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