Archduke Cardinal Albert appointed governor of the Netherlands--
Return of Philip William from captivity--His adherence to the King
of Spain--Notice of the Marquis of Varambon, Count Varax, and other
new officers--Henry's communications with Queen Elizabeth--Madame de
Monceaux--Conversation of Henry with the English ambassador--
Marseilles secured by the Duke of Guise--The fort of Rysbank taken
by De Roane Calais in the hands of the Spanish--Assistance from
England solicited by Henry--Unhandsome conditions proposed by
Elizabeth--Annexation of Calais to the obedient provinces--Pirates
of Dunkirk--Uneasiness of the Netherlanders with regard to the
designs of Elizabeth--Her protestations of sincerity--Expedition of
Dutch and English forces to Spain--Attack on the Spanish war-ships--
Victory of the allies--Flag of the Republic planted on the fortress
of Cadiz--Capitulation of the city--Letter of Elizabeth to the Dutch
Admirals--State of affairs in France--Proposition of the Duke of
Montpensier for the division of the kingdom--Successes of the
Cardinal Archduke in Normandy--He proceeds to Flanders--Siege and
capture of Hulat--Projected alliance against Spain--Interview of De
Sancy with Lord Burghley--Diplomatic conference at Greenwich--
Formation of a league against Spain--Duplicity of the treaty--
Affairs in Germany--Battle between the Emperor and the Grand Turk--
Endeavours of Philip to counteract the influence of the league--His
interference in the affairs of Germany--Secret intrigue of Henry
with Spain--Philip's second attempt at the conquest of England.
Another governor-general arrived in the early days of the year 1596, to
take charge of the obedient provinces. It had been rumoured for many
months that Philip's choice was at last fixed upon the Archduke Cardinal
Albert, Archbishop of Toledo, youngest of the three surviving brothers,
of the Emperor Rudolph, as the candidate for many honours. He was to
espouse the Infanta, he was to govern the Netherlands, and, as it was
supposed, there were wider and wilder schemes for the aggrandizement of
this fortunate ecclesiastic brooding in the mind of Philip than yet had
seen the light.
Meantime the cardinal's first care was to unfrock himself. He had also
been obliged to lay down the most lucrative episcopate in Christendom,
that of Toledo, the revenues of which amounted to the enormous sum of
three hundred thousand dollars a year. Of this annual income, however, he
prudently reserved to himself fifty thousand dollars, by contract with
his destined successor.
The cardinal reached the Netherlands before the end of January. He
brought with him three thousand Spanish infantry, and some companies of
cavalry, while his personal baggage was transported on three hundred and
fifty mules. Of course there was a triumphal procession when, on the 11th
February, the new satrap entered the obedient Netherlands, and there was
the usual amount of bell-ringing, cannon-firing, trumpet-blowing, with
torch-light processions, blazing tar-barrels, and bedizened platforms,
where Allegory, in an advanced state of lunacy, performed its wonderful
antics. It was scarcely possible for human creatures to bestow more
adulation, or to abase themselves more thoroughly, than the honest
citizens of Brussels had so recently done in honour of the gentle, gouty
Ernest, but they did their best. That mythological conqueror and demigod
had sunk into an unhonoured grave, despite the loud hosannaha sung to him
on his arrival in Belgica, and the same nobles, pedants, and burghers
were now ready and happy to grovel at the feet of Albert. But as it
proved as impossible to surpass the glories of the holiday which had been
culled out for his brother, so it would be superfluous now to recall the
pageant which thus again delighted the capital.
But there was one personage who graced this joyous entrance whose
presence excited perhaps more interest than did that of the archduke
himself. The procession was headed by three grandees riding abreast.
There was the Duke of Aumale, pensionary of Philip, and one of the last
of the Leaguers, who had just been condemned to death and executed in
effigy at Paris, as a traitor to his king and country; there was the
Prince of Chimay, now since the recent death of his father at Venice
become Duke of Arschot; and between the two rode a gentleman forty-two
years of age, whose grave; melancholy features--although wearing a
painful expression of habitual restraint and distrust suggested, more
than did those of the rest of his family, the physiognomy of William the
Silent to all who remembered that illustrious rebel.
It was the eldest son of the great founder of the Dutch republic. Philip
William, Prince of Orange, had at last, after twenty-eight years of
captivity in Spain, returned to the Netherlands, whence he had been
kidnapped while a school boy at Louvain, by order of the Duke of Alva.
Rarely has there been a more dreary fate, a more broken existence than
his. His almost life-long confinement, not close nor cruel, but strict
and inexorable, together with the devilish arts of the Jesuits, had
produced nearly as blighting an effect upon his moral nature as a closer
dungeon might have done on his physical constitution. Although under
perpetual arrest in Madrid, he had been allowed to ride and to hunt, to
go to mass, and to enjoy many of the pleasures of youth. But he had been
always a prisoner, and his soul--a hopeless captive--could no longer be
liberated now that the tyrant, in order to further his own secret
purposes; had at last released his body from gaol. Although the
eldest-born of his father, and the inheritor of the great estates of
Orange and of Buren, he was no longer a Nassau except in name. The change
wrought by the pressure of the Spanish atmosphere was complete. All that
was left of his youthful self was a passionate reverence for his father's
memory, strangely combined with a total indifference to all that his
father held dear, all for which his father had laboured his whole
lifetime, and for which his heart's blood had been shed. On being at last
set free from bondage he had been taken to the Escorial, and permitted to
kiss the hand of the king--that hand still reeking with his father's
murder. He had been well received by the Infante and the Infanta, and by
the empress-mother, daughter of Charles V., while the artistic treasures
of the palace and cloister were benignantly pointed out to him. It was
also signified to him that he was to receive the order of the Golden
Fleece, and to enter into possession of his paternal and maternal
estates. And Philip William had accepted these conditions as if a born
loyal subject of his Most Catholic Majesty.
Could better proof be wanting that in that age religion was the only
fatherland, and that a true papist could sustain no injury at the hands
of his Most Catholic Majesty. If to be kidnapped in boyhood, to be
imprisoned during a whole generation of mankind, to be deprived of vast
estates, and to be made orphan by the foulest of assassinations, could
not engender resentment against, the royal, perpetrator of these crimes
in the bosom of his victim, was it strange that Philip should deem
himself, something far, more than man, and should placidly accept the
worship rendered to him by inferior beings, as to the holy impersonation
of Almighty Wrath?
Yet there is no doubt that the prince had a sincere respect for his
father, and had bitterly sorrowed at his death. When a Spanish officer,
playing chess with him, in prison, had ventured to speak lightly of that
father, Philip William had seized him bodily, thrown him from the window,
and thus killed him on the spot. And when on his arrival in Brussels it
was suggested to him by President Riehardat that it was the king's
intention to reinstate him in the possession of his estates, but that a
rent-charge of eighteen thousand florins a year was still to be paid from
them; to the heirs of Balthazar Gerard, his father's assassin, he flamed
into a violent rage, drew his poniard, and would have stabbed the
president; had not the bystanders forcibly interferred. In consequence of
this refusal--called magnanimous by contemporary writers--to accept his
property under such conditions, the estates were detained from him for a
considerable time longer. During the period of his captivity he had been
allowed an income of fifteen thousand livres; but after his restoration
his household, gentlemen, and servants alone cost him eighty thousand
livres annually. It was supposed that the name of Orange-Nassau might now
be of service to the king's designs in the Netherlands. Philip William
had come by way of Rome, where he had been allowed to kiss the pope's
feet and had received many demonstrations of favour, and it was fondly
thought that he would now prove an instrument with which king and pontiff
might pipe back the rebellious republic to its ancient allegiance. But
the Dutchmen and Frisians were deaf. They had tasted liberty too long,
they had dealt too many hard blows on the head of regal and sacerdotal
despotism, to be deceived by coarse artifices. Especially the king
thought that something might be done with Count Hohenlo. That turbulent
personage having recently married the full sister of Philip William, and
being already at variance with Count Maurice, both for military and
political causes, and on account of family and pecuniary disputes, might,
it was thought, be purchased by the king, and perhaps a few towns and
castles in the united Netherlands might be thrown into the bargain. In
that huckstering age, when the loftiest and most valiant nobles of Europe
were the most shameless sellers of themselves, the most cynical
mendicants for alms and the most infinite absorbers of bribes in exchange
for their temporary fealty; when Mayenne, Mercoeur, Guise, Pillars,
Egmont, and innumerable other possessors of ancient and illustrious names
alternately and even simultaneously drew pensions from both sides in the
great European conflict, it was not wonderful that Philip should think
that the boisterous Hohenlo might be bought as well as another. The
prudent king, however, gave his usual order that nothing was to be paid
beforehand, but that the service was to be rendered first; and the price
received afterwards.
The cardinal applied himself to the task on his first arrival, but was
soon obliged to report that he could make but little progress in the
negotiation.
The king thought, too, that Heraugiere, who had commanded the memorable
expedition against Breda, and who was now governor of that stronghold,
might be purchased, and he accordingly instructed the cardinal to make
use of the Prince of Orange in the negotiations to be made for that
purpose. The cardinal, in effect, received an offer from Heraugiere in
the course of a few months not only to surrender Breda, without previous
recompense, but likewise to place Gertruydenberg, the governor of which
city was his relative, in the king's possession. But the cardinal was
afraid of a trick, for Heraugiere was known to be as artful as he was
brave, and there can be little doubt that the Netherlander was only
disposed to lay an ambush for the governor-general.
And thus the son of William the Silent made his reappearance in the
streets of Brussels, after twenty-eight years of imprisonment, riding in
the procession of the new viceroy. The cardinal-archduke came next, with
Fuentes riding at his left hand. That vigorous soldier and politician
soon afterwards left the Netherlands to assume the government of Milan.
There was a correspondence between the Prince of Orange and the
States-General, in which the republican authorities after expressing
themselves towards him with great propriety, and affectionate respect,
gave him plainly but delicately to understand that his presence at that
time in the United Provinces would neither be desirable, nor, without
their passports, possible. They were quite aware of the uses to which the
king was hoping to turn their reverence for the memory and the family of
the great martyr, and were determined to foil such idle projects on the
threshold.
The Archduke Albert, born on 3rd of November, 1560, was now in his
thirty-sixth year. A small, thin, pale-faced man, with fair hair, and
beard, commonplace features, and the hereditary underhanging Burgundian
jaw prominently developed, he was not without a certain nobility of
presence. His manners were distant to haughtiness and grave to solemnity.
He spoke very little and very slowly. He had resided long in Spain, where
he had been a favourite with his uncle--as much as any man could be a
favourite with Philip--and he had carefully formed himself on that royal
model. He looked upon the King of Spain as the greatest, wisest, and best
of created beings, as the most illustrious specimen of kingcraft ever yet
vouchsafed to the world. He did his best to look sombre and Spanish, to
turn his visage into a mask; to conceal his thoughts and emotions, not
only by the expression of his features but by direct misstatements of his
tongue, and in all things to present to the obedient Flemings as
elaborate a reproduction of his great prototype as copy can ever recall
inimitable original. Old men in the Netherlands; who remembered in how
short a time Philip had succeeded, by the baleful effect of his personal
presence, in lighting up a hatred which not the previous twenty years of
his father's burnings, hangings, and butcherings in those provinces had
been able to excite, and which forty subsequent years of bloodshed had
not begun to allay, might well shake their heads when they saw this new
representative of Spanish authority. It would have been wiser--so many
astute politicians thought--for Albert to take the Emperor Charles for
his model, who had always the power of making his tyranny acceptable to
the Flemings, through the adroitness with which he seemed to be entirely
a Fleming himself.
But Albert, although a German, valued himself on appearing like a
Spaniard. He was industrious, regular in his habits, moderate in eating
and drinking, fond of giving audiences on business. He spoke German,
Spanish, and Latin, and understood French and Italian. He had at times
been a student, and, especially, had some knowledge of mathematics. He
was disposed to do his duty--so far as a man can do his duty, who
imagines himself so entirely lifted above his fellow creatures as to owe
no obligation except to exact their obedience and to personify to them
the will of the Almighty. To Philip and the Pope he was ever faithful. He
was not without pretensions to military talents, but his gravity,
slowness, and silence made him fitter to shine in the cabinet than in the
field. Henry IV., who loved his jests whether at his own expense or that
of friend or foe, was wont to observe that there were three things which
nobody would ever believe, and which yet were very true; that Queen
Elizabeth deserved her title of the throned vestal, that he was himself
a good Catholic, and that Cardinal Albert was a good general. It is
probable that the assertions were all equally accurate.
The new governor did not find a very able group of generals or statesmen
assembled about him to assist in the difficult task which he had
undertaken. There were plenty of fine gentlemen, with ancient names and
lofty pretensions, but the working men in field or council had mostly
disappeared. Mondragon, La Motte, Charles Mansfeld, Frank Verdugo were
all dead. Fuentes was just taking his departure for Italy. Old Peter
Ernest was a cipher; and his son's place was filled by the Marquis of
Varambon; as principal commander in active military operations. This was
a Burgundian of considerable military ability, but with an inordinate
opinion of himself and of his family. "Accept the fact that his lineage
is the highest possible, and that he has better connections than those of
anybody else in the whole world, and he will be perfectly contented,"
said a sharp, splenetic Spaniard in the cardinal's confidence. "'Tis a
faithful and loyal cavalier, but full of impertinences." The brother of
Varambon, Count Varax, had succeeded la Motte as general of artillery,
and of his doings there was a tale ere long to be told. On the whole,
the best soldier in the archduke's service for the moment was the
Frenchman Savigny de Rosne, an ancient Leaguer, and a passionate hater of
the Bearnese, of heretics, and of France as then constituted. He had once
made a contract with Henry by which he bound himself to his service; but
after occasioning a good deal of injury by his deceitful attitude, he had
accepted a large amount of Spanish dollars, and had then thrown off the
mask and proclaimed himself the deadliest foe of his lawful sovereign.
"He was foremost," said Carlos Coloma, "among those who were successfully
angled for by the Commander Moreo with golden hooks." Although
prodigiously fat, this renegade was an active and experienced campaigner;
while his personal knowledge of his own country made his assistance of
much value to those who were attempting its destruction.
The other great nobles, who were pressing themselves about the new
viceroy with enthusiastic words of welcome, were as like to give him
embarrassment as support. All wanted office, emoluments, distinctions,
nor could, much dependence be placed on the ability or the character of
any of them. The new duke of Arschot had in times past, as prince of
Chimay, fought against the king, and had even imagined himself a
Calvinist, while his wife was still a determined heretic. It is true that
she was separated from her husband. He was a man of more quickness and
acuteness than his father had been, but if possible more mischievous both
to friend and foe; being subtle, restless, intriguing, fickle; ambitious,
and deceitful. The Prince of Orange was considered a man of very ordinary
intelligence, not more than half witted, according to Queen Elizabeth,
and it was probable that the peculiar circumstances of his life would
extinguish any influence that he might otherwise have attained with
either party. He was likely to affect a neutral position and, in times of
civil war, to be neutral is to be nothing.
Arenberg, unlike the great general on the Catholic side who had made the
name illustrious in the opening scenes of the mighty contest, was
disposed to quiet obscurity so far as was compatible with his rank.
Having inherited neither fortune nor talent with his ancient name, he was
chiefly occupied with providing for the wants of his numerous family. A
good papist, well-inclined and docile, he was strongly recommended for
the post of admiral, not because he had naval acquirements, but because
he had a great many children. The Marquis of Havre, uncle to the Duke of
Arschot, had played in his time many prominent parts in the long
Netherland tragedy. Although older than he was when Requesens and Don
John of Austria had been governors, he was not much wiser, being to the
full as vociferous, as false, as insolent, as self-seeking, and as
mischievous as in his youth. Alternately making appeals to popular
passions in his capacity of high-born demagogue, or seeking crumbs of
bounty as the supple slave of his sovereign, he was not more likely to
acquire the confidence of the cardinal than he had done that of his
predecessors.
The most important and opulent grandee of all the provinces was the Count
de Ligne, who had become by marriage or inheritance Prince of Espinay,
Seneschal of Hainault, and Viscount of Ghent. But it was only his
enormous estates that gave him consideration, for he was not thought
capable of either good or bad intentions. He had, however, in times past,
succeeded in the chief object of his ambition, which was to keep out of
trouble, and to preserve his estates from confiscation. His wife, who
governed him, and had thus far guided him safely, hoped to do so to the
end. The cardinal was informed that the Golden Fleece would be
all-sufficient to keep him upon the right track.
Of the Egmonts, one had died on the famous field of Ivry, another was an
outlaw, and had been accused of participation in plots of assassination
against William of Orange; the third was now about the archduke's court,
and was supposed, to be as dull a man--as Ligne, but likely to be
serviceable so long as he could keep his elder brother out of his
inheritance. Thus devoted to Church and King were the sons of the man
whose head Philip had taken off on a senseless charge of treason. The two
Counts Van den Berg--Frederic and Herman--sons of the sister of William
the Silent, were, on the whole, as brave, efficient, and trustworthy
servants of the king and cardinal as were to be found in the obedient,
provinces.
The new governor had come well provided with funds, being supplied for
the first three-quarters of the year with a monthly: allowance of
1,100,000 florins. For reasons soon to appear, it was not probable that
the States-General would be able very, soon to make a vigorous campaign,
and it was thought best for the cardinal to turn his immediate attention
to France.
The negotiations for, effecting an alliance offensive and defensive,
between the three powers most interested in opposing the projects of
Spain for universal empire, were not yet begun, and will be reserved for
a subsequent chapter. Meantime there had been much informal discussion
and diplomatic trifling between France and England for the purpose of
bringing about a sincere co-operation of the two crowns against the Fifth
Monarchy--as it was much the fashion to denominate Philip's proposed
dominion.
Henry had suggested at different times to Sir Robert Sidney, during his
frequent presence in France as special envoy for the queen, the necessity
of such a step, but had not always found a hearty sympathy. But as the
king began to cool in his hatred to Spain, after his declaration of war
against that power, it seemed desirable to Elizabeth to fan his
resentment afresh, and to revert to those propositions which had been so
coolly received when made. Sir Harry Umton, ambassador from her Majesty,
was accordingly provided with especial letters on the subject from the
queen's own hand, and presented them early in the year at Coucy (Feb. 13,
1596). No man in the world knew better the tone to adopt in his
communications with Elizabeth than did the chivalrous king. No man knew
better than he how impossible it was to invent terms of adulation too
gross for her to accept as spontaneous and natural effusions, of the
heart. He received the letters from the hands of Sir Henry, read them
with rapture, heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed. "Ah! Mr. Ambassador,
what shall I say to you? This letter of the queen, my sister, is full of
sweetness and affection. I see that she loves me, while that I love her
is not to be doubted. Yet your commission shows me the contrary, and this
proceeds from her, ministers. How else can these obliquities stand with
her professions of love? I am forced, as a king, to take a course which,
as Henry, her loving brother, I could never adopt."
They then walked out into the park, and the king fell into frivolous
discourse, on purpose to keep the envoy from the important subject which
had been discussed in the cabinet. Sir Henry brought him back to
business, and insisted that there was no disagreement between her Majesty
and her counsellors, all being anxious to do what she wished. The envoy,
who shared in the prevailing suspicions that Henry was about to make a
truce with Spain, vehemently protested against such a step, complaining
that his ministers, whose minds were distempered with jealousy, were
inducing him to sacrifice her friendship to a false and hollow
reconciliation with Spain. Henry protested that his preference would be
for England's amity, but regretted that the English delays were so great,
and that such dangers were ever impending over his head, as to make it
impossible for him, as a king, to follow the inclinations of his heart.
They then met Madame de Monceaux, the beautiful Gabrielle, who was
invited to join in the walk, the king saying that she was no meddler in
politics, but of a tractable spirit.
This remark, in Sir Henry's opinion, was just, for, said he to Burghley,
she is thought incapable of affairs, and, very simple.
The duchess unmasked very graciously as the ambassador was presented;
but, said the splenetic diplomatist, "I took no pleasure in it, nor held
it any grace at all." "She was attired in a plain satin gown," he
continued, "with a velvet hood to keep her from the weather, which became
her very ill. In my opinion, she is altered very much for the worse, and
was very grossly painted." The three walked together discoursing of
trifles, much to the annoyance of Umton. At last, a shower forced the
lady into the house, and the king soon afterwards took the ambassador to
his cabinet. "He asked me how I liked his mistress," wrote Sir Henry to
Burghley, "and I answered sparingly in her praise, and told him that if
without offence I might speak it, I had the picture of a far more
excellent mistress, and yet did her picture come far from the perfection
of her beauty."
"As you love me," cried the king, "show it me, if you have it about you!"
"I made some difficulty," continued Sir Henry, "yet upon his importunity
I offered it to his view very secretly, still holding it in my hand. He
beheld it with passion and admiration, saying that I was in the right."
"I give in," said the king, "Je me rends."
Then, protesting that he had never seen such beauty all his life, he
kissed it reverently twice or thrice, Sir Henry still holding the
miniature firmly in his hand.
The king then insisted upon seizing the picture, and there was a charming
struggle between the two, ending in his Majesty's triumph. He then told
Sir Henry that he might take his leave of the portrait, for he would
never give it up again for any treasure, and that to possess the favour
of the original he would forsake all the world. He fell into many more
such passionate and incoherent expressions of rhapsody, as of one
suddenly smitten and spell-bound with hapless love, bitterly reproaching
the ambassador for never having brought him any answers to the many
affectionate letters which he had written to the queen, whose silence had
made him so wretched. Sir Henry, perhaps somewhat confounded at being
beaten at his own fantastic game, answered as well as he could, "but I
found," said he, "that the dumb picture did draw on more speech and
affection from him than all my best arguments and eloquence. This was the
effect of our conference, and, if infiniteness of vows and outward
professions be a strong argument of inward affection, there is good
likelihood of the king's continuance of amity with her Majesty; only I
fear lest his necessities may inconsiderately draw him into some
hazardous treaty with Spain, which I hope confidently it is yet in the
power of her Majesty to prevent."
The king, while performing these apish tricks about the picture of a lady
with beady black eyes, a hooked nose, black teeth, and a red wig, who was
now in the sixty-fourth year of her age, knew very well that the whole
scene would be at once repeated to the fair object of his passion by her
faithful envoy; but what must have been the opinion entertained of
Elizabeth by contemporary sovereigns and statesmen when such fantastic
folly could be rehearsed and related every day in the year!
And the king knew, after all, and was destined very soon to acquire proof
of it which there was no gainsaying, that the beautiful Elizabeth had
exactly as much affection for him as he had for her, and was as capable
of sacrificing his interests for her own, or of taking advantage of his
direct necessities as cynically and as remorselessly, as the King of
Spain, or the Duke of Mayenne, or the Pope had ever done.
Henry had made considerable progress in re-establishing his authority
over a large portion of the howling wilderness to which forty years of
civil war had reduced his hereditary kingdom. There was still great
danger, however, at its two opposite extremities. Calais, key to the
Norman gate of France, was feebly held; while Marseilles, seated in such
dangerous proximity to Spain on the one side, and to the Republic of
Genoa, that alert vassal of Spain, on the other, was still in the
possession of the League. A concerted action was undertaken by means of
John Andrew Doria, with a Spanish fleet from Genoa on the outside and a
well-organised conspiracy from within, to carry the city bodily over to
Philip. Had it succeeded, this great Mediterranean seaport would have
become as much a Spanish 'possession as Barcelona or Naples, and infinite
might have been the damage to Henry's future prospects in consequence.
But there was a man in Marseilles; Petrus Libertas by name, whose
ancestors had gained this wholesome family appellation by a successful
effort once made by them to rescue the little town of Calvi, in Corsica,
from the tyranny of Genoa. Peter Liberty needed no prompting to
vindicate, on a fitting occasion, his right to his patronymic. In
conjunction with men in Marseilles who hated oppression, whether of
kings, priests, or renegade republics, as much as he did, and with a
secret and well-arranged understanding with the Duke of Guise, who was
burning with ambition to render a signal benefit to the cause which he
had just espoused, this bold tribune of the people succeeded in stirring
the population to mutiny at exactly the right moment, and in opening the
gates of Marseilles to the Duke of Guise and his forces before it was
possible for the Leaguers to admit the fleet of Doria into its harbour.
Thus was the capital of Mediterranean France lost and won. Guise gained
great favour in Henry's eyes; and with reason; for the son of the great
Balafre, who was himself the League, had now given the League the stroke
of mercy. Peter Liberty became consul of Marseilles, and received a
patent of nobility. It was difficult, however, for any diploma to confer
anything more noble upon him than the name which he hade inherited, and
to which he had so well established his right.
But while Henry's cause had thus been so well served in the south, there
was danger impending in the north. The king had been besieging, since
autumn, the town of La Fere, an important military and strategic
position, which had been Farnese's basis of operations during his
memorable campaigns in France, and which had ever since remained in the
hands of the League.
The cardinal had taken the field with an army of fifteen thousand foot
and three thousand horse, assembled at Valenciennes, and after hesitating
some time whether, or not he should attempt to relieve La Fere, he
decided instead on a diversion. In the second week of April; De Rosne was
detached at the head of four thousand men, and suddenly appeared before
Calais. The city had been long governed by De Gordan, but this wary and
experienced commander had unfortunately been for two years dead. Still
more unfortunately, it had been in his power to bequeath, not only his
fortune, which was very large, but the government of Calais, considered
the most valuable command in France, to his nephew, De Vidosan. He had,
however, not bequeathed to him his administrative and military genius.
The fortress called the Risban, or Rysbank, which entirely governed the
harbour, and the possession of which made Calais nearly impregnable, as
inexhaustible supplies could thus be poured into it by sea, had fallen
into comparative decay. De Gordan had been occupied in strengthening the
work, but since his death the nephew had entirely neglected the task. On
the land side, the bridge of Nivelet was the key to the place. The
faubourg was held by two Dutch companies, under Captains Le Gros and
Dominique, who undertook to prevent the entrance of the archduke's
forces. Vidosan, however; ordered these faithful auxiliaries into the
citadel.
De Rosne, acting with great promptness; seized both the bridge of Nivelet
and the fort of Rysbank by a sudden and well-concerted movement. This
having been accomplished, the city was in his power, and, after
sustaining a brief cannonade, it surrendered. Vidosan, with his garrison,
however, retired into the citadel, and it was agreed between, himself and
De Rosne that unless succour should be received from the French king
before the expiration of six days; the citadel should also be-evacuated.
Meantime Henry, who was at Boulogne, much disgusted at this unexpected
disaster, had sent couriers to the Netherlands, demanding assistance of
the States-General and of the stadholder. Maurice had speedily responded
to the appeal. Proceeding himself to Zeeland, he had shipped fifteen
companies of picked troops from Middelburg, together with a flotilla
laden with munitions and provisions enough to withstand a siege of
several weeks. When the arrangements were completed, he went himself on
board of a ship of war to take command of the expedition in person. On
the 17th of April he arrived with his succours off the harbour of Calais,
and found to his infinite disappointment that the Rysbank fort was in the
hands of the enemy. As not a vessel could pass the bar without almost
touching that fortress, the entrance to Calais was now impossible. Had
the incompetent Vidosan heeded the advice of his brave Dutch officers;
the place might still have been saved, for it had surrendered in a panic
on the very day when the fleet of Maurice arrived off the port.
Henry had lost no time in sending, also, to his English allies for
succour. The possession of Calais by the Spaniards might well seem
alarming to Elizabeth, who could not well forget that up to the time of
her sister this important position had been for two centuries an English
stronghold. The defeat of the Spanish husband of an English queen had
torn from England the last trophies of the Black Prince, and now the
prize had again fallen into the hands of Spain; but of Spain no longer in
alliance, but at war, with England. Obviously it was most dangerous to
the interests and to the safety of the English realm, that this
threatening position, so near the gates of London, should be in the hands
of the most powerful potentate in the world and the dire enemy of
England. In response to Henry's appeal, the Earl of Essex was despatched
with a force of six thousand men--raised by express command of the queen
on Sunday when the people were all at church--to Dover, where shipping
was in readiness to transport the troops at once across the Channel. At
the same time, the politic queen and some of her counsellors thought the
opening a good one to profit by the calamity of their dear ally,
Certainly it was desirable to prevent Calais from falling into the grasp
of Philip. But it was perhaps equally desirable, now that the place
without the assistance of Elizabeth could no longer be preserved by
Henry, that Elizabeth, and not Henry, should henceforth be its possessor.
To make this proposition as clear to the French king as it seemed to the
English queen, Sir Robert Sidney was despatched in all haste to Boulogne,
even while the guns of De Rosne were pointed at Calais citadel, and while
Maurice's fleet, baffled by the cowardly surrender of the Risban, was on
its retreat from the harbour.
At two o'clock in the afternoon of the 21st of April, Sidney landed at
Boulogne. Henry, who had been intensely impatient to hear from England,
and who suspected that the delay was boding no good to his cause, went
down to the strand to meet the envoy, with whom then and there he engaged
instantly in the most animated discourse.
As there was little time to be lost, and as Sidney on getting out of the
vessel found himself thus confronted with the soldier-king in person, he
at once made the demand which he had been sent across the Channel to
make. He requested the king to deliver up the town and citadel of Calais
to the Queen of England as soon as, with her assistance, he should
succeed in recovering the place. He assigned as her Majesty's reasons for
this peremptory summons that she would on no other terms find it in her
power to furnish the required succour. Her subjects, she said, would
never consent to it except on these conditions. It was perhaps not very
common with the queen to exhibit so much deference to the popular will,
but on this occasion the supposed inclinations of the nation furnished
her with an excellent pretext for carrying out her own. Sidney urged
moreover that her Majesty felt certain of being obliged--in case she did
not take Calais into her own safe-keeping and protection--to come to the
rescue again within four or six months to prevent it once more from being
besieged, conquered, and sacked by the enemy.
The king had feared some such proposition as this, and had intimated as
much to the States' envoy, Calvaert, who had walked with him down to the
strand, and had left him when the conference began. Henry was not easily
thrown from his equanimity nor wont to exhibit passion on any occasion,
least of all in his discussions with the ambassadors of England, but the
cool and insolent egotism of this communication was too much for him.
He could never have believed, he said in reply, that after the repeated
assurances of her Majesty's affection for him which he had received from
the late Sir Henry Umton in their recent negotiations, her Majesty would
now so discourteously seek to make her profit out of his misery. He had
come to Boulogne, he continued, on the pledge given by the Earl of Essex
to assist him with seven or eight thousand men in the recovery of Calais.
If this after all should fail him--although his own reputation would be
more injured by the capture of the place thus before his eyes than if it
had happened in his absence--he would rather a hundred times endure the
loss of the place than have it succoured with such injurious and
dishonourable conditions. After all, he said, the loss of Calais was
substantially of more importance to the queen than to himself. To him the
chief detriment would be in the breaking up of his easy and regular
communications with his neighbours through this position, and especially
with her Majesty. But as her affection for him was now proved to be so
slender as to allow her to seek a profit from his misfortune and
dishonour, it would be better for him to dispense with her friendship
altogether and to strengthen his connections with truer and more
honourable friends. Should the worst come to the worst, he doubted not
that he should be able, being what he was and much more than he was of
old, to make a satisfactory arrangement with, the King of Spain. He was
ready to save Calais at the peril of his life, to conquer it in person,
and not by the hands of any of his lieutenants; but having done so, he
was not willing--at so great a loss of reputation without and at so much
peril within--to deliver it to her Majesty or to any-one else. He would
far rather see it fall into the hands of the Spaniards.
Thus warmly and frankly did Henry denounce the unhandsome proposition
made in the name of the queen, while, during his vehement expostulations,
Sidney grew red with shame, and did not venture to look the king for one
moment in the face. He then sought to mitigate the effect of his demand
by intimating, with much embarrassment of demeanour, that perhaps her
Majesty would be satisfied with the possession of Calais for her own
life-time, and--as this was at once plumply refused--by the suggestion of
a pledge of it for the term of one year. But the king only grew the more
indignant as the bargaining became more paltry, and he continued to heap
bitter reproaches upon the queen, who, without having any children or
known inheritor of her possessions, should nevertheless, be so desirous
of compassing his eternal disgrace and of exciting the discontent of his
subjects for the sake of an evanescent gain for herself. At such a price,
he avowed, he had no wish to purchase her Majesty's friendship.
After this explosion the conference became more amicable. The English
envoy assured the king that there could be, at all events, no doubt of
the arrival of Essex with eight thousand men on the following Thursday to
assist in the relief of the citadel; notwithstanding the answer which, he
had received to the demand of her Majesty.
He furthermore expressed the strong desire which he felt that the king
might be induced to make a personal visit to the queen at Dover, whither
she would gladly come to receive him, so soon as Calais should have been
saved. To this the king replied with gallantry, that it was one of the
things in the world that he had most at heart. The envoy rejoined that
her Majesty would consider such a visit a special honour and favour. She
had said that she could leave this world more cheerfully, when God should
ordain, after she had enjoyed two hours' conversation with his Majesty.
Sidney on taking his departure repeated the assurance that the troops
under Essex would arrive before Calais by Thursday, and that they were
fast marching to the English coast; forgetting, apparently, that, at the
beginning of the interview, he had stated, according to the queen's
instructions, that the troops had been forbidden to march until a
favourable answer had been returned by the king to her proposal.
Henry then retired to his headquarters for the purpose of drawing up
information for his minister in England, De Saucy, who had not yet been
received by the queen, and who had been kept in complete ignorance of
this mission of Sidney and of its purport.
While the king was thus occupied, the English envoy was left in the
company of Calvaert, who endeavoured, without much success, to obtain
from him the result of the conference which had just taken place. Sidney
was not to be pumped by the Dutch diplomatist, adroit as he
unquestionably was, but, so soon as the queen's ambassador was fairly
afloat again on his homeward track--which was the case within three hours
after his arrival at Boulogne--Calvaert received from the king a minute
account of the whole conversation.
Henry expressed unbounded gratitude to the States-General of the republic
for their prompt and liberal assistance, and he eagerly contrasted the
conduct of Prince Maurice--sailing forth in person so chivalrously to his
rescue--with the sharp bargainings and shortcomings of the queen. He
despatched a special messenger to convey his thanks to the prince, and he
expressed his hope to Calvaert that the States might be willing that
their troops should return to the besieged place under the command of
Maurice, whose presence alone, as he loudly and publicly protested, was
worth four thousand men.
But it was too late. The six days were rapidly passing, away. The
governor of Boulogne, Campagnolo, succeeded, by Henry's command, in
bringing a small reinforcement of two or three hundred men into the
citadel of Calais during the night of the 22nd of April. This devoted
little band made their way, when the tide was low, along the flats which
stretched between the fort of Rysbank and the sea. Sometimes wading up to
the neck in water, sometimes swimming for their lives, and during a
greater part of their perilous, march clinging so close to the hostile
fortress as almost to touch its guns, the gallant adventurers succeeded
in getting into the citadel in time to be butchered with the rest of the
garrison on the following day. For so soon as the handful of men had
gained admittance to the gates--although otherwise the aspect of affairs
was quite unchanged--the rash and weak De Vidosan proclaimed that the
reinforcements stipulated in his conditional capitulation having arrived,
he should now resume hostilities. Whereupon he opened fire, upon the
town, and a sentry was killed. De Rosne, furious, at what he considered a
breach of faith, directed a severe cannonade against the not very
formidable walls of the castle. During the artillery engagement which
ensued the Prince of Orange, who had accompanied De Rosne to the siege,
had a very narrow escape. A cannon-ball from the town took off the heads
of two Spaniards standing near him, bespattering him with their blood and
brains. He was urged to retire, but assured those about him that he came
of too good a house to be afraid. His courage was commendable, but it
seems not to have occurred to him that the place for his father's son was
not by the aide of the general who was doing the work of his father's
murderer. While his brother Maurice with a fleet of twenty Dutch
war-ships was attempting in vain to rescue Calais from the grasp of the
Spanish king, Philip William of Nassau was looking on, a pleased and
passive spectator of the desperate and unsuccessful efforts at defence.
The assault was then ordered? The-first storm was repulsed, mainly by the
Dutch companies, who fought in the breach until most of their numbers
were killed or wounded, their captains Dominique and Le Gros having both
fallen. The next attack was successful, the citadel was carried; and the
whole garrison, with exception of what remained of the Hollanders and
Zeelanders, put to the sword. De Vidosan himself perished. Thus Calais
was once more a Spanish city, and was re-annexed to the obedient
provinces of Flanders. Of five thousand persons, soldiers and citizens,
who had taken refuge in the castle, all were killed or reduced to
captivity.'
The conversion of this important naval position into a Spanish-Flemish
station was almost as disastrous to the republic as it was mortifying to
France and dangerous to England. The neighbouring Dunkirk had long been a
nest of pirates, whence small, fast-sailing vessels issued, daily and
nightly, to prey indiscriminately upon the commerce of all nations. These
corsairs neither gave nor took quarter, and were in the habit, after they
had plundered their prizes, of setting them adrift, with the sailors
nailed to the deck or chained to the rigging; while the officers were
held for ransom. In case the vessels themselves were wanted, the crews
were indiscriminately tossed overboard; while, on the ether hand, the
buccaneers rarely hesitated to blow up their own ships, when unable to
escape from superior force. Capture was followed by speedy execution, and
it was but recently that one of these freebooters having been brought
into Rotterdam, the whole crew, forty-four in number, were hanged on the
day of their arrival, while some five and twenty merchant-captains held
for ransom by the pirates thus obtained their liberty.
And now Calais was likely to become a second and more dangerous
sea-robbers' cave than even Dunkirk had been.
Notwithstanding this unlucky beginning of the campaign for the three
allies, it was determined to proceed with a considerable undertaking
which had been arranged between England and the republic. For the time,
therefore, the importunate demands of the queen for repayments by the
States of her disbursements during the past ten years were suspended. It
had, indeed, never been more difficult than at that moment for the
republic to furnish extraordinary sums of money. The year 1595 had not
been prosperous. Although the general advance in commerce, manufactures,
and in every department of national development had been very remark
able, yet there had recently been, for exceptional causes, an apparent
falling off; while, on the other hand, there had been a bad harvest in
the north of Europe. In Holland, where no grain was grown, and which yet
was the granary of the world, the prices were trebled. One hundred and
eight bushels (a last) of rye, which ordinarily was worth fifty florins,
now sold for one hundred and fifty florins, and other objects of
consumption were equally enhanced in value. On the other hand, the
expenses of the war were steadily increasing, and were fixed for this
year at five millions of florins. The republic, and especially the States
of Holland, never hesitated to tax heroically. The commonwealth had no
income except that which the several provinces chose to impose upon
themselves in order to fill the quota assigned to them by the
States-General; but this defect in their political organization was not
sensibly felt so long as the enthusiasm for the war continued in full
force. The people of the Netherlands knew full well that there was no
liberty for them without fighting, no fighting without an army, no army
without wages, and no wages without taxation; and although by the end of
the century the imposts had become so high that, in the language of that
keen observer, Cardinal Bentivoglio; nuncio at Brussels, they could
scarcely be imagined higher, yet, according to the same authority, they
were laid unflinchingly and paid by the people without a murmur. During
this year and the next the States of Holland, whose proportion often
amounted to fifty per cent. of the whole contribution of the United
Provinces, and who ever set a wholesome example in taxation, raised the
duty on imports and all internal taxes by one-eighth, and laid a fresh
impost on such articles of luxury as velvets and satins, pleas and
processes. Starch, too, became a source of considerable revenue. With the
fast-rising prosperity of the country luxury had risen likewise, and, as
in all ages and countries of the world of which there is record, woman's
dress signalized itself by extravagant and very often tasteless
conceptions. In a country where, before the doctrine of popular
sovereignty had been broached in any part of the world by the most
speculative theorists, very vigorous and practical examples of democracy
had been afforded to Europe; in a country where, ages before the science
of political economy had been dreamed of, lessons of free trade on the
largest scale had been taught to mankind by republican traders
instinctively breaking in many directions through the nets by which
monarchs and oligarchs, guilds and corporations, had hampered the
movements of commerce; it was natural that fashion should instinctively
rebel against restraint. The honest burgher's vrow of Middelburg or
Enkhuyzen claimed the right to make herself as grotesque as Queen
Elizabeth in all her glory. Sumptuary laws were an unwholesome part of
feudal tyranny, and, as such, were naturally dropping into oblivion on
the free soil of the Netherlands. It was the complaint therefore of
moralists that unproductive consumption was alarmingly increasing.
Formerly starch had been made of the refuse parts of corn, but now the
manufacturers of that article made use of the bloom of the wheat and
consumed as much of it as would have fed great cities. In the little
village of Wormer the starch-makers used between three and four thousand
bushels a week. Thus a substantial gentlewoman in fashionable array might
bear the food of a parish upon her ample bosom. A single manufacturer in
Amsterdam required four hundred weekly bushels. Such was the demand for
the stiffening of the vast ruffs, the wonderful head-gear, the elaborate
lace-work, stomachers and streamers, without which no lady who respected
herself could possibly go abroad to make her daily purchases of eggs and
poultry in the market-place.
"May God preserve us," exclaimed a contemporary chronicler, unreasonably
excited on the starch question, "from farther luxury and wantonness, and
abuse of His blessings and good gifts, that the punishment of Jeroboam,
which followed upon Solomon's fortunate reign and the gold-ships of Ophir
may not come upon us."
The States of Holland not confounding--as so often has been the case--the
precepts of moral philosophy with those of political economy, did not,
out of fear for the doom of Jeroboam, forbid the use of starch. They
simply laid a tax of a stiver a pound on the commodity, or about six per
cent, ad valorem; and this was a more wholesome way of serving the State
than by abridging the liberty of the people in the choice of personal
attire. Meantime the preachers were left to thunder from their pulpits
upon the sinfulness of starched rues and ornamental top-knots, and to
threaten their fair hearers with the wrath to come, with as much success
as usually attends such eloquence.
There had been uneasiness in the provinces in regard to the designs of
the queen, especially since the States had expressed their inability to
comply in full with her demands for repayment. Spanish emissaries had
been busily circulating calumnious reports that her Majesty was on the
eve of concluding a secret peace with Philip, and that it was her
intention to deliver the cautionary towns to the king. The Government
attached little credence to such statements, but it was natural that
Envoy Caron should be anxious at their perpetual recurrence both in
England and in the provinces. So, one day, he had a long conversation
with the Earl of Essex on the subject; for it will be recollected that
Lord Leicester had strenuously attempted at an earlier day to get
complete possession, not only of the pledged cities but of Leyden also,
in order to control the whole country. Essex was aflame with indignation
at once, and, expressed himself with his customary recklessness. He swore
that if her Majesty were so far forsaken of God and so forgetful of her
own glory, as through evil counsel to think of making any treaty with
Spain without the knowledge of the States-General and in order to cheat
them, he would himself make the matter as public as it was possible to
do, and would place himself in direct opposition to such a measure, so as
to show the whole world that his heart and soul were foreign at least to
any vile counsel of the kind that might have been given to his Sovereign.
Caron and Essex conversed much in this vein, and although the envoy,
especially requested him not to do so, the earl, who was not
distinguished, for his powers of dissimulation, and who suspected
Burleigh of again tampering, as he had often before tampered, with secret
agents of Philip, went straight to the queen with the story. Next day,
Essex invited Caron to dine and to go with him after dinner to the queen.
This was done, and, so soon as the States' envoy was admitted to the
royal presence, her Majesty at once opened the subject. She had heard,
she said, that the reports in question had been spread through the
provinces, and she expressed much indignation in regard to them. She
swore very vehemently, as usual, and protested that she had better never
have been born than prove so miserable a princess as these tales would
make her. The histories of England, she said, should never describe her
as guilty of such falsehood. She could find a more honourable and fitting
means of making peace than by delivering up cities and strongholds so
sincerely and confidingly placed in her hands. She hoped to restore them
as faithfully as they had loyally been entrusted to her keeping. She
begged Caron to acquaint the States-General with these asseverations;
declaring that never since she had sent troops to the Netherlands had she
lent her ear to those who had made such underhand propositions. She was
aware that Cardinal Albert had propositions to make, and that he was
desirous of inducing both the French king and, herself to consent to a
peace with Spain: but she promised, the States' envoy solemnly before God
to apprise him of any such overtures, so soon as they should be made
known to herself.
Much more in this strain, with her usual vehemence and mighty oaths, did
the great queen aver, and the republican envoy, to whom she was on this
occasion very gracious, was fain to believe in her sincerity. Yet the
remembrance of the amazing negotiations between the queen's ministers and
the agents of Alexander Farnese, by which the invasion of the Armada had
been masked; could not but have left an uneasy feeling in the mind of
every Dutch statesman. "I trust in God," said Caron, "that He may never
so abandon her as to permit her to do the reverse of what she now
protests with so much passion. Should it be otherwise--which God
forbid--I should think that He would send such chastisement upon her and
her people that other princes would see their fate therein as in a
mirror, should they make and break such oaths and promises. I tell you
these things as they occur, because, as I often feel uneasiness myself, I
imagine that my friends on the other side the water may be subject to the
same anxiety. Nevertheless, beat the bush as I may, I can obtain no
better information than this which I am now sending you."
It had been agreed that for a time the queen should desist from her
demands for repayment--which, according to the Treaty of 1585, was to be
made only after conclusion of peace between Spain and the provinces, but
which Elizabeth was frequently urging on the ground that the States could
now make that peace when they chose--and in return for such remission the
republic promised to furnish twenty-four ships of war and four tenders
for a naval expedition which was now projected against the Spanish coast.
These war-ships were to be of four hundred, three hundred, and two
hundred tons-eight of each dimension--and the estimated expense of their
fitting out for five months was 512,796 florins.
Before the end of April, notwithstanding the disappointment occasioned in
the Netherlands by the loss of Calais, which the States had so
energetically striven to prevent, the fleet under Admiral John of
Duvenwoord, Seigneur of Warmond, and Vice-Admirals Jan Gerbrantz and
Cornelius Leusen, had arrived at Plymouth, ready to sail with their
English allies. There were three thousand sailors of Holland and Zeeland
on board, the best mariners in the world, and two thousand two hundred
picked veterans from the garrisons of the Netherlands. These land-troops
were English, but they belonged to the States' army, which was composed
of Dutch, German, Walloon, Scotch, and Irish soldiers, and it was a
liberal concession on the part of the republican Government to allow them
to serve on the present expedition. By the terms of the treaty the queen
had no more power to send these companies to invade Spain than to
campaign against Tyr Owen in Ireland, while at a moment when the cardinal
archduke had a stronger and better-appointed army in Flanders than had
been seen for many years in the provinces, it was a most hazardous
experiment for the States to send so considerable a portion of their land
and naval forces upon a distant adventure. It was also a serious blow to
them to be deprived for the whole season of that valiant and experienced
commander, Sir Francis Vere, the most valuable lieutenant, save Lewis
William, that Maurice had at his disposition. Yet Vere was to take
command of this contingent thus sent to the coast of Spain, at the very
moment when the republican army ought to issue from their winter quarters
and begin active operations in the field. The consequence of this
diminution of their strength and drain upon their resources was that the
States were unable to put an army in the field during the current year,
or make any attempt at a campaign.
The queen wrote a warm letter of thanks to Admiral Warmond for the
promptness and efficiency with which he had brought his fleet to the
place of rendezvous, and now all was bustle and preparation in the
English ports for the exciting expedition resolved upon. Never during
Philip's life-time, nor for several years before his birth, had a hostile
foot trod the soil of Spain, except during the brief landing at Corunna
in 1590, and, although the king's beard had been well singed ten years
previously by Sir Francis Drake, and although the coast of Portugal had
still more recently been invaded by Essex and Vere, yet the present
adventure was on a larger scale, and held out brighter prospects of
success than any preceding expedition had done. In an age when the line
between the land and sea service, between regular campaigners and
volunteers, between public and private warfare, between chivalrous
knights-errant and buccaneers, was not very distinctly drawn, there could
be nothing more exciting to adventurous spirits, more tempting to the
imagination of those who hated the Pope and Philip, who loved fighting,
prize-money, and the queen, than a foray into Spain.
It was time to return the visit of the Armada. Some of the sea-kings were
gone. Those magnificent freebooters, Drake and Hawkins, had just died in
the West Indies, and doughty Sir Roger Williams had left the world in
which he had bustled so effectively, bequeathing to posterity a classic
memorial of near a half century of hard fighting, written, one might
almost imagine, in his demi-pique saddle. But that most genial, valiant,
impracticable, reckless, fascinating hero of romance, the Earl of
Essex--still a youth although a veteran in service--was in the
spring-tide of favour and glory, and was to command the land-forces now
assembled at Plymouth. That other "corsair"--as the Spaniards called
him--that other charming and heroic shape in England's chequered
chronicle of chivalry and crime--famous in arts and arms, politics,
science, literature, endowed with so many of the gifts by which men
confer lustre on their age and country, whose name was already a part of
England's eternal glory, whose tragic destiny was to be her undying
shame--Raleigh, the soldier, sailor, scholar, statesman, poet, historian,
geographical discoverer, planter of empires yet unborn--was also present,
helping to organize the somewhat chaotic elements of which the chief
Anglo-Dutch enterprise for this year against--the Spanish world-dominion
was compounded.
And, again, it is not superfluous to recal the comparatively slender
materials, both in bulk and numbers, over which the vivid intelligence
and restless energy of the two leading Protestant powers, the Kingdom and
the Republic, disposed. Their contest against the overshadowing empire,
which was so obstinately striving to become the fifth-monarchy of
history, was waged by land: and naval forces, which in their aggregate
numbers would scarce make a startling list of killed and wounded in a
single modern battle; by ships such that a whole fleet of them might be
swept out of existence with half-a-dozen modern broadsides; by weapons
which would seem to modern eyes like clumsy toys for children. Such was
the machinery by which the world was to be lost and won, less than three
centuries ago. Could science; which even in that age had made gigantic
strides out of the preceding darkness, have revealed its later miracles,
and have presented its terrible powers to the despotism which was seeking
to crush all Christendom beneath its feet, the possible result might have
been most tragical to humanity. While there are few inventions in morals,
the demon Intellect is ever at his work, knowing no fatigue and scorning
contentment in his restless demands upon the infinite Unknown. Yet moral
truth remains unchanged, gradually through the ages extending its
influence, and it is only by conformity to its simple and, eternal
dictates that nations, like individuals, can preserve a healthful
existence. In the unending warfare between right and wrong, between
liberty and despotism; Evil has the advantage of rapidly assuming many
shapes. It has been well said that constant vigilance is the price of
liberty. The tendency of our own times, stimulated by scientific
discoveries and their practical application, is to political
consolidation, to the absorption of lesser communities in greater; just
as disintegration was the leading characteristic of the darker ages. The
scheme of Charlemagne to organize Europe into a single despotism was a
brilliant failure because the forces which were driving human society
into local and gradual reconstruction around various centres of
crystallization: were irresistible to any countervailing enginry which
the emperor had at his disposal. The attempt of Philip, eight centuries
later, at universal monarchy, was frivolous, although he could dispose of
material agencies which in the hands of Charlemagne might have made the
dreams of Charlemagne possible. It was frivolous because the rising
instinct of the age was for religious, political, and commercial freedom
in a far intenser degree than those who lived in that age were themselves
aware. A considerable republic had been evolved as it were involuntarily
out of the necessities of the time almost without self-consciousness that
it was a republic, and even against the desire of many who were guiding
its destinies. And it found itself in constant combination with two
monarchs, despotic at heart and of enigmatical or indifferent religious
convictions, who yet reigned over peoples, largely influenced by
enthusiasm for freedom. Thus liberty was preserved for the world; but, as
the law of human progress would seem to be ever by a spiral movement, it;
seems strange to the superficial observer not prone to generalizing, that
Calvinism, which unquestionably was the hard receptacle in which the germ
of human freedom was preserved in various countries and at different
epochs, should have so often degenerated into tyranny. Yet
notwithstanding the burning of Servetus at Geneva, and the hanging of
Mary Dyer at Boston, it is certain that France, England, the Netherlands,
and America, owe a large share of such political liberty as they have
enjoyed to Calvinism. It may be possible for large masses of humanity to
accept for ages the idea of one infallible Church, however tyrannical but
the idea once admitted that there may be many churches; that what is
called the State can be separated from what is called the Church; the
plea of infallibility and of authority soon becomes ridiculous--a mere
fiction of political or fashionable quackery to impose upon the
uneducated or the unreflecting.
And now Essex, Raleigh and Howard, Vere, Warmond and Nassau were about to
invade the shores of the despot who sat in his study plotting to annex
England, Scotland, Ireland, France, the Dutch republic, and the German
empire to the realms of Spain, Portugal, Naples, Milan, and the Eastern
and Western Indies, over which he already reigned.
The fleet consisted of fifty-seven ships of war, of which twenty-four
were Dutch vessels under Admiral Warmond, with three thousand sailors of
Holland and Zeeland. Besides the sailors, there was a force of six
thousand foot soldiers, including the English veterans from the
Netherlands under Sir Francis Vere. There were also fifty transports
laden with ammunition and stores. The expedition was under the joint
command of Lord High Admiral Howard and of the Earl of Essex. Many noble
and knightly volunteers, both from England and the republic, were on
board, including, besides those already mentioned, Lord Thomas Howard,
son of the Duke of Norfolk, Sir John Wingfield, who had commanded at
Gertruydenburg, when it had been so treacherously surrendered to Farnese;
Count Lewis Gunther of Nassau, who had so recently escaped from the
disastrous fight with Mondragon in the Lippe, and was now continuing his
education according to the plan laid down for him by his elder brother
Lewis William; Nicolas Meetkerk, Peter Regesmortes, Don Christopher of
Portugal, son of Don Antonio, and a host of other adventurers.
On the last day of June the expedition arrived off Cadiz. Next morning
they found a splendid Spanish fleet in the harbour of that city,
including four of the famous apostolic great galleons, St. Philip, St.
Matthew, St. Thomas, and St. Andrew, with twenty or thirty great
war-ships besides, and fifty-seven well-armed Indiamen, which were to be
convoyed on their outward voyage, with a cargo estimated at twelve
millions of ducats.