of self-protection than the treaty with the
French Prince. He thought it, therefore, unjust, now that calamity had
sprung from the measure, to ascribe the blame entirely to him, even had
the injury been greater than the one actually sustained. He was far from
palliating the crime, or from denying that the Duke's rights under the
Treaty of Bordeaux had been utterly forfeited. He was now asked what was
to be done. Of three courses, he said, one must be taken: they must make
their peace with the King, or consent to a reconciliation with Anjou, or
use all the strength which God had given them to resist, single-handed,
the enemy. With regard to the first point, he resumed the argument as to
the hopelessness of a satisfactory arrangement with the monarch of Spain.
The recent reconciliation of the Walloon provinces and its shameful
infraction by Parma in the immediate recal of large masses of Spanish and
Italian troops, showed too plainly the value of all solemn stipulations
with his Catholic Majesty. Moreover, the time was unpropitious. It was
idle to look, after what had recently occurred, for even fair promises.
It was madness then to incur the enmity of two such powers at once. The
French could do the Netherlands more harm as enemies than the Spaniards.
The Spaniards would be more dangerous as friends, for in cases of a
treaty with Philip the Inquisition would be established in the place of a
religious peace. For these reasons the Prince declared himself entirely
opposed to any negotiations with the Crown of Spain.

As to the second point, he admitted that Anjou had gained little honor by
his recent course; and that it would be a mistake on their part to
stumble a second time over the same stone. He foresaw, nevertheless, that
the Duke--irritated as he was by the loss of so many of his nobles, and
by the downfall of all his hopes in the Netherlands--would be likely to
inflict great injuries upon their cause. Two powerful nations like France
and Spain would be too much to have on their hands at once. How much
danger, too, would be incurred by braving at once the open wrath of the
French King, and, the secret displeasure of the English Queen. She had
warmly recommended the Duke of Anjou. She had said--that honors to him
were rendered to herself; and she was now entirely opposed to their
keeping the present quarrel alive. If France became their enemy, the road
was at once opened through that kingdom for Spain. The estates were to
ponder well whether they possessed the means to carry on such a double
war without assistance. They were likewise to remember how many cities
still remained in the hands of Anjou, and their possible fate if the Duke
were pushed to extremity.

The third point was then handled with vigor. He reminded the states of
the perpetual difficulty of raising armies, of collecting money to pay
for troops, of inducing cities to accept proper garrisons, of
establishing a council which could make itself respected. He alluded
briefly and bitterly to the perpetual quarrels of the states among
themselves; to their mutual jealousy; to their obstinate parsimony; to
their jealousy of the general government; to their apathy and inertness
before impending ruin. He would not calumniate those, he said, who
counselled trust in God. That was his sentiment also: To attempt great
affairs, however, and, through avarice, to-withhold sufficient means, was
not trusting, but tempting God.--On the contrary, it was trusting God to
use the means which He offered to their hands.

With regard, then, to the three points, he rejected the first.
Reconciliation with the King of Spain was impossible. For his own part,
he would much prefer the third course. He had always been in favor of
their maintaining independence by their own means and the assistance of
the Almighty. He was obliged, however, in sadness; to confess that the
narrow feeling of individual state rights, the general tendency to
disunion, and the constant wrangling, had made this course a hopeless
one. There remained, therefore, only the second, and they must effect an
honorable reconciliation with Anjou. Whatever might be their decision,
however, it was meet that it should be a speedy one. Not an hour was to
be lost. Many fair churches of God, in Anjou's power, were trembling on
the issue, and religious and political liberty was more at stake than
ever. In conclusion, the Prince again expressed his determination,
whatever might be their decision, to devote the rest of his days to the
services of his country.

The result of these representations by the Prince--of frequent letters
from Queen Elizabeth, urging a reconciliation--and of the professions
made by the Duke and the French envoys, was a provisional arrangement,
signed on the 26th and 28th of March. According to the terms of this
accord, the Duke was to receive thirty thousand florins for his troops,
and to surrender the cities still in his power. The French prisoners were
to be liberated, the Duke's property at Antwerp was to be restored, and
the Duke himself was to await at Dunkirk the arrival of plenipotentiaries
to treat with him as to a new and perpetual arrangement.

The negotiations, however, were languid. The quarrel was healed on the
surface, but confidence so recently and violently uprooted was slow to
revive. On the 28th of June, the Duke of Anjou left Dunkirk for Paris,
never to return to the Netherlands, but he exchanged on his departure
affectionate letters with the Prince and the estates. M. des Pruneaux
remained as his representative, and it was understood that the
arrangements for re-installing him as soon as possible in the sovereignty
which he had so basely forfeited, were to be pushed forward with
earnestness.

In the spring of the same year, Gerard Truchses, Archbishop of Cologne,
who had lost his see for the love of Agnes Mansfeld, whom he had espoused
in defiance of the Pope; took refuge with the Prince of Orange at Delft.
A civil war in Germany broke forth, the Protestant princes undertaking to
support the Archbishop, in opposition to Ernest of Bavaria, who had been
appointed in his place. The Palatine, John Casimir, thought it necessary
to mount and ride as usual. Making his appearance at the head of a
hastily collected force, and prepared for another plunge into chaos, he
suddenly heard, however, of his elder brother's death at Heidelberg.
Leaving his men, as was his habit, to shift for themselves, and Baron
Truchses, the Archbishop's brother, to fall into the hands of the enemy,
he disappeared from the scene with great rapidity, in order that his own
interests in the palatinate and in the guardianship of the young
palatines might not suffer by his absence.

At this time, too, on the 12th of April, the Prince of Orange was
married, for the fourth time, to Louisa, widow of the Seigneur de
Teligny, and daughter of the illustrious Coligny.

In the course of the summer, the states of Holland and Zealand, always
bitterly opposed to the connection with Anjou, and more than ever
dissatisfied with the resumption of negotiations since the Antwerp
catastrophe, sent a committee to the Prince in order to persuade him to
set his face against the whole proceedings. They delivered at the same
time a formal remonstrance, in writing (25th of August, 1583), in which
they explained how odious the arrangement with the Duke had ever been to
them. They expressed the opinion that even the wisest might be sometimes
mistaken, and that the Prince had been bitterly deceived by Anjou and by
the French court. They besought him to rely upon the assistance of the
Almighty, and upon the exertions of the nation, and they again hinted at
the propriety of his accepting that supreme sovereignty over all the
united provinces which would be so gladly conferred, while, for their own
parts, they voluntarily offered largely to increase the sums annually
contributed to the common defence.

Very soon afterwards, in August, 1583, the states of the united provinces
assembled at Middelburg formally offered the general government--which
under the circumstances was the general sovereignty--to the Prince,
warmly urging his acceptance of the dignity. He manifested, however, the
same reluctance which he had always expressed, demanding that the project
should beforehand be laid before the councils of all the large cities,
and before the estates of certain provinces which had not been
represented at the Middelburg diet. He also made use of the occasion to
urge the necessity of providing more generously for the army expenses and
other general disbursements. As to ambitious views, he was a stranger to
them, and his language at this moment was as patriotic and self-denying
as at any previous period. He expressed his thanks to the estates for
this renewed proof of their confidence in his character, and this
additional approbation of his course,--a sentiment which he was always
ready "as a good patriot to justify by his most faithful service." He
reminded them, however, that he was no great monarch, having in his own
hands the means to help and the power to liberate them; and that even
were he in possession of all which God had once given him, he should be
far from strong enough to resist, single-handed, their powerful enemy.
All that was left to him, he said, was an "honest and moderate experience
in affairs." With this he was ever ready to serve them to the utmost; but
they knew very well that the means to make that experience available were
to be drawn from the country itself. With modest simplicity, he observed
that he had been at work fifteen or sixteen years, doing his best, with
the grace of God, to secure the freedom of the fatherland and to resist
tyranny of conscience; that he alone--assisted by his brothers and some
friends and relatives--had borne the whole burthen in the beginning, and
that he had afterwards been helped by the states of Holland and Zealand,
so that he could not but render thanks to God for His great mercy in thus
granting His blessing to so humble an instrument, and thus restoring so
many beautiful provinces to their ancient freedom and to the true
religion. The Prince protested that this result was already a sufficient
reward for his labors--a great consolation in his sufferings. He had
hoped, he said, that the estates, "taking into consideration his
long-continued labors, would have been willing to excuse him from a new
load of cares, and would have granted him some little rest in his already
advanced age;" that they would have selected "some other person more
fitted for the labor, whom he would himself faithfully promise to assist
to the best of his abilities, rendering him willing obedience
proportionate to the authority conferred upon him."

Like all other attempts to induce the acceptance, by the Prince, of
supreme authority, this effort proved ineffectual, from the obstinate
unwillingness of his hand to receive the proffered sceptre.

In connection with this movement, and at about the same epoch, Jacob
Swerius, member of the Brabant Council, with other deputies, waited upon
Orange, and formally tendered him the sovereign dukedom of Brabant,
forfeited and vacant by the late crime of Anjou. The Prince, however,
resolutely refused to accept the dignity, assuring the committee that he
had not the means to afford the country as much protection as they had a
right to expect from their sovereign. He added that "he would never give
the King of Spain the right-to say that the Prince of Orange had been
actuated by no other motives in his career than the hope of
self-aggrandizement, and the desire to deprive his Majesty of the
provinces in order to appropriate them to himself."

Accordingly, firmly refusing to heed the overtures of the United States,
and of Holland in particular, he continued to further the
re-establishment of Anjou--a measure in which, as he deliberately
believed, lay the only chance of union and in dependence.

The Prince of Parma, meantime, had not been idle. He had been unable to
induce the provinces to listen to his wiles, and to rush to the embrace
of the monarch whose arms he described as ever open to the repentant. He
had, however, been busily occupied in the course of the summer in taking
up many of the towns which the treason of Anjou had laid open to his
attacks.

Eindhoven, Diest, Dunkirk, Newport, and other places, were successively
surrendered to royalist generals. On the 22nd of September, 1583, the
city of Zutfen, too, was surprised by Colonel Tassis, on the fall of
which most important place, the treason of Orange's brother-in-law, Count
Van den Berg, governor of Gueldres, was revealed. His fidelity had been
long suspected, particularly by Count John of Nassau, but always
earnestly vouched for by his wife and by his sons. On the capture of
Zutfen, however, a document was found and made public, by which Van den
Berg bound himself to deliver the principal cities of Gueldres and
Zutfen, beginning with Zutfen itself, into the hands of Parma, on
condition of receiving the pardon and friendship of the King.

Not much better could have been expected of Van den Berg. His
pusillanimous retreat from his post in Alva's time will be recollected;
and it is certain that the Prince had never placed implicit confidence in
his character. Nevertheless, it was the fate of this great man to be
often deceived by the friends whom he trusted, although never to be
outwitted by his enemies. Van den Berg was arrested, on the 15th of
November, carried to the Hague, examined and imprisoned for a time in
Delftshaven. After a time he was, however, liberated, when he instantly,
with all his sons, took service under the King.

While treason was thus favoring the royal arms in the north, the same
powerful element, to which so much of the Netherland misfortunes had
always been owing was busy in Flanders.

Towards the end of the year 1583, the Prince of Chimay, eldest son of the
Duke of Aerschot, had been elected governor of that province. This noble
was as unstable in character, as vain, as unscrupulous, and as ambitious
as his father and uncle. He had been originally desirous of espousing the
eldest daughter of the Prince of Orange, afterwards the Countess of
Hohenlo, but the Duchess of Aerschot was too strict a Catholic to consent
to the marriage, and her son was afterwards united to the Countess of
Meghem, widow of Lan celot Berlaymont.

As affairs seemed going on prosperously for the states in the beginning,
of this year, the Prince of Chimay had affected a strong inclination for
the Reformed religion, and as governor of Bruges, he had appointed many
members of that Church to important offices, to the exclusion of
Catholics. By so decided a course, he acquired the confidence of the
patriot party and at the end of the year he became governor of Flanders.
No sooner was he installed in this post, than he opened a private
correspondence with Parma, for it was his intention to make his peace
with the King, and to purchase pardon and advancement by the brilliant
service which he now undertook, of restoring this important province to
the royal authority. In the arrangement of his plans he was assisted by
Champagny, who, as will be recollected, had long been a prisoner in
Ghent, but whose confinement was not so strict as to prevent frequent
intercourse with his friends without. Champagny was indeed believed to be
the life of the whole intrigue. The plot was, however, forwarded by
Imbize, the roaring demagogue whose republicanism could never reconcile
itself with what he esteemed the aristocratic policy of Orange, and whose
stern puritanism could be satisfied with nothing short of a general
extermination of Catholics. This man, after having been allowed to
depart, infamous and contemptible, from the city which he had endangered,
now ventured after five years, to return, and to engage in fresh schemes
which were even more criminal than his previous enterprises. The
uncompromising foe to Romanism, the advocate of Grecian and Genevan
democracy, now allied himself with Champagny and with Chimay, to effect a
surrender of Flanders to Philip and to the Inquisition. He succeeded in
getting himself elected chief senator in Ghent, and forthwith began to
use all his influence to further the secret plot. The joint efforts and
intrigues of Parma, Champagny, Chimay, and Imbize, were near being
successful. Early, in the spring of 1584 a formal resolution was passed
by the government of Ghent, to open negotiations with Parma. Hostages
were accordingly exchanged, and a truce of three weeks was agreed upon,
during which an animated correspondence was maintained between the
authorities of Ghent and the Prince of Chimay on the one side, and the
United States-general, the magistracy of Antwerp, the states of Brabant,
and other important bodies on the other.

The friends of the Union and of liberty used all their eloquence to
arrest the city of Ghent in its course, and to save the province of
Flanders from accepting the proposed arrangement with Parma. The people
of Ghent were reminded that the chief promoter of this new negotiation
was Champagny, a man who owed a deep debt of hatred to their city, for
the long, and as he believed, the unjust confinement which he had endured
within its walls. Moreover, he was the brother of Granvelle, source of
all their woes. To take counsel with Champagny, was to come within reach
of a deadly foe, for "he who confesses himself to a wolf," said the
burgomasters of Antwerp, "will get wolf's absolution." The Flemings were
warned by all their correspondents that it was puerile to hope for faith
in Philip; a monarch whose first principle was, that promises to heretics
were void. They were entreated to pay no heed to the "sweet singing of
the royalists," who just then affected to disapprove of the practice
adopted by the Spanish Inquisition, that they might more surely separate
them from their friends. "Imitate not," said the magistrates of Brussels,
"the foolish sheep who made with the wolves a treaty of perpetual amity,
from which the faithful dogs were to be excluded." It was affirmed--and
the truth was certainly beyond peradventure--that religious liberty was
dead at the moment when the treaty with Parma should be signed. "To look
for political privilege or evangelical liberty," said the Antwerp
authorities, "in any arrangement with the Spaniards, is to look for light
in darkness, for fire in water." "Philip is himself the slave of the
Inquisition," said the states-general, "and has but one great purpose in
life--to cherish the institution everywhere, and particularly in the
Netherlands. Before Margaret of Parma's time, one hundred thousand
Netherlanders had been burned or strangled, and Alva had spent seven
years in butchering and torturing many thousands more." The magistrates
of Brussells used similar expressions. "The King of Spain," said they to
their brethren of Ghent, "is fastened to the Inquisition. Yea, he is so
much in its power, that even if he desired, he is unable to maintain his
promises." The Prince of Orange too, was indefatigable in public and
private efforts to counteract the machinations of Parma and the Spanish
party in Ghent. He saw with horror the progress which the political
decomposition of that most important commonwealth was making, for he
considered the city the keystone to the union of the provinces, for he
felt with a prophetic instinct that its loss would entail that of all the
southern provinces, and make a united and independent Netherland state
impossible. Already in the summer of 1583, he addressed a letter full of
wisdom and of warning to the authorities of Ghent, a letter in which he
set fully before them the iniquity and stupidity of their proceedings,
while at the same time he expressed himself with so much dexterity and
caution as to avoid giving offence, by accusations which he made, as it
were, hypothetically, when, in truth, they were real ones.

These remonstrances were not fruitless, and the authorities and citizens
of Ghent once more paused ere they stepped from the precipice. While they
were thus wavering, the whole negotiation with Parma was abruptly brought
to a close by a new incident, the demagogue Imbize having been discovered
in a secret attempt to obtain possession of the city of Denremonde, and
deliver it to Parma. The old acquaintance, ally, and enemy of Imbize, the
Seigneur de Ryhove, was commandant of the city, and information was
privately conveyed to him of the design, before there had been time for
its accomplishment. Ryhove, being thoroughly on his guard, arrested his
old comrade, who was shortly afterwards brought to trial, and executed at
Ghent. John van Imbize had returned to the city from which the
contemptuous mercy of Orange had permitted him formerly to depart, only
to expiate fresh turbulence and fresh treason by a felon's death.
Meanwhile the citizens: of Ghent; thus warned by word and deed, passed an
earnest resolution to have no more intercourse with Parma, but to abide
faithfully by the union. Their example was followed by the other Flemish
cities, excepting, unfortunately, Bruges, for that important town, being
entirely in the power of Chimay, was now surrendered by him to the royal
government. On the 20th of May, 1584, Baron Montigny, on the part of
Parma, signed an accord with the Prince of Chimay, by which the city was
restored to his Majesty, and by which all inhabitants not willing to
abide by the Roman Catholic religion were permitted to leave the land.
The Prince was received with favor by Parma, on conclusion of the
transaction, and subsequently met with advancement from the King, while
the Princess, who had embraced the Reformed religion, retired to Holland.

The only other city of importance gained on this occasion by the
government was Ypres, which had been long besieged, and was, soon
afterwards forced to yield. The new Bishop, on taking possession,
resorted to instant measures for cleansing a place which had been so long
in the hands of the infidels, and as the first step in this purification,
the bodies of many heretics who had been buried for years were taken from
their graves, and publicly hanged in their coffins. All living adherents
to the Reformed religion were instantly expelled from the place.

Ghent and the rest of Flanders were, for the time, saved from the power
of Spain, the inhabitants being confirmed in their resolution of
sustaining their union with the other provinces by the news from France.
Early in the spring the negotiations between Anjou and the states-general
had been earnestly renewed, and Junius, Mouillerie, and Asseliers, had
been despatched on a special mission to France, for the purpose of
arranging a treaty with the Duke. On the 19th of April, 1584, they
arrived in Delft, on their return, bringing warm letters from the French
court, full of promises to assist the Netherlands; and it was understood
that a constitution, upon the basis of the original arrangement of
Bordeaux, would be accepted by the Duke. These arrangements were,
however, for ever terminated by the death of Anjou, who had been ill
during the whole course of the negotiations. On the 10th of June, 1584,
he expired at Chateau Thierry, in great torture, sweating blood from
every pore, and under circumstances which, as usual, suggested strong
suspicions of poison.




CHAPTER VII.

   Various attempts upon the life of Orange--Delft--Mansion of the
   Prince described--Francis Guion or Balthazar Girard--His
   antecedents--His correspondence and interviews with Parma and with
   d'Assonleville--His employment in France--His return to Delft and
   interview with Orange--The crime--The confession--The punishment--
   The consequences--Concluding remarks.

It has been seen that the Ban against the Prince of Orange had not been
hitherto without fruits, for although unsuccessful, the efforts to take
his life and earn the promised guerdon had been incessant. The attempt of
Jaureguy, at Antwerp, of Salseda and Baza at Bruges, have been related,
and in March, 1583, moreover, one Pietro Dordogno was executed in Antwerp
for endeavoring to assassinate the Prince. Before his death, he confessed
that he had come from Spain solely for the purpose, and that he had
conferred with La Motte, governor of Gravelines, as to the best means of
accomplishing his design. In April, 1584, Hans Hanzoon, a merchant of
Flushing, had been executed for attempting to destroy the Prince by means
of gunpowder, concealed under his house in that city, and under his seat
in the church. He confessed that he had deliberately formed the intention
of performing the deed, and that he had discussed the details of the
enterprise with the Spanish ambassador in Paris. At about the same time,
one Le Goth, a captive French officer, had been applied to by the Marquis
de Richebourg, on the part of Alexander of Parma, to attempt the murder
of the Prince. Le Goth had consented, saying that nothing could be more
easily done; and that he would undertake to poison him in a dish of eels,
of which he knew him to be particularly fond. The Frenchman was liberated
with this understanding; but being very much the friend of Orange,
straightway told him the whole story, and remained ever afterwards a
faithful servant of the states. It is to be presumed that he excused the
treachery to which he owed his escape from prison on the ground that
faith was no more to be kept with murderers than with heretics. Thus
within two years there had been five distinct attempts to assassinate the
Prince, all of them, with the privity of the Spanish government. A sixth
was soon to follow.

In the summer of 1584, William of Orange was residing at Delft, where his
wife, Louisa de Coligny, had given birth, in the preceding winter, to a
son, afterwards the celebrated stadholder, Frederic Henry. The child had
received these names from his two godfathers, the Kings of Denmark and of
Navarre, and his baptism had been celebrated with much rejoicing on the
12th of June, in the place of his birth.

It was a quiet, cheerful, yet somewhat drowsy little city, that ancient
burgh of Delft. The placid canals by which it was intersected in every
direction were all planted with whispering, umbrageous rows of limes and
poplars, and along these watery highways the traffic of the place glided
so noiselessly that the town seemed the abode of silence and
tranquillity. The streets were clean and airy, the houses well built, the
whole aspect of the place thriving.

One of the principal thoroughfares was called the old Delftstreet. It was
shaded on both sides by lime trees, which in that midsummer season
covered the surface of the canal which flowed between them with their
light and fragrant blossoms. On one side of this street was the "old
kirk," a plain, antique structure of brick, with lancet windows, and with
a tall, slender tower, which inclined, at a very considerable angle,
towards a house upon the other side of the canal. That house was the
mansion of William the Silent. It stood directly opposite the church,
being separated by a spacious courtyard from the street, while the
stables and other offices in the rear extended to the city wall. A narrow
lane, opening out of Delft-street, ran along the side of the house and
court, in the direction of the ramparts. The house was a plain,
two-storied edifice of brick, with red-tiled roof, and had formerly been
a cloister dedicated to Saint Agatha, the last prior of which had been
hanged by the furious Lumey de la Merck.

The news of Anjou's death had been brought to Delft by a special
messenger from the French court. On Sunday morning, the 8th of July,
1584, the Prince of Orange, having read the despatches before leaving his
bed, caused the man who had brought them to be summoned, that he might
give some particular details by word of mouth concerning the last illness
of the Duke. The courier was accordingly admitted to the Prince's
bed-chamber, and proved to be one Francis Guion, as he called himself.
This man had, early in the spring, claimed and received the protection of
Orange, on the ground of being the son of a Protestant at Besancon, who
had suffered death for--his religion, and of his own ardent attachment to
the Reformed faith. A pious, psalm-singing, thoroughly Calvinistic youth
he seemed to be having a bible or a hymn-book under his arm whenever he
walked the street, and most exemplary in his attendance at sermon and
lecture. For, the rest, a singularly unobtrusive personage, twenty-seven
years of age, low of stature, meagre, mean-visaged, muddy complexioned,
and altogether a man of no account--quite insignificant in the eyes of
all who looked upon him. If there were one opinion in which the few who
had taken the trouble to think of the puny, somewhat shambling stranger
from Burgundy at all coincided, it was that he was inoffensive but quite
incapable of any important business. He seemed well educated, claimed to
be of respectable parentage and had considerable facility of speech, when
any person could be found who thought it worth while to listen to him;
but on the whole he attracted little attention.

Nevertheless, this insignificant frame locked up a desperate and daring
character; this mild and inoffensive nature had gone pregnant seven years
with a terrible crime, whose birth could not much longer be retarded.
Francis Guion, the Calvinist, son of a martyred Calvinist, was in reality
Balthazar Gerard, a fanatical Catholic, whose father and mother were
still living at Villefans in Burgundy. Before reaching man's estate, he
had formed the design of murdering the Prince of Orange, "who, so long as
he lived, seemed like to remain a rebel against the Catholic King, and to
make every effort to disturb the repose of the Roman Catholic Apostolic
religion."

When but twenty years of age, he had struck his dagger with all his might
into a door, exclaiming, as he did so, "Would that the blow had been in
the heart of Orange!" For this he was rebuked by a bystander, who told
him it was not for him to kill princes, and that it was not desirable to
destroy so good a captain as the Prince, who, after all, might one day
reconcile himself with the King.

As soon as the Ban against Orange was published, Balthazar, more anxious
than ever to execute his long-cherished design, left Dole and came to
Luxemburg. Here he learned that the deed had already been done by John
Jaureguy. He received this intelligence at first with a sensation of
relief, was glad to be excused from putting himself in danger, and
believing the Prince dead, took service as clerk with one John Duprel,
secretary to Count Mansfeld, governor of Luxemburg. Ere long, the ill
success of Jaureguy's attempt becoming known, the "inveterate
determination" of Gerard aroused itself more fiercely than ever. He
accordingly took models of Mansfeld's official seals in wax, in order
that he might make use of them as an acceptable offering to the Orange
party, whose confidence he meant to gain.

Various circumstances detained him, however. A sum of money was stolen,
and he was forced to stay till it was found, for fear of being arrested
as the thief. Then his cousin and employer fell sick, and Gerard was
obliged to wait for his recovery. At last, in March, 1584, "the weather,
as he said, appearing to be fine," Balthazar left Luxemburg and came to
Treves. While there, he confided his scheme to the regent of the Jesuit
college--a "red-haired man" whose name has not been preserved. That
dignitary expressed high approbation of the plan, gave Gerard his
blessing, and promised him that, if his life should be sacrificed in
achieving his purpose, he should be enrolled among the martyrs. Another
Jesuit, however, in the same college, with whom he likewise communicated,
held very different language, making great efforts to turn the young man
from his design, on the ground of the inconveniences which might arise
from the forging of Mansfeld's seals--adding, that neither he nor any of
the Jesuits liked to meddle with such affairs, but advising that the
whole matter should be laid before the Prince of Parma. It does not
appear that this personage, "an excellent man and a learned," attempted
to dissuade the young man from his project by arguments, drawn from any
supposed criminality in the assassination itself, or from any danger,
temporal or eternal, to which the perpetrator might expose himself.

Not influenced, as it appears, except on one point, by the advice of this
second ghostly confessor, Balthazar came to Tournay, and held council
with a third--the celebrated Franciscan, Father Gery--by whom he was much
comforted and strengthened in his determination. His next step was to lay
the project before Parma, as the "excellent and learned" Jesuit at Treves
had advised. This he did by a letter, drawn up with much care, and which
he evidently thought well of as a composition. One copy of this letter he
deposited with the guardian of the Franciscan convent at Tournay; the
other he presented with his own hand to the Prince of Parma. "The
vassal," said he, "ought always to prefer justice and the will of the
king to his own life." That being the case, he expressed his astonishment
that no man had yet been found to execute the sentence against William of
Nassau, "except the gentle Biscayan, since defunct." To accomplish the
task, Balthazar observed, very judiciously, that it was necessary to have
access, to the person of the Prince--wherein consisted the difficulty.
Those who had that advantage, he continued, were therefore bound to
extirpate the pest at once, without obliging his Majesty to send to Rome
for a chevalier, because not one of them was willing to precipitate
himself into the venomous gulf, which by its contagion infected and
killed the souls and bodies, of all poor abused subjects, exposed to its
influence. Gerard avowed himself to have been so long goaded and
stimulated by these considerations--so extremely nettled with displeasure
and bitterness at seeing the obstinate wretch still escaping his just
judgment--as to have formed the design of baiting a trap for the fox,
hoping thus to gain access to him, and to take him unawares. He
added--without explaining the nature of the trap and the bait--that he
deemed it his duty to lay the subject before the most serene Prince of
Parma, protesting at the same time that he did not contemplate the
exploit for the sake of the reward mentioned in the sentence, and that he
preferred trusting in that regard to the immense liberality of his
Majesty.

Parma had long been looking for a good man to murder Orange, feeling--as
Philip, Granvelle, and all former governors of the Netherlands had
felt--that this was the only means of saving the royal authority in any
part of the provinces. Many unsatisfactory assassins had presented
themselves from time to time, and Alexander had paid money in hand to
various individuals--Italians, Spaniards, Lorrainers; Scotchmen,
Englishmen, who had generally spent the sums received without attempting
the job. Others were supposed to be still engaged in the enterprise; and
at that moment there were four persons--each unknown to the others, and
of different nations--in the city of Delft, seeking to compass
the death of William the Silent. Shag-eared, military, hirsute
ruffians--ex-captains of free companies and such marauders--were daily
offering their services; there was no lack of them, and they had done but
little. How should Parma, seeing this obscures undersized, thin-bearded,
runaway clerk before him, expect pith and energy from him? He thought him
quite unfit for an enterprise of moment, and declared as much to his
secret councillors and to the King.

He soon dismissed him, after receiving his letters; and it may be
supposed that the bombastic style of that epistle would not efface the
unfavorable impression produced by Balthazar's exterior. The
representations of Haultepenne and others induced him so far to modify
his views as to send his confidential councillor, d'Assonleville, to the
stranger, in order to learn the details of the scheme. Assonleville had
accordingly an interview with Gerard, in which he requested the young man
to draw up a statement of his plan in writing, ani this was done upon the
11th of April, 1584.

In this letter Gerard explained his plan of introducing himself to the
notice of Orange, at Delft, as the son of an executed Calvinist; as
himself warmly, though secretly, devoted to the Reformed faith, and as
desirous, therefore, of placing himself in the Prince's service, in order
to avoid the insolence of the Papists. Having gained the confidence of
those about the Prince, he would suggest to them the great use which
might be made of Mansfeld's signet in forging passports for spies and
other persons whom it might be desirous to send into the territory of the
royalists. "With these or similar feints and frivolities," continued
Gerard, "he should soon obtain access to the person of the said Nassau,"
repeating his protestation that nothing had moved him to his enterprise
"save the good zeal which he bore to the faith and true religion guarded
by the Holy Mother Church Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman, and to the
service of his Majesty." He begged pardon for having purloined the
impressions of the seals--a turpitude which he would never have
committed, but would sooner have suffered a thousand deaths, except for
the great end in view. He particularly wished forgiveness for that crime
before going to his task, "in order that he might confess, and receive
the holy communion at the coming Easter, without scruples of conscience."
He likewise begged the Prince of Parma to obtain for him absolution from
his Holiness for this crime of pilfering--the more so "as he was about to
keep company for some time with heretics and atheists, and in some sort
to conform himself to their customs."

From the general tone of the letters of Gerard, he might be set down at
once as a simple, religious fanatic, who felt sure that, in executing the
command of Philip publicly issued to all the murderers of Europe, he was
meriting well of God and his King. There is no doubt that he was an
exalted enthusiast, but not purely an enthusiast. The man's character
offers more than one point of interest, as a psychological phenomenon. He
had convinced himself that the work which he had in hand was eminently
meritorious, and he was utterly without fear of consequences. He was,
however, by no means so disinterested as he chose to represent himself in
letters which, as he instinctively felt, were to be of perennial
interest. On the contrary, in his interviews with Assonleville, he urged
that he was a poor fellow, and that he had undertaken this enterprise in
order to acquire property--to make himself rich--and that he depended
upon the Prince of Parma's influence in obtaining the reward promised by
the Ban to the individual who should put Orange to death.

This second letter decided Parma so far that he authorized Assonleville
to encourage the young man in his attempt, and to promise that the reward
should be given to him in case of success, and to his heirs in the event
of his death. Assonleville, in the second interview, accordingly made
known these assurances in the strongest manner to Gerard, warning him, at
the same time, on no account; if arrested, to inculpate the Prince of
Parma. The councillor, while thus exhorting the stranger, according to
Alexander's commands, confined himself, however, to generalities,
refusing even to advance fifty crowns, which Balthazar had begged from
the Governor-General in order to provide for the necessary expenses of
his project. Parma had made similar advances too often to men who had
promised to assassinate the Prince and had then done little, and he was
resolute in his refusal to this new adventurer, of whom he expected
absolutely nothing. Gerard, notwithstanding this rebuff, was not
disheartened. "I will provide myself out of my own purse," said he to
Assonleville, "and within six weeks you will hear of me."--"Go forth, my
son," said Assonleville, paternally, upon this spirited reply, "and if
you succeed in your enterprise, the King will fulfil all his promises,
and you will gain an immortal name beside."

The "inveterate deliberation," thus thoroughly matured, Gerard now
proceeded to carry into effect. He came to Delft; obtained a hearing of
Millers, the clergyman and intimate friend of Orange, showed him the
Mansfeld seals, and was, somewhat against his will, sent to France, to
exhibit them to Marechal Biron, who, it was thought, was soon to be
appointed governor of Cambray. Through Orange's recommendation, the
Burgundian was received into the suite of Noel de Caron, Seigneur de
Schoneval, then setting forth on a special mission to the Duke of Anjou.
While in France, Gerard could rest neither by day nor night, so tormented
was he by the desire of accomplishing his project, and at length he
obtained permission, upon the death of the Duke, to carry this important
intelligence to the Prince of Orange. The despatches having been
entrusted to him, he travelled posthaste to Delft, and, to his
astonishment, the letters had hardly been delivered before he was
summoned in person to the chamber of the Prince. Here was an opportunity
such as he had never dared to hope for. The arch-enemy to the Church and
to the human race, whose death, would confer upon his destroyer wealth
and nobility in this world, besides a crown of glory in the next, lay
unarmed, alone, in bed, before the man who had thirsted seven long years
for his blood.

Balthazar could scarcely control his emotions sufficiently to answer the
questions which the Prince addressed to him concerning the death of
Anjou, but Orange, deeply engaged with the despatches, and with the
reflections which their deeply-important contents suggested, did not
observe the countenance of the humble Calvinist exile, who had been
recently recommended to his patronage by Millers. Gerard, had, moreover,
made no preparation for an interview so entirely unexpected, had come
unarmed, and had formed no plan for escape. He was obliged to forego his
prey when most within his reach, and after communicating all the
information which the Prince required, he was dismissed from the chamber.

It was Sunday morning, and the bells were tolling for church. Upon
leaving the house he loitered about the courtyard, furtively examining
the premises, so that a sergeant of halberdiers asked him why he was
waiting there. Balthazar meekly replied that he was desirous of attending
divine worship in the church opposite, but added, pointing to, his shabby
and travel-stained attire, that, without at least a new pair of shoes and
stockings, he was unfit to join the congregation. Insignificant as ever,
the small, pious, dusty stranger excited no suspicion in the mind of the
good-natured sergeant. He forthwith spoke of the wants of Gerard to an
officer, by whom they were communicated to Orange himself, and the Prince
instantly ordered a sum of money to be given him. Thus Balthazar obtained
from William's charity what Parma's thrift had denied--a fund for
carrying out his purpose.

Next morning, with the money thus procured he purchased a pair of
pistols, or small carabines, from a soldier, chaffering long about the
price because the vender could not supply a particular kind of chopped
bullets or slugs which he desired. Before the sunset of the following day
that soldier had stabbed himself to the heart, and died despairing, on
hearing for what purpose the pistols had been bought.

On Tuesday, the 10th of July, 1584, at about half-past twelve, the
Prince, with his wife on his arm, and followed by the ladies and
gentlemen of his family, was going to the dining-room. William the Silent
was dressed upon that day, according to his usual custom, in very plain
fashion. He wore a wide-leaved, loosely-shaped hat of dark felt; with a
silken cord round the crown-such as had been worn by the Beggars in the
early days of the revolt. A high ruff encircled his neck, from which also
depended one of the Beggar's medals, with the motto, "Fideles au roy
jusqu'a la besace," while a loose surcoat of grey frieze cloth, over a
tawny leather doublet, with wide, slashed underclothes completed his
costume. Gerard presented himself at the doorway, and demanded a
passport. The Princess, struck with the pale and agitated countenance of
the man, anxiously questioned her husband concerning the stranger. The
Prince carelessly observed that "it was merely a person who came for a
passport," ordering, at the same time, a secretary forthwith to prepare
one. The Princess, still not relieved, observed in an under-tone that
"she had never seen so villainous a countenance." Orange, however, not at
all impressed with the appearance of Gerard, conducted himself at table
with his usual cheerfulness, conversing much with the burgomaster of
Leewarden, the only guest present at the family dinner, concerning the
political and religious aspects of Friesland. At two o'clock the company
rose from table. The Prince led the way, intending to pass to his private
apartments above. The dining-room, which was on the ground floor, opened
into a little square vestibule, which communicated, through an arched
passageway, with the main entrance into the court-yard. This vestibule
was also directly at the foot of the wooden staircase leading to the next
floor, and was scarcely six feet in width. Upon its left side, as one
approached the stairway, was an obscure arch, sunk deep in the wall, and
completely in the shadow of the door. Behind this arch a portal opened to
the narrow lane at the side of the house. The stairs themselves were
completely lighted by a large window, half way up the flight. The Prince
came from the dining-room, and began leisurely to ascend. He had only
reached the second stair, when a man emerged from the sunken arch, and,
standing within a foot or two of him, discharged a pistol full at his
heart. Three balls entered his body, one of which, passing quite through
him, struck with violence against the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed
in French, as he felt the wound, "O my God; have mercy upon my soul! O my
God, have mercy upon this poor people."

These were the last words he ever spoke, save that when his sister,
Catherine of Schwartzburg, immediately afterwards asked him if he
commended his soul to Jesus Christ, he faintly answered, "Yes." His
master of the horse, Jacob van Maldere, had caught him in his arms as the
fatal shot was fired. The Prince was then placed on the stairs for an
instant, when he immediately began to swoon. He was afterwards laid upon
a couch in the dining-room, where in a few minutes, he breathed his last
in the arms of his wife and sister.

The murderer succeeded in making his escape through the side door, and
sped swiftly up the narrow lane. He had almost reached the ramparts, from
which he intended to spring into the moat, when he stumbled over a heap
of rubbish. As he rose, he was seized by several pages and halberdiers,
who had pursued him from the house. He had dropped his pistols upon the
spot where he had committed the crime, and upon his person were found a
couple, of bladders, provided with apiece of pipe with which he had
intended to assist himself across the moat, beyond which a horse was
waiting for him. He made no effort to deny his identity, but boldly
avowed himself and his deed. He was brought back to the house, where he
immediately underwent a preliminary examination before the city
magistrates. He was afterwards subjected to excruciating tortures; for
the fury against the wretch who had destroyed the Father of the country
was uncontrollable, and William the Silent was no longer alive to
intercede--as he had often done before--in behalf of those who assailed
his life.

The organization of Balthazar Gerard would furnish a subject of profound
study, both for the physiologist and the metaphysician. Neither wholly a
fanatic, nor entirely a ruffian, he combined the most dangerous elements
of both characters. In his puny body and mean exterior were enclosed
considerable mental powers and accomplishments, a daring ambition, and a
courage almost superhuman. Yet those qualities led him only to form upon
the threshold of life a deliberate determination to achieve greatness by
the assassin's trade. The rewards held out by the Ban, combining with his
religious bigotry and his passion for distinction, fixed all his energies
with patient concentration upon the one great purpose for which he seemed
to have been born, and after seven years' preparation, he had at last
fulfilled his design.

Upon being interrogated by the magistrates, he manifested neither despair
nor contrition, but rather a quiet exultation. "Like David," he said, "he
had slain Goliath of Gath."

When falsely informed that his victim was not dead, he showed no
credulity or disappointment. He had discharged three poisoned balls into
the Prince's stomach, and he knew that death must have already ensued. He
expressed regret, however, that the resistance of the halberdiers had
prevented him from using his second pistol, and avowed that if he were a
thousand leagues away he would return in order to do the deed again, if
possible. He deliberately wrote a detailed confession of his crime, and
of the motives and manner of its commission, taking care, however, not to
implicate Parma in the transaction. After sustaining day after day the
most horrible tortures, he subsequently related his interviews with
Assonleville and with the president of the Jesuit college at Treves
adding that he had been influenced in his work by the assurance of
obtaining the rewards promised by the Ban. During the intervals of repose
from the rack he conversed with ease, and even eloquence, answering all
questions addressed to him with apparent sincerity. His constancy in
suffering so astounded his judges that they believed him supported by
witchcraft. "Ecce homo!" he exclaimed, from time to time, with insane
blasphemy, as he raised his blood-streaming head from the bench. In order
to destroy the charm which seemed to render him insensible to pain, they
sent for the shirt of a hospital patient, supposed to be a sorcerer. When
clothed in this garment, however, Balthazar was none the less superior to
the arts of the tormentors, enduring all their inflictions, according to
an eye-witness, "without once exclaiming, Ah me!" and avowing that he
would repeat his enterprise, if possible, were he to die a thousand
deaths in consequence. Some of those present refused to believe that he
was a man at all. Others asked him how long since he had sold himself to
the Devil? to which he replied, mildly, that he had no acquaintance
whatever with the Devil. He thanked the judges politely for the food
which he received in prison, and promised to recompense them for the
favor. Upon being asked how that was possible, he replied; that he would
serve as their advocate in Paradise.

The sentence pronounced against the assassin was execrable--a crime
against the memory of the great man whom it professed to avenge. It was
decreed that the right hand of Gerard should be burned off with a red-hot
iron, that his flesh should be torn from his bones with pincers in six
different places, that he should be quartered and disembowelled alive,
that his heart should be torn from his bosom and flung in his face, and
that, finally, his head should be taken off. Not even his horrible crime,
with its endless consequences, nor the natural frenzy of indignation
which it had excited, could justify this savage decree, to rebuke which
the murdered hero might have almost risen from the sleep of death. The
sentence was literally executed on the 14th of July, the criminal
supporting its horrors with the same astonishing fortitude. So calm were
his nerves, crippled and half roasted as he was ere he mounted the
scaffold, that when one of the executioners was slightly injured in the
ear by the flying from the handle of the hammer with which he was
breaking the fatal pistol in pieces, as the first step in the
execution--a circumstance which produced a general laugh in the crowd--a
smile was observed upon Balthazar's face in sympathy with the general
hilarity. His lips were seen to move up to the moment when his heart was
thrown in his face--"Then," said a looker-on, "he gave up the ghost."

The reward promised by Philip to the man who should murder Orange was
paid to the heirs of Gerard. Parma informed his sovereign that the "poor
man" had been executed, but that his father and mother were still living;
to whom he recommended the payment of that "merced" which "the laudable
and generous deed had so well deserved." This was accordingly done, and
the excellent parents, ennobled and enriched by the crime of their son,
received instead of the twenty-five thousand crowns promised in the Ban,
the three seignories of Lievremont, Hostal, and Dampmartin in the Franche
Comte, and took their place at once among the landed aristocracy. Thus
the bounty of the Prince had furnished the weapon by which his life was
destroyed, and his estates supplied the fund out of which the assassin's
family received the price of blood. At a later day, when the unfortunate
eldest son of Orange returned from Spain after twenty-seven years'
absence, a changeling and a Spaniard, the restoration of those very
estates was offered to him by Philip the Second, provided he would
continue to pay a fixed proportion of their rents to the family of his
father's murderer. The education which Philip William had received, under
the King's auspices, had however, not entirely destroyed all his human
feelings, and he rejected the proposal with scorn. The estates remained
with the Gerard family, and the patents of nobility which they had
received were used to justify their exemption from certain taxes, until
the union of Franche Comte, with France, when a French governor tore the
documents in pieces and trampled them under foot.

William of Orange, at the period of his death, was aged fifty-one years
and sixteen days. He left twelve children. By his first wife, Anne of
Egmont, he had one son, Philip, and one daughter, Mary, afterwards
married to Count Hohenlo. By his second wife, Anna of Saxony; he had one
son, the celebrated Maurice of Nassau, and two daughters, Anna, married
afterwards to her cousin, Count William Louis, and Emilie, who espoused
the Pretender of Portugal, Prince Emanuel. By Charlotte of Bourbon, his
third wife, he had six daughters; and by his fourth, Louisa de Coligny,
one son, Frederic William, afterwards stadholder of the Republic in her
most palmy days. The Prince was entombed on the 3rd of August, at Delft,
amid the tears of a whole nation. Never was a more extensive, unaffected,
and legitimate sorrow felt at the death of any human being.

The life and labors of Orange had established the emancipated
common-wealth upon a secure foundation, but his death rendered the union
of all the Netherlands into one republic hopeless. The efforts of the
Malcontent nobles, the religious discord, the consummate ability, both
political and military, of Parma, all combined with the lamentable loss
of William the Silent to separate for ever the southern and Catholic
provinces from the northern confederacy. So long as the Prince remained
alive, he was the Father of the whole country; the Netherlands--saving
only the two Walloon provinces--constituting a whole. Notwithstanding the
spirit of faction and the blight of the long civil war, there was at
least one country; or the hope of a country, one strong heart, one
guiding head, for the patriotic party throughout the land. Philip and
Granvelle were right in their estimate of the advantage to be derived
from the Prince's death, in believing that an assassin's hand could
achieve more than all the wiles which Spanish or Italian statesmanship
could teach, or all the armies which Spain or Italy could muster. The
pistol of the insignificant Gerard destroyed the possibility of a united
Netherland state, while during the life of William there was union in the
policy, unity in the history of the country.

In the following year, Antwerp, hitherto the centre around which all the
national interests and historical events group themselves, fell before
the scientific efforts of Parma. The city which had so long been the
freest, as well as the most opulent, capital in Europe, sank for ever to
the position of a provincial town. With its fall, combined with other
circumstances, which it is not necessary to narrate in anticipation, the
final separation of the Netherlands was completed. On the other hand, at
the death of Orange, whose formal inauguration as sovereign Count had not
yet taken place, the states of Holland and Zealand reassumed the
Sovereignty. The commonwealth which William had liberated for ever from
Spanish tyranny continued to exist as a great and flourishing republic
during more than two centuries, under the successive stadholderates of
his sons and descendants.

His life gave existence to an independent country--his death defined its
limits. Had he lived twenty years longer, it is probable that the seven
provinces would have been seventeen; and that the Spanish title would
have been for ever extinguished both in Nether Germany and Celtic Gaul.
Although there was to be the length of two human generations more of
warfare ere Spain acknowledged the new government, yet before the
termination of that period the United States had become the first naval
power and one of the most considerable commonwealths in the world; while
the civil and religious liberty, the political independence of the land,
together with the total expulsion of the ancient foreign tyranny from the
soil, had been achieved ere the eyes of William were closed. The republic
existed, in fact, from the moment of the abjuration in 1581.

The most important features of the polity which thus assumed a prominent
organization have been already indicated. There was no revolution, no
radical change. The ancient rugged tree of Netherland liberty--with its
moss-grown trunk, gnarled branches, and deep-reaching roots--which had
been slowly growing for ages, was still full of sap, and was to deposit
for centuries longer its annual rings of consolidated and concentric
strength. Though lopped of some luxuriant boughs, it was sound at the
core, and destined for a still larger life than even in the healthiest
moments of its mediveval existence.

The history of the rise of the Netherland Republic has been at the same
time the biography of William the Silent. This, while it gives unity to
the narrative, renders an elaborate description of his character
superfluous. That life was a noble Christian epic; inspired with one
great purpose from its commencement to its close; the stream flowing ever
from one fountain with expanding fulness, but retaining all its original
pity. A few general observations are all which are necessary by way of
conclusion.

In person, Orange was above the middle height, perfectly well made and
sinewy, but rather spare than stout. His eyes, hair, beard, and
complexion were brown. His head was small, symmetrically-shaped,
combining the alertness and compactness characteristic of the soldier;
with the capacious brow furrowed prematurely with the horizontal lines of
thought, denoting the statesman and the sage. His physical appearance
was, therefore, in harmony, with his organization, which was of antique
model. Of his moral qualities, the most prominent was his piety. He was
more than anything else a religious man. From his trust in God, he ever
derived support and consolation in the darkest hours. Implicitly relying
upon Almighty wisdom and goodness, he looked danger in the face with a
constant smile, and endured incessant labors and trials with a serenity
which seemed more than human. While, however, his soul was full of piety,
it was tolerant of error. Sincerely and deliberately himself a convert to
the Reformed Church, he was ready to extend freedom of worship to
Catholics on the one hand, and to Anabaptists on the other, for no man
ever felt more keenly than he, that the Reformer who becomes in his turn
a bigot is doubly odious.

His firmness was allied to his piety. His constancy in bearing the whole
weight of struggle as unequal as men have ever undertaken, was the theme
of admiration even to his enemies. The rock in the ocean, "tranquil amid
raging billows," was the favorite emblem by which his friends expressed,
their sense of his firmness. From the time when, as a hostage in France,
he first discovered the plan of Philip to plant the Inquisition in the
Netherlands, up to the last moment of his life, he never faltered in his
determination to resist that iniquitous scheme. This resistance was the
labor of his life. To exclude the Inquisition; to maintain the ancient
liberties of his country, was the task which he appointed to himself
when a youth of three-and-twenty. Never speaking a word concerning a
heavenly mission, never deluding himself or others with the usual
phraseology of enthusiasts, he accomplished the task, through danger,
amid toils, and with sacrifices such as few men have ever been able to
make on their country's altar; for the disinterested benevolence of the
man was as prominent as his fortitude. A prince of high rank, and, with
royal revenues, he stripped himself of station, wealth, almost at times
of the common necessaries of life, and became, in his country's cause,
nearly a beggar as well as an outlaw. Nor was he forced into his career
by an accidental impulse from which there was no recovery. Retreat was
ever open to him. Not only pardon but advancement was urged upon him
again and again. Officially and privately, directly and circuitously, his
confiscated estates, together with indefinite and boundless favors in
addition, were offered to him on every great occasion. On the arrival of
Don John, at the Breda negotiations, at the Cologne conferences, we have
seen how calmly these offers were waved aside, as if their rejection was
so simple that it hardly required many words for its signification, yet
he had mortgaged his estates so deeply that his heirs hesitated at
accepting their inheritance, for fear it should involve them in debt. Ten
years after his death, the account between his executors and his brother
John amounted to one million four hundred thousand florins--due to the
Count, secured by various pledges of real and personal property; and it
was finally settled upon this basis. He was besides largely indebted to
every one of his powerful relatives, so that the payment of the
incumbrances upon his estate very nearly justified the fears of his
children. While on the one hand, therefore, he poured out these enormous
sums like water, and firmly refused a hearing to the tempting offers of
the royal government, upon the other hand he proved the disinterested
nature of his services by declining, year after year, the sovereignty
over the provinces; and by only accepting, in the last days of his life,
when refusal had become almost impossible, the limited, constitutional
supremacy over that portion of them which now makes the realm of his
descendants. He lived and died, not for himself, but for his country:
"God pity this poor people!" were his dying words.

His intellectual faculties were various and of the highest order. He had
the exact, practical, and combining qualities which make the great
commander, and his friends claimed that, in military genius, he was
second to no captain in Europe. This was, no doubt, an exaggeration of
partial attachment, but it is certain that the Emperor Charles had an
exalted opinion of his capacity for the field. His fortification of
Philippeville and Charlemont, in the face of the enemy his passage of the
Meuse in Alva's sight--his unfortunate but well-ordered campaign against
that general--his sublime plan of relief, projected and successfully
directed at last from his sick bed, for the besieged city of Leyden--will
always remain monuments of his practical military skill.

Of the soldier's great virtues--constancy in disaster, devotion to duty,
hopefulness in defeat--no man ever possessed a larger share. He arrived,
through a series of reverses, at a perfect victory. He planted a free
commonwealth under the very battery of the Inquisition, in defiance of
the most powerful empire existing. He was therefore a conqueror in the
loftiest sense, for he conquered liberty and a national existence for a
whole people. The contest was long, and he fell in the struggle, but the
victory was to the dead hero, not to the living monarch. It is to be
remembered, too, that he always wrought with inferior instruments. His
troops were usually mercenaries, who were but too apt to mutiny upon the
eve of battle, while he was opposed by the most formidable veterans of
Europe, commanded successively by the first captains of the age. That,
with no lieutenant of eminent valor or experience, save only his brother
Louis, and with none at all after that chieftain's death, William of
Orange should succeed in baffling the efforts of Alva, Requesens, Don
John of Austria, and Alexander Farnese--men whose names are among the
most brilliant in the military annals of the world--is in itself,
sufficient evidence of his warlike ability. At the period of his death he
had reduced the number of obedient provinces to two; only Artois and
Hainault acknowledging Philip, while the other fifteen were in open
revolt, the greater part having solemnly forsworn their sovereign.

The supremacy of his political genius was entirely beyond question. He
was the first statesman of the age. The quickness of his perception was
only equalled by the caution which enabled him to mature the results of
his observations. His knowledge of human nature was profound. He governed
the passions and sentiments of a great nation as if they had been but the
keys and chords of one vast instrument; and his hand rarely failed to
evoke harmony even out of the wildest storms. The turbulent city of
Ghent, which could obey no other master, which even the haughty Emperor
could only crush without controlling, was ever responsive to the
master-hand of Orange. His presence scared away Imbize and his bat-like
crew, confounded the schemes of John Casimir, frustrated the wiles of
Prince Chimay, and while he lived, Ghent was what it ought always to have
remained, the bulwark, as it had been the cradle, of popular liberty.
After his death it became its tomb.

Ghent, saved thrice by the policy, the eloquence, the self-sacrifices of
Orange, fell within three months of his murder into the hands of Parma.
The loss of this most important city, followed in the next year by the
downfall of Antwerp, sealed the fate of the Southern Netherlands. Had the
Prince lived, how different might have been the country's fate! If seven
provinces could dilate, in so brief a space, into the powerful
commonwealth which the Republic soon became, what might not have been
achieved by the united seventeen; a confederacy which would have united
the adamantine vigor of the Batavian and Frisian races with the subtler,
more delicate, and more graceful national elements in which the genius of
the Frank, the Roman, and the Romanized Celt were so intimately blended.
As long as the Father of the country lived, such a union was possible.
His power of managing men was so unquestionable, that there was always a
hope, even in the darkest hour, for men felt implicit reliance, as well
on his intellectual resources as on his integrity.

This power of dealing with his fellow-men he manifested in the various
ways in which it has been usually exhibited by statesmen. He possessed a
ready eloquence--sometimes impassioned, oftener argumentative, always
rational. His influence over his audience was unexampled in the annals of
that country or age; yet he never condescended to flatter the people. He
never followed the nation, but always led her in the path of duty and of
honor, and was much more prone to rebuke the vices than to pander to the
passions of his hearers. He never failed to administer ample chastisement
to parsimony, to jealousy, to insubordination, to intolerance, to
infidelity, wherever it was due, nor feared to confront the states or the
people in their most angry hours, and to tell them the truth to their
faces. This commanding position he alone could stand upon, for his
countrymen knew the generosity which had sacrificed his all for them, the
self-denial which had eluded rather than sought political advancement,
whether from king or people, and the untiring devotion which had
consecrated a whole life to toil and danger in the cause of their
emancipation. While, therefore, he was ever ready to rebuke, and always
too honest to flatter, he at the same time possessed the eloquence which
could convince or persuade. He knew how to reach both the mind and the
heart of his hearers. His orations, whether extemporaneous or
prepared--his written messages to the states-general, to the provincial
authorities, to the municipal bodies--his private correspondence with men
of all ranks, from emperors and kings down to secretaries, and even
children--all show an easy flow of language, a fulness of thought, a
power of expression rare in that age, a fund of historical allusion, a
considerable power of imagination, a warmth of sentiment, a breadth of
view, a directness of purpose--a range of qualities, in short, which
would in themselves have stamped him as one of the master-minds of his
century, had there been no other monument to his memory than the remains
of his spoken or written eloquence. The bulk of his performances in this
department was prodigious. Not even Philip was more industrious in the
cabinet. Not even Granvelle held a more facile pen. He wrote and spoke
equally well in French German, or Flemish; and he possessed, besides;
Spanish, Italian, Latin. The weight of his correspondence alone would
have almost sufficed for the common industry of a lifetime, and although
many volumes of his speeches and, letters have been published, there
remain in the various archives of the Netherlands and Germany many
documents from his hand which will probably never see the light. If the
capacity for unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause be the
measure of human greatness, few minds could be compared to the "large
composition" of this man. The efforts made to destroy the Netherlands by
the most laborious and painstaking of tyrants were counteracted by the
industry of the most indefatigable of patriots.

Thus his eloquence, oral or written, gave him almost boundless power over
his countrymen. He possessed, also, a rare perception of human character,
together with an iron memory which never lost a face, a place, or an
event, once seen or known. He read the minds even the faces of men, like
printed books. No man could overreach him, excepting only those to whom
he gave his heart. He might be mistaken where he had confided, never
where he had been distrustful or indifferent. He was deceived by
Renneberg, by his brother-in-law Van den Berg, by the Duke of Anjou. Had
it been possible for his brother Louis or his brother John to have proved
false, he might have been deceived by them. He was never outwitted by
Philip, or Granvelle, or Don John, or Alexander of Parma. Anna of Saxony
was false to him; and entered into correspondence with the royal
governors and with the King of Spain; Charlotte of Bourbon or Louisa de
Coligny might have done the same had it been possible for their natures
also to descend to such depths of guile.

As for the Aerschots, the Havres, the Chimays, he was never influenced
either by their blandishments or their plots. He was willing to use them
when their interest made them friendly, or to crush them when their
intrigues against his policy rendered them dangerous. The adroitness with
which he converted their schemes in behalf of Matthias, of Don John, of
Anjou, into so many additional weapons for his own cause, can never be
too often studied. It is instructive to observe the wiles of the
Macchiavelian school employed by a master of the craft, to frustrate, not
to advance, a knavish purpose. This character, in a great measure, marked
his whole policy. He was profoundly skilled in the subtleties of Italian
statesmanship, which he had learned as a youth at the Imperial court, and
which he employed in his manhood in the service, not of tyranny, but of
liberty. He fought the Inquisition with its own weapons. He dealt with
Philip on his own ground. He excavated the earth beneath the King's feet
by a more subtle process than that practised by the most fraudulent
monarch that ever governed the Spanish empire, and Philip, chain-mailed
as he was in complicated wiles, was pierced to the quick by a keener
policy than his own.

Ten years long the King placed daily his most secret letters in hands
which regularly transmitted copies of the correspondence to the Prince of
Orange, together with a key to the ciphers and every other illustration
which might be required. Thus the secrets of the King were always as well
known to Orange as to himself; and the Prince being as prompt as Philip
was hesitating, the schemes could often be frustrated before their
execution had been commenced. The crime of the unfortunate clerk, John de
Castillo, was discovered in the autumn of the year 1581, and he was torn
to pieces by four horses. Perhaps his treason to the monarch whose bread
he was eating, while he received a regular salary from the King's most
determined foe, deserved even this horrible punishment, but casuists must
determine how much guilt attaches to the Prince for his share in the
transaction. This history is not the eulogy of Orange, although, in
discussing his character, it is difficult to avoid the monotony of
panegyric. Judged by a severe moral standard, it cannot be called
virtuous or honorable to suborn treachery or any other crime, even to
accomplish a lofty purpose; yet the universal practice of mankind in all
ages has tolerated the artifices of war, and no people has ever engaged
in a holier or more mortal contest than did the Netherlands in their
great struggle with Spain. Orange possessed the rare quality of caution,
a characteristic by which he was distinguished from his youth. At fifteen
he was the confidential counsellor, as at twenty-one he became the
general-in-chief, to the most politic, as well as the most warlike
potentate of his age, and if he at times indulged in wiles which modern
statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns, he ever held in his
hand the clue of an honorable purpose to guide him through the tortuous
labyrinth.

It is difficult to find any other characteristic deserving of grave
censure, but his enemies have adopted a simpler process. They have been
able to find few flaws in his nature, and therefore have denounced it in
gross. It is not that his character was here and there defective, but
that the eternal jewel was false. The patriotism was counterfeit; the
self-abnegation and the generosity were counterfeit. He was governed only
by ambition--by a desire of personal advancement. They never attempted to
deny his talents, his industry, his vast sacrifices of wealth and
station; but they ridiculed the idea that he could have been inspired by
any but unworthy motives. God alone knows the heart of man. He alone can
unweave the tangled skein of human motives, and detect the hidden springs
of human action, but as far as can be judged by a careful observation of
undisputed facts, and by a diligent collation of public and private
documents, it would seem that no man--not even Washington--has ever been
inspired by a purer patriotism. At any rate, the charge of ambition and
self-seeking can only be answered by a reference to the whole picture
which these volumes have attempted to portray. The words, the deeds of
the man are there. As much as possible, his inmost soul is revealed in
his confidential letters, and he who looks in a right spirit will hardly
fail to find what he desires.

Whether originally of a timid temperament or not, he was certainly
possessed of perfect courage at last. In siege and battle--in the deadly
air of pestilential cities--in the long exhaustion of mind and body which
comes from unduly protracted labor and anxiety--amid the countless
conspiracies of assassins--he was daily exposed to death in every shape.
Within two years, five different attempts against his life had been
discovered. Rank and fortune were offered to any malefactor who would
compass the murder. He had already been shot through the head, and almost
mortally wounded. Under such circumstances even a brave man might have
seen a pitfall at every step, a dagger in every hand, and poison in every
cup. On the contrary, he was ever cheerful, and hardly took more
precaution than usual. "God in his mercy," said he, with unaffected
simplicity, "will maintain my innocence and my honor during my life and
in future ages. As to my fortune and my life, I have dedicated both, long
since, to His service. He will do therewith what pleases Him for His
glory and my salvation." Thus his suspicions were not even excited by the
ominous face of Gerard, when he first presented himself at the
dining-room door. The Prince laughed off his wife's prophetic
apprehension at the sight of his murderer, and was as cheerful as usual
to the last.

He possessed, too, that which to the heathen philosopher seemed the
greatest good--the sound mind in the sound body. His physical frame was
after death found so perfect that a long life might have been in store
for him, notwithstanding all which he had endured. The desperate illness
of 1574, the frightful gunshot wound inflicted by Jaureguy in 1582, had
left no traces. The physicians pronounced that his body presented an
aspect of perfect health. His temperament was cheerful. At table, the
pleasures of which, in moderation, were his only relaxation, he was
always animated and merry, and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly
intentional. In the darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a
serenity which he was far from feeling, so that his apparent gaiety at
momentous epochs was even censured by dullards, who could not comprehend
its philosophy, nor applaud the flippancy of William the Silent.

He went through life bearing the load of a people's sorrows upon his
shoulders with a smiling face. Their name was the last word upon his
lips, save the simple affirmative, with which the soldier who had been
battling for the right all his lifetime, commended his soul in dying "to
his great captain, Christ." The people were grateful and affectionate,
for they trusted the character of their "Father William," and not all the
clouds which calumny could collect ever dimmed to their eyes the radiance
of that lofty mind to which they were accustomed, in their darkest
calamities, to look for light. As long as he lived, he was the
guiding-star of a whole brave nation, and when he died the little
children cried in the streets.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Bribed the Deity
     Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
     Great error of despising their enemy
     Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
     Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
     Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
     Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
     Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
     Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
     Writing letters full of injured innocence

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1574-84

     A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
     A good lawyer is a bad Christian
     A most fatal success
     A common hatred united them, for a time at least
     Absurd affectation of candor
     Agreements were valid only until he should repent
     All the majesty which decoration could impart
     All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
     All claimed the privilege of persecuting
     Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
     Amuse them with this peace negotiation
     Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
     Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
     As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
     Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
     Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
     Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
     Believed in the blessed advent of peace
     Blessing of God upon the Devil's work
     Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
     Bribed the Deity
     Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
     Character of brave men to act, not to expect
     Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
     Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
     Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
     Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
     Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
     Country would bear his loss with fortitude
     Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
     Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
     Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
     Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
     Don John of Austria
     Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
     Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
     Eight thousand human beings were murdered
     Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
     Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
     Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
     Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
     Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
     Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
     God has given absolute power to no mortal man
     Great error of despising their enemy
     Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
     He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
     He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
     He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
     His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
     Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
     Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
     I regard my country's profit, not my own
     Imagined, and did the work of truth
     In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
     Indecision did the work of indolence
     Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
     It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
     Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
     Judas Maccabaeus
     King set a price upon his head as a rebel
     Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
     Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
     Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
     Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
     Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
     Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
     Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
     Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
     More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
     Natural to judge only by the result
     Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
     Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
     Neither ambitious nor greedy
     No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
     No authority over an army which they did not pay
     No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
     Not so successful as he was picturesque
     Not upon words but upon actions
     Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
     Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
     Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
     On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
     One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
     Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
     Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
     Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
     Perfection of insolence
     Plundering the country which they came to protect
     Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
     Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
     Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
     Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
     Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
     Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
     Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
     Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
     Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
     Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
     Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
     Republic, which lasted two centuries
     Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
     Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
     She knew too well how women were treated in that country
     Superfluous sarcasm
     Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
     Taxes upon income and upon consumption
     The disunited provinces
     The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder
     There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
     They could not invent or imagine toleration
     Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
     Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
     Throw the cat against their legs
     To hear the last solemn commonplaces
     Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all
     Unduly dejected in adversity
     Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
     Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
     Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity
     Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter
     Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?
     Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought
     Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden
     Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience
     Writing letters full of injured innocence





     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1584, Complete:

     1566, the last year of peace
     A country disinherited by nature of its rights
     A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
     A good lawyer is a bad Christian
     A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
     A common hatred united them, for a time at least
     A most fatal success
     Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
     Absurd affectation of candor
     Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
     Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
     Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
     Affecting to discredit them
     Age when toleration was a vice
     Agreements were valid only until he should repent
     All offices were sold to the highest bidder
     All denounced the image-breaking
     All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
     All the majesty which decoration could impart
     All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
     All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
     All claimed the privilege of persecuting
     Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
     Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
     Amuse them with this peace negotiation
     An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
     An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
     An age when to think was a crime
     Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
     Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
     Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
     Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
     Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
     Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
     Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
     As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
     As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
     Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
     Attacking the authority of the pope
     Attempting to swim in two waters
     Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
     Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
     Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
     Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
     Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
     Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
     Believed in the blessed advent of peace
     Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
     Bishop is a consecrated pirate
     Blessing of God upon the Devil's work
     Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
     Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
     Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
     Bribed the Deity
     Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
     Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
     Business of an officer to fight, of a general to conquer
     Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
     Character of brave men to act, not to expect
     Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
     Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
     Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
     Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
     Conde and Coligny
     Condemning all heretics to death
     Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
     Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
     Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
     Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
     Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
     Country would bear his loss with fortitude
     Courage of despair inflamed the French
     Craft meaning, simply, strength
     Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
     Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
     Criminals buying Paradise for money
     Cruelties exercised upon monks and papists
     Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
     Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
     Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
     Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
     Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
     Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
     Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
     Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
     Difference between liberties and liberty
     Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
     Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
     Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
     Dissimulation and delay
     Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
     Divine right
     Don John of Austria
     Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
     Drank of the water in which, he had washed
     Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
     Eight thousand human beings were murdered
     Endure every hardship but hunger
     English Puritans
     Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
     Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
     Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
     Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
     Erasmus encourages the bold friar
     Erasmus of Rotterdam
     Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
     Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
     Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
     Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
     Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
     Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
     Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
     Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
     Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
     Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
     Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
     Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
     Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
     Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
     Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
     For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
     For faithful service, evil recompense
     For women to lament, for men to remember
     Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
     Force clerical--the power of clerks
     Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
     Furious fanaticism
     Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
     Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
     Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
     German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
     Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
     God has given absolute power to no mortal man
     God Save the King! It was the last time
     Govern under the appearance of obeying
     Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
     Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
     Great science of political equilibrium
     Great error of despising their enemy
     Great battles often leave the world where they found it
     Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
     Habeas corpus
     Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
     Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
     Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
     Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
     Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
     He did his best to be friends with all the world
     He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
     He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
     He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
     He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
     He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
     He had omitted to execute heretics
     Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
     His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
     His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
     History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
     Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
     Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
     Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
     Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
     Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
     I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
     I regard my country's profit, not my own
     If he had little, he could live upon little
     Imagined, and did the work of truth
     In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
     In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
     Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
     Indecision did the work of indolence
     Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
     Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
     Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
     Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
     Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
     Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
     Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
     Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
     Inventing long speeches for historical characters
     It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
     Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
     Judas Maccabaeus
     July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
     King set a price upon his head as a rebel
     King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
     Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
     Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
     Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
     Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
     Licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America
     Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
     Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
     Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
     Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
     Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
     Look through the cloud of dissimulation
     Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
     Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
     Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
     Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
     Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
     Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
     Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
     Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
     Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
     Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
     Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
     Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
     Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
     More accustomed to do well than to speak well
     More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
     Natural to judge only by the result
     Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
     Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
     Neither ambitious nor greedy
     No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
     No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
     No law but the law of the longest purse
     No calumny was too senseless to be invented
     No one can testify but a householder
     No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
     No authority over an army which they did not pay
     Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
     Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
     Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
     Not to let the grass grow under their feet
     Not so successful as he was picturesque
     Not upon words but upon actions
     Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
     Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
     Notre Dame at Antwerp
     Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
     Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
     Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
     Often much tyranny in democracy
     Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
     On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
     One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
     One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
     Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
     Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war
     Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
     Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
     Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
     Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
     Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
     Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
     Pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn
     Paying their passage through, purgatory
     Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
     Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
     Perfection of insolence
     Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
     Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
     Petty passion for contemptible details
     Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
     Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands
     Plundering the country which they came to protect
     Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
     Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
     Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
     Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
     Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
     Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
     Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
     Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
     Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
     Procrastination was always his first refuge
     Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
     Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
     Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
     Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
     Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
     Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
     Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
     Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
     Rashness alternating with hesitation
     Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
     Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
     Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
     Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
     Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
     Repentant females to be buried alive
     Repentant males to be executed with the sword
     Republic, which lasted two centuries
     Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
     Revocable benefices or feuds
     Ruinous honors
     Saint Bartholomew's day
     Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
     Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
     Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
     Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
     Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
     Science of reigning was the science of lying
     Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
     Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
     Sent them word by carrier pigeons
     Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
     Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels
     Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
     She knew too well how women were treated in that country
     Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
     Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
     Slender stock of platitudes
     So much responsibility and so little power
     Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
     Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
     Sonnets of Petrarch
     Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
     Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
     St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
     St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
     Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
     Superfluous sarcasm
     Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
     Tanchelyn
     Taxation upon sin
     Taxes upon income and upon consumption
     Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
     That vile and mischievous animal called the people
     The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
     The Gaul was singularly unchaste
     The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
     The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
     The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
     The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder
     The disunited provinces
     The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass
     The time for reasoning had passed
     The perpetual reproductions of history
     The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
     The illness was a convenient one
     The calf is fat and must be killed
     The tragedy of Don Carlos
     There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
     These human victims, chained and burning at the stake
     They could not invent or imagine toleration
     They had at last burned one more preacher alive
     Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
     Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
     Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
     Three hundred fighting women
     Throw the cat against their legs
     Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
     Time and myself are two
     To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all
     To hear the last solemn commonplaces
     To prefer poverty to the wealth attendant upon trade
     Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all
     Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
     Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
     Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack
     Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
     Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
     Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
     Unduly dejected in adversity
     Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
     Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
     Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
     Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity
     Villagers, or villeins
     Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter
     Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?
     We believe our mothers to have been honest women
     We are beginning to be vexed
     Wealth was an unpardonable sin
     Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers
     When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
     Who loved their possessions better than their creed
     William of Nassau, Prince of Orange
     Wiser simply to satisfy himself
     Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery
     Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought
     Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden
     Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience
     Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders
     Writing letters full of injured innocence