Troubles in the Netherlands--Granvelle’s unpopularity--William of
Orange and Egmont--Their resignation and protest--Margaret of
Parma--Assembly of the Chapter of the Golden Fleece--Riots at
Valenciennes--Discontent of the Flemish nobles--They retire from
government--Granvelle’s dismissal--The maladministration of the
States--Egmont’s mission to Spain--Philip’s policy in the
States--The Beggars--Orange’s action--Philip determines to
exterminate heresy in the States--Philip’s projected voyage
thither.
We have seen that Philip had left his Flemish subjects (August 1559) in
no very amiable mood. The opulent, independent communities of the Low
Countries held firmly by the liberties they enjoyed. Every ruler had to
swear--as Philip had done--to uphold and preserve them intact; on that
point nobles and burghers were at one, and amongst the rights they
prized most was that no foreigner should be appointed to any
administrative post. The Burgundian rulers, although foreigners, had got
on well enough with them, and so had the emperor. It was more a question
of tastes and manners than of blood; superabundant hospitality, heavy
eating, deep drinking, and rough speaking quickly commended a man to the
Flemings. The Spaniard of that day was, as he still remains, sober and
abstemious to the highest degree, reticent, sensitive, and proud, and
Philip was a Spaniard to the finger-tips.
The natural want of sympathy between sovereign and people arising out of
these circumstances doubtless began the trouble which ended in Spain’s
downfall. No part of Philip’s career shows so clearly as his treatment
of the Netherlands the limited and inelastic character of his policy,
the lack of adaptability of his methods; for how should a man be
yielding or conciliatory who supposed that he was part and parcel of
Divine Providence, the one man on earth selected by the Almighty to
carry out His irresistible decrees? There is no reason to suppose that
when he first decided upon the rearrangement of the Flemish dioceses he
desired to offend his subjects; it was probably only a step in his
persistent policy of bringing the clergy of his dominions under his more
immediate control. But in order to pay his new bishops he designed to
appropriate the large revenues of the conventual houses, and he thus
raised up against him all the cloistered clergy. The pope was bribed to
agree to the change, but the Flemings, already sulky, were willing to
listen to the monks, who denounced the innovations of the foreigner
which were to deprive them of their revenues, and what would have been
under other circumstances a not unwelcome reform became a fruitful
source of trouble. There is no doubt, moreover, that before the king
attended the States-General just prior to his departure he had every
intention of withdrawing the Spanish infantry from Flanders now that
peace had been made with France, and the men were badly wanted in
Naples, where his principal danger at present lay. But when the
States-General so roughly demanded of their sovereign the immediate
withdrawal of the troops, Philip’s heart must have hardened and his
pride revolted that these independent-minded Flemings should question
his omnipotence. Another difficulty was that the troops obstinately
refused to budge until they were paid, and the treasury was empty. The
Flemings, who had been bled freely during the war, professed inability
to find any more resources, and the Antwerp bankers shut their
money-bags until some of their previous advances were paid. When Philip
arrived in Spain, his sister Margaret, Duchess of Parma, governess of
the Netherlands, ceaselessly urged him to withdraw the troops. She
assured him that their further stay would cause trouble, and Granvelle
warned him gravely of the results. With the first half of his French
wife’s dowry of 400,000 ducats Philip was able to pay the troops in the
autumn of 1560, and they left in January 1561; but by that time the evil
seed had been sown, and Philip was pestered in every letter with
reminders of the various rights and privileges which he had sworn to
uphold in the respective states. Most of the unpopularity fell upon
Granvelle, who had to carry out the arrangements for the new bishoprics.
He found his task so difficult that before long he “wished to God that
the erection of these new sees had never been thought of,” although the
change made him Primate of the Netherlands, and gave the king the
advantage of thirteen nominated members in the Assembly of Nobles. This
latter fact, indeed, probably to a great extent was the original aim of
the project, and was certainly one of the principal reasons why the
Flemish nobles opposed it so bitterly.
Granvelle himself, be it recollected, was a foreigner, a
Franche-Comtois, and his luxurious, ostentatious mode of life was an
additional reason for his unpopularity. Margaret, on the other hand,
whose mother had been a Fleming, and whose masculine manners and purely
Flemish tastes commended her to her countrymen, was far from being
unpopular.
The nobles who had first distinguished themselves by resisting the
further stay of the Spanish troops were William, Prince of Orange, and
Count Egmont. The former was not a Fleming in blood or education, his
principality of Orange being in the south of France, and his descent
mainly German Lutheran. By his county of Nassau, however, he was a
Flemish prince, and had been brought up in the court of the emperor, of
whom he had been a great favourite. His historical name of “the
taciturn” gives a very false idea of his character, especially in his
youth. He was like a Southern Frenchman in manners, gay, fascinating,
prodigal, and voluble. His religious opinions, if he had any, were
extremely lax, and he was as ready to seek his advantage on one side as
another. His religion indeed was as purely political as that of Philip,
but as a statesman he must be ranked far higher, for he had all Philip’s
tenacity and foresight, with an opportunism almost as great as that of
Elizabeth herself.
Count Egmont, on the other hand, was a dashing and fortunate soldier,
chief of the Flemish nobility, handsome, vain, proud, and honest, but of
limited intelligence, and exceedingly credulous. The first overt step of
these two nobles was to resign the commands they held over the Spanish
troops, on the ground that, if they continued to hold them, they would
lose all influence in the country. When the Spanish troops had left,
Orange and Egmont continued, as usual, to attend the Flemish council of
state appointed by Philip to advise Margaret. But the king before he
departed had arranged that his own Spanish method of administration
should be followed, namely, that the regent and the secretary of state,
Granvelle, should practically manage everything, referring to the
council only such points as they considered necessary.
As time went on, and Granvelle became more unpopular about the
bishoprics, he referred less and less to the council, and in July 1561
Orange and Egmont wrote to the king resigning their seats and
complaining bitterly. They had, they said, to bear a share of the
unpopularity of the measures adopted, but had no part in controlling the
policy of the Government. To this Philip returned, as was usual with
him, a temporising answer. He would, he said, consider the matter and
reply at length when Count Horn returned from Madrid to Flanders.
Horn’s mission to Flanders was to endeavour to reconcile Granvelle with
the nobles, but this was a well-nigh impossible task. It was said that
the cardinal and his parasites were plundering right and left, whilst
public officers were unpaid and the treasury empty, that he was trying
to substitute the unobnoxious inquisition of the Netherlands by the
terrible tribunal of Spain, which certainly was not true, and that his
arrogance and tyranny had become unbearable. Granvelle indeed was the
scapegoat, and had become hateful both to the nobles and to “that
perverse animal called the people,” to use his own words. So Horn’s
mission was too late, like most of Philip’s attempts at conciliation,
and in the spring of 1562 Orange petitioned the Regent Margaret to
convoke the States-General. The regent herself, though full of praise
for the cardinal in her letters to Philip, had no desire to share his
unpopularity, and consented to summon, not the States-General, but a
Chapter of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, or in effect the high
nobility of Flanders. The pretext for the assembly was that Philip had
sent orders that a force of men should be raised in Flanders to be sent
to the aid of the Catholic party in France, now in the midst of their
first struggle with the Huguenots. The discontented Flemish nobles were
in no humour to aid in this, and before the assembly Orange held a
private meeting of them, to press upon them the undesirability of
allowing Granvelle to have the disposal of troops. This was known to the
regent, and she dismissed the assembly as soon as possible, an
arrangement being settled for sending a money subsidy to the French
Catholics instead of an armed force. But before the nobles separated
they decided to send as a delegate to Philip one of their number,
Florence de Montmorenci, Baron de Montigny, the brother of Count Horn,
to represent to the king the unsatisfactory state of the country with
regard to religion and the public finances. He and his brother were
Catholics, but firm upholders of the autonomy of the States. Before he
left, religious matters were indeed in a disturbed condition. Hainhault,
on the French border, with its great commerce and industry in the cities
of Tournai, and Valenciennes especially, had largely accepted the
Protestant faith from the neighbouring French Calvinists. Philip urged
his sister to severity against them, but the magistrates, themselves
Flemings, hesitated to torture their fellow-citizens, whose political
privileges protected them against such treatment. Margaret threatened
the magistrates, and the people of Valenciennes took the matter in their
own hands, broke open the prison, and released the accused. Margaret
might storm, as she did, Philip might cynically recommend that heads
should be lopped, bodies burnt, and mouths gagged, but the Marquis de
Bergues, the governor of Hainhault, was a Fleming, and would not
countenance any infringement on the rights of his people. Upon him then
fell the blame. Nothing that Granvelle could say to the king was bad
enough for Bergues, and in return Egmont, Orange, and Horn ceaselessly
cast the responsibility upon Granvelle. Letter after letter went to the
king in this sense. Philip, as usual, was cool and unmoved. He is not,
he says, in the habit of punishing his ministers without just cause. But
proud Alba did not take it so coolly. “Every time I see the letters of
these three Flemish lords I fall into such a rage, that, if I did not
make a great effort to control myself, your Majesty would think me
frantic.” Granvelle, on his part, tried to fan the flame. “They want to
reduce this country to a sort of republic, in which the king can do more
than they like,” and when the Marquis de Bergues was asked by the Duke
of Arschot what course he would take if the king would not give way, his
reply, as repeated to Philip, was, “By God! we will make him swallow
it.”
Things thus went from bad to worse. Granvelle at length saw that he
must bend before the storm, and offered concessions to the nobles. But
it was too late. Nearly all the nobles, governors, and Knights of Golden
Fleece had now sworn to stand together to overthrow the hated foreign
cardinal, and a formal letter was sent to the king in March 1563, signed
by Orange, Egmont, and Horn, resigning all share in the government. The
reply was again in Philip’s temporising vein. He was coming to Flanders
himself shortly, and would then inquire into their complaints. In the
meanwhile he could not dismiss Granvelle. The nobles sent another, and a
stronger, letter to the king in answer to this (July 29, 1563), and said
that in future they should absent themselves from the council. At the
same time a formal “remonstrance” was addressed to the regent, and
thenceforward she and Granvelle were left to govern alone. Margaret had
no wish to be dragged down by the impending fall of the minister, and
bluntly told Philip, by her trusty secretary, Armenteros, that, if the
cardinal were maintained against the will of nobles and people, a
revolution might result. Granvelle was assured by the king’s secretary
that Philip would rather lose the States than sacrifice his minister.
The king sent a curt peremptory letter to the nobles reproaching them
for deserting the council for a trifle, and assured the cardinal that he
would not deprive himself of his services. But they arranged between
them that the cardinal should beg for leave of absence to visit his
mother in the Franche Comté and, after much pretended reluctance on the
part of Philip, Granvelle was allowed to depart, to the open rejoicing
of the nobles, the people, and even of the regent. An elaborate
appearance of his departure being spontaneous and only temporary was
made, but when two years afterwards his leave of absence had expired and
he wanted to go back, the king advised him to pass a short time in Rome,
and then he knew for certain that disgrace had fallen upon him. He would
go thither--or to the farthest end of the world--he said, if the king
ordered him, but he much feared that his absence from Flanders would not
mend matters.
He had departed from Brussels in the spring of 1564, and the three
nobles at once wrote dutiful letters to Philip, who replied graciously.
They once more took an active part in the government, and in the first
few months after Granvelle left, the relief and rejoicing were great.
But the sore still remained behind. Granvelle, indeed, had only carried
out the policy inaugurated by Philip of governing Flanders as a Spanish
province. The policy was not dead though the instrument was disgraced.
Such a system of government, where popular control is loosened,
invariably leads to corruption; and this case was no exception to the
rule. Granvelle’s parasites--Morillon, Bave, Bordey, and the rest of
them--had made his patronage a crying scandal, the judges were
shamelessly bought and sold, the administration was a sink of iniquity,
the inquisitor Titelmans was ferociously hounding to death inoffensive
citizens, even good Catholics, without legal form of trial, and now
Margaret of Parma herself, and her pet secretary, Armenteros, thought it
was time that they should reap a fat harvest; so, after the first joy of
Granvelle’s retreat had passed, it was decided by the nobles to send
Egmont to Spain to explain to the king how the rights he swore to
maintain were still being violated. Egmont might take with him the
vigorous protest of his peers, but Egmont was one of those men whom
princes like Philip have no cause to fear. He was vain and superficial,
and easily soothed into satisfaction. Philip made much of him, promised
him “mounts and marvels,” chided him a little; and sent him home
rejoicing, full of praises for the generosity and magnanimity of the
king. But Philip’s policy was not varied a hair’s-breadth nevertheless.
On the contrary, there is no room for doubt that he had now made up his
mind to break the spirit of the stubborn Flemings for once and for all,
and to stamp out the rebellious talk about rights and privileges which
he had sworn to maintain. There were no mundane rights and privileges
that should stand against the will of God’s own vice-regent upon earth.
“God and his Majesty” had willed that the Flemings must be governed like
the Spaniards, and that was enough. No sooner had Egmont left Madrid
than the king sent strict orders that nothing was to be changed, and
that heresy was to be pursued without mercy or truce. Thousands of
industrious citizens were flocking over to England, carrying their looms
and their household gods with them, and English Protestants looked more
sourly than ever upon Philip and all his works. Philip remained unmoved.
The fewer heretics there were in Flanders the easier would it be for him
to have his way later. “Kill! kill!” wrote one of Philip’s Spanish
friars to him; “we must kill 2000 people all over the States. Your
Majesty has the weapon which God has placed in your hand. Draw it, bathe
it in the blood of heretics, unless you wish the blood of Christ to cry
to God. Moderation touches not your Majesty. Let them seek moderation
in their heresies to save their lives.”
But Philip was in no hurry; he only told his sister that nothing was to
be changed. “You know,” answered she, “how the Spanish Inquisition is
hated here. I have already told you that to suppress heresy here I am
asked to cast into the flames 60,000 or 70,000 people, and the governors
of the provinces will not allow it. They wish to resign, and I also
shall be obliged to do so.”
Philip’s answer in a few words gives a clearer idea of his character
than a volume could do. For months he did not answer at all, and then
wrote, “Why all these disquietudes? Are not my intentions understood? Is
it believed that I have any intentions than the service of God and the
good of the States?” Persecution might crush Latin peoples if continued
long enough, but it could not crush the stubborn Dutchmen. There arose
now a new element in the strife. Hitherto the motive power had mostly
been the great nobles, Catholics nearly all of them, whose object was to
prevent the extinction of the political liberties of the States; but now
the religious power of resistance was aroused, and the bourgeoisie stood
shoulder to shoulder crying aloud that no papist should burn them or
theirs for the faith. Many such had fled to England, but the towns of
Holland and Zeeland were full of them still. First the landed gentlemen
protested, under the leadership of Orange’s brother, Louis of Nassau,
and Saint Aldegonde, against the proceedings of the Inquisition; and
they bound themselves by solemn oath to follow the recent example of the
Neapolitans and withstand the “gang of strangers,” who were seeking to
impose the Spanish form of the Holy Office upon them. Then Brederode,
the man of highest lineage and most insatiable thirst in Holland, joined
them, and together they went, a couple of hundred of them, to hand their
solemn protest to the regent. Tears fell from Margaret’s eyes as they
filed past her, for she knew now that her brother’s stubborn spirit had
met its match, and in future it must be war to the knife. Then the
Gargantuan banquet at the hostelry of Culemburg unlocked their tongues
still further, and tippling Brederode gave his memorable toast to the
“Beggars.” No one knew what he meant, perhaps he did not himself know at
the end of such an orgy, but the name caught on, and the sturdy
“Beggars” arose thenceforward from their dykes and marshes to be quelled
no more for good, but to hold for all time to come the country which
they themselves had rescued from the sea.
The new turn of affairs did not please the great nobles. They were
Catholics, though patriots, and they saw that the championship of the
national cause was about to fall into the hands of the Protestants; so
Egmont, Horn, Montigny, Arschot, and the rest of them did their best to
stem the tide. All but Orange. He knew Philip better than any of them,
and he foresaw that there would be no surrender or conciliation from
him. Why should there be? Could the lieutenant of the Most High stoop to
palter with sottish Brederode and his crew? If Philip had spies in
Flanders, so had Orange in Madrid, and nothing passed without his
knowledge. He had learned of the king’s plans of vengeance, but he could
not afford yet to cast himself into the scale alone with Brederode and
the little gentry, leaving the great nobles on the side of the Spaniard;
so for the moment he stood aloof saying no word either of praise or
condemnation, but seeking to moderate the storm on both sides. But the
spark had caught the tinder. Protestant fervour blazed up in every town
in Flanders in open defiance of the edicts. The regent was powerless.
She could not punish all Flanders, and violent councillors of the Alba
school whispered distrust to Philip even of her, for she wrote
ceaselessly to her brother urging him to gentler methods. His action was
characteristic: at first he authorised his sister to pardon the
confederates and suppress the Inquisition, and with reassuring words
sought to gain Orange to his side. But only a week after (August 9,
1566) he signed a solemn document before a notary, setting forth that he
was not bound by his promise, and would punish all those who had
directly or indirectly aided the disturbances. He avowed to the pope
that the Inquisition in Flanders should be upheld at all costs, and that
his promise to suppress it was void. “Before allowing any backsliding in
religion, or in the service of God, I will lose all my dominions and a
hundred lives, if I had them, for I will never be a ruler of heretics.”
Thus Philip threw down the gage. Then came the sacking of Catholic
churches by the mob in Antwerp, St. Omer, Malines, and elsewhere, sacred
images profaned, sacrilegious mockeries perpetrated, holy mysteries
blasphemously parodied, and priceless treasures of art wantonly wrecked.
The Protestant mob, in fact, was paramount, and the regent and her
inquisition could only look on in dismay, until the former fell ill and
lost all heart. Philip was very far from doing that. Away in distant
Spain, trying to pull the wires that move humanity from his work-room,
his only policy was extermination of heresy, utter and complete.
Wise Granvelle, even the pope himself, warned him that too much severity
might defeat his own purpose. The king scornfully and coldly rebuked
even the pontiff for his weakness. In the meanwhile Alba was storming in
the council at Philip’s delay in giving the orders for extermination.
But Philip looked upon himself as one who turned the handle of the
wheels of fate, and was in no hurry. He wanted to watch closely which
were the tallest heads to be stricken first. The regent was working
night and day, making such concessions as she dared, whilst putting down
tumult by force of arms. The Catholic nobles too, Egmont especially,
were doing their best with their armed Walloons to suppress with a
strong hand rebellion at Valenciennes and elsewhere, but Orange was in
Antwerp standing apart from both factions, and Saint Aldegonde with a
rabble was in arms outside the city. At length even diplomatic Orange
had to quit the mask. Distrusted by both parties, but idolised by the
peaceful citizens of Antwerp, who only asked to be allowed to live in
quietude, he saw the time had come; and early in 1567 reverted to the
faith of his fathers, and promised to lead the cause of reform. Tumult
immediately ceased; the regent’s severity and conciliation together, and
the blind adhesion of the nobles, except Orange and Brederode, had
suppressed all disorder by the spring, and “all the cities are coming
now to us with halters round their necks.” Orange was in Germany making
preparations for the fray, whilst Flemish Protestants were flying to
England again by the hundred, crying out that Orange and Brederode had
betrayed and abandoned them. Margaret entered Antwerp in state and
rejoicing, and all looked calm and happy, except to those who were led
to the halter and the stake for the service of “God and his Majesty.” It
was but the calm that precedes the storm; and if no one else perceived
this, Philip and Orange certainly did so. The former knew that he must
crush the national feeling, and the nobles that started it, that he must
make Flanders a province of Spain before he could have his own way in
all things, and he decided to go himself with Alba and superintend the
killing, or at least he announced his intention of making the voyage,
which gave him an excuse for raising a considerable fleet and a large
force as an escort. The Queen of England affected to rejoice at her
“good brother’s” coming; but the English fleet was hastily fitted out,
and all England was in a panic of apprehension as to what it might
forebode. In vain the Regent Margaret assured the king that all was
quiet, and that no more punishment was now needed. The king replied that
he wished personally to thank her and others who had brought about the
pacification.
At last when all was ready in Spain, vast sums of money collected, and
the troops under arms--no longer an escort but an avenging army--Philip
announced that he could not go himself, but would send the Duke of Alba
alone. Then all the world saw what it meant. The regent protested that
the presence of Alba would be fatal, “as he is so detested in this
country that his coming itself will be sufficient to make all the
Spanish nation hated.” If he comes she must retire; and retire she did.
The news of Alba’s coming sped across the Channel by the Protestant
fugitives, and Elizabeth at once retorted by renewed severity against
the Catholics in England. Huguenots in France, Lutherans in Germany,
Protestants in England, all knew now that the time of struggle was
approaching for the faith, and messages of help and mutual support
crossed from one to another. Philip, slaving night and day at his desk,
had quietly planned long before that all the nobles who had dared to
raise their voices in the national cause should be struck at first, and
then that the brand of Spain should be stamped for ever on the rich and
industrious burgesses of the Netherlands.