PRINCE AND HERETIC
BY
MARJORIE BOWEN
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1914_
CONTENTS
PART I
THE NETHERLANDERS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE ALCHEMIST 3
II. FRÄULEIN ANNE 13
III. LOUIS OF NASSAU 26
IV. THE SAINT BARTHOLOMEW WEDDING 36
V. WILLIAM OF ORANGE 48
VI. THE CRYSTAL GAZERS 58
VII. BRUSSELS 71
VIII. MARGARET OF PARMA 81
IX. CARDINAL GRANVELLE 91
X. THE RHETORIC PLAY 101
XI. THE JESTERS AND THE RHETORIC PLAYERS 111
XII. THE GRANDEES 121
XIII. THE DEPARTURE OF THE CARDINAL 131
XIV. THE REGENT, THE PRINCE, AND THE CARDINALIST 140
PART II
THE HOLY INQUISITION
I. THE PIGEON 151
II. THE LOYALTY OF LAMORAL EGMONT 160
III. THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE 170
IV. PHILIP'S MANDATE 180
V. THE KNIGHT-ERRANT 189
VI. THE EDICTS 198
VII. THE PETITION 206
VIII. THE BANQUET 216
IX. MONTIGNY'S WIFE 226
X. ANTWERP 236
XI. THE PRINCE RESIGNS 251
XII. ORANGE AND EGMONT 260
XIII. THE COMING OF ALVA 270
XIV. PHILIP'S AVENGERS 279
PART III
THE HOUSE OF NASSAU
I. DILLENBURG 287
II. JULIANA OF STOLBERG 296
III. HEILIGER LEE 305
IV. THE FIRST BATTLE 313
V. NEWS FROM THE NETHERLANDS 322
VI. THE PRINCE AT BAY 332
VII. THE ACTION ON THE GETA 341
VIII. THE ANABAPTIST PREACHER 350
IX. WINTER TIME 361
X. THE ABBESS 369
PRINCE AND HERETIC
"Soevis tranquillis in undis"
MOTTO OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE
PART I
THE NETHERLANDERS
"On respondera qu'il est Roi: je dis au contraire que ce nom
de Roi m'est incognu. Qu'il le soit en Castille ou Arragon, à
Naples, aux Indes et par tout où il commande à plaisir: qu'il le
soit s'il veult en Jérusalem, paisible Dominateur en Asie et
Afrique, tant y a que je ne cogni en ce pais qu'un Duc et un
Comte, duquel la puissance est limitée selon nos privilèges lesquels
il a juré à la joyeuse entrée."—_Apologie d'Orange_
CHAPTER I
THE ALCHEMIST
Magister Gustave Vanderlinden, astrologer and alchemist to that great
Protestant Prince, His Highness Augustus, Elector of Saxony, sat
somewhat gloomily in the laboratory of his house at Leipsic.
It was August, and the sun fell merrily through the diamond panes of the
casements on to the dusty and mysterious objects which filled the high
and narrow chamber.
In one corner stood a large furnace with two ovens, a tripod and pot,
and a wide chimney above; on the shelves near, on the ground, and on the
fire were all manner of vessels and pots and retorts of glass, of
porcelain, and of metal.
Near by stood a large quadrant, beautifully engraved, a huge celestial
globe swung in a frame of polished ebony, a small telescope of brass and
wood, and a little desk or table covered with curious objects such as
compasses, a large portion of loadstone, several seals, drawings,
diagrams, and charts.
The other end of the room was occupied by a large and fine clock of very
exact workmanship, and two shelves of rare books and manuscripts in
Greek, Latin, Hebrew, English, French, German, and High Dutch.
Beyond, a door opened into an inner room stored with chemicals, vases,
jars, and boxes in considerable confusion.
The owner of this apartment was a man in the prime of life, tall and
spare, wearing a long, plain, frieze gown and a flat black velvet
bonnet, round his neck hung a charm consisting of several Hebrew letters
on a fine gold chain; his face was thin, and his expression discontented
and weary.
He was, indeed, an unsatisfied man; though he held a good position at
the Electoral Court, and the Elector never undertook any action without
consulting his charts, it was neither in philosophy nor astrology that
his interest lay. He was an alchemist, and his life was devoted to the
_magnum opus_—the discovery of the wonderful stone which should heal all
diseases, turn all metal to gold fairer than that found in the earth,
and confer eternal youth—the secret of secrets of Aristotle, the goal of
Hermetic philosophy.
He had traversed the greater part of Europe on this quest, and even
travelled in the East, gaining much curious knowledge and meeting other
Hermetic philosophers, but twenty years of wandering had brought him no
nearer his object, and poverty had driven him to his native land and to
the protection of the Elector.
Within the last few days an experiment which consisted of the
combination of the essential mercury, silver, oil of olives, and
sulphur—so many times distilled, rectified, dissolved, and fused, that
the process had taken three years—had utterly failed in the final
projections, and the baffled alchemist was struggling with a despair not
unmixed with bitterness, the bitterness of the continued barrenness of
his long, earnest, and painful labours.
He was roused from his weary, almost apathetic musings by one of his
assistants coming to tell him the Elector was below. Vanderlinden rose
with a sigh, pulled off his black cap, and went down into the humble
parlour where His Highness waited.
"The experiment?" asked the Elector, as the philosopher entered his
presence.
"It has failed, Highness," replied Vanderlinden; he very much disliked
discussing with a layman the Great Act, the holy and mysterious science,
but could not refuse to do so with the patron who supplied the money for
these experiments. To his present relief the Elector made no further
comment on the eternal search for the philosopher's stone; he merely
shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, I did not come to talk of that," he said, "but of the wedding."
Vanderlinden repressed a sigh; there was no need to ask whose wedding
his master referred to. To all Saxony, nay, to all Germany and the low
countries, it was _the_ wedding; it had been in debate for nearly three
years, and during that period the Elector had consulted his astrologer
so frequently on the likely success, failure, or general results of this
union, that he had a whole cabinet of charts and diagrams by which the
fortunes of the famous couple had been told according to every possible
form of divination, and the chances, good and evil, of the marriage had
been expounded in every possible way. Vanderlinden had discussed it,
argued it with his master, drawn horoscopes of bride and groom,
exhausted his skill in foretelling their future, and, therefore, he was
heartily tired of the subject, and his spirits fell when he heard his
master again introduce it. He wished the interview over and himself back
at his books—he had suddenly recalled that in the works of Raymond Lully
he had once seen a good formula for making the famous red and white
powder which is the first step towards the stone itself—but he had to
conceal his impatience, for the marriage was as important to the Elector
as the _magnum opus_ was to the philosopher.
"Yes," continued His Highness, "I wish to be further heartened,
encouraged, and advised about this marriage."
He leant back in his chair and keenly looked at the alchemist. He was a
fine knight of great bodily strength and pleasing appearance, his
expression and manner conveyed force and dignity and a kind of candid
simplicity; he was a strict Protestant according to the Augsburg
Confession, and, amid the confusion of creeds that then bewildered men,
he stood out clearly as one of the foremost Princes of Germany to defy
the Pope and support the Reformed Faith; this was his great, perhaps his
only, distinction.
"I wish you," he added thoughtfully, "to draw me another chart, and to
once more try if the numbers promise good luck or ill."
"Nay," replied Vanderlinden hastily, "I have done all that is possible,
Highness; it is but folly to again and again search for an answer to the
same question. By no method I tried did I get a result—therefore this
marriage will mean confusion, or else the future of it is hid from us."
The Elector was not satisfied with this ambiguous answer; he wanted a
definite reply from his oracles, a direct announcement from the fates.
He sat a little while gloomily, his blunt-featured face overcast,
meanwhile the alchemist standing patiently before him, fingering the
flat black cap.
"You know well enough," remarked the Prince at length, "that if I could
send some well-tested augury, some pleasant prophecy to the Landgrave of
Hesse, it might overcome some of the bitterness of his opposition."
Vanderlinden doubted this; he had himself been sent as an envoy to
Cassel with the mission of trying to persuade the old Landgrave to give
his consent to this marriage that was so near the Elector's heart, and
he had found Philip of Hesse extremely determined and not a little
bigoted.
He ventured to say as much.
"I know," replied the Elector. "He has indeed made such a sturdy
opposition that I have been tempted to wish him taken to his rest this
last year."
"But why does Your Highness still trouble about the obstinacy of the
Landgrave Philip when you have decided on the wedding, when the very
cakes are being baked, the dresses made, and the groom is already on the
road?" asked the alchemist wearily.
"I trouble," said His Highness, "because all the responsibility is mine,
and it is no light responsibility to wed the daughter of the Elector
Maurice to a Papist Prince."
Vanderlinden had heard the Elector say this many times before; he
certainly thought that this match was about as incongruous as any could
well be—an opinion shared by most of the Elector's subjects—for it meant
uniting the Lady Anne, daughter of the Great Prince who had checked and
humiliated Charles V, with a Romanist noble who had been page to that
Emperor and was now high in favour with King Philip, his son; but the
alchemist had, as did others, to bow to the reasons, personal and
political, which had caused the Elector to urge on this marriage in face
of the equally stern opposition of the Romish King of Spain and the
Protestant Landgrave of Hesse—the grandfather and part guardian of the
bride. He therefore took refuge in a vague answer—
"Your Highness has successfully overcome all difficulties, and there is
little use in repenting at the last minute——"
"I do not repent," interrupted the Elector, rising and frowning, "but I
have taken a great deal on myself, and in such matters it is ill to
stand alone."
The alchemist had no consolation to offer, no advice to give, since both
advice and consolation had long ago been exhausted. It seemed, too, mere
weakness on the part of the Elector to still be torturing himself with
doubts as to the wisdom of a marriage which could not now be prevented.
"Have you ready the talisman for the bride?" asked the Elector abruptly.
Vanderlinden drew from the pocket of his robe a box-wood case about an
inch square, and gave it to his master.
The Prince opened it and took out the jewel it contained: this was a
triangle of gold to represent the Trinity, inter-clasped by a green
enamel serpent, symbol of eternity (since it had its tail in its mouth
and therefore neither beginning nor end), in the middle of the
convolutions of the reptile was a clear diamond (for purity) set on a
little square of virgin gold which bore the Hebrew letters signifying
"God Guard Thee."
The Elector turned the curious little jewel, which was carefully and
beautifully fashioned, about in his strong soldier's fingers and
examined it with an air of approval.
"God grant," he said, in a tone of sincerity, "that this keep her from
Popish errors and follies; but it is difficult for a young maid to stand
alone in a foreign country and not follow the ways of it, eh,
Vanderlinden?"
He placed the little case in the embroidered purse that hung at his
waist, gave the alchemist a preoccupied farewell, and left the house
with a heavy step and a little click of his long gilded spurs.
Vanderlinden waited until he heard the clang of His Highness's horse's
hoofs over the cobbles, then he returned to his laboratory.
One of his assistants, young Hans Gottman, was leaning from the window
watching the departure of the Elector, another was heating over the
clear furnace some clay vases sealed with lead.
Vanderlinden caught Hans Gottman by the white apron.
"Fetch me the manuscripts of Rhasis, Alfarabi and Geber," he said. "They
are locked in the chest in the still-room."
Young Hans withdrew his head and shoulders from the window.
"You know those sages by heart, master," he replied, half in irony, half
in flattery.
"True," replied Vanderlinden, "but there may be something the meaning of
which I have not completely understood, and it is very necessary that we
start another experiment at once."
"The last cost thirteen thousand thalers," remarked the young man
doubtfully.
The alchemist frowned away this unpleasant truth. "Bring me also," he
said, "_Le livre de la Philosophie Naturelle des Métaux_ of Bernard
Trévisan, and the works of Raymond Lully."
But the young man still lingered; he was more interested in the world
about him than in the science of his master.
"Did His Highness come about the marriage?" he asked.
The alchemist vented on his assistant the impatience he had concealed
from the Prince.
"Am I never to hear the last of this marriage?" he cried. "I would the
maid was wedded and gone, then maybe we should have a little peace in
Leipsic."
"But it is a wicked thing," cried Hans, "to marry a Princess of the true
faith to a Popish noble—a friend of King Philip, a friend of the Bishop
of Arras—one who hates the Reformed Religion. I have some right to talk,
master, for my father fought under the Elector Maurice against the late
Emperor. Who thought then that the only child of the Elector would wed
with the minion of the Emperor? A shame and a scandal it is to the
country, and His Highness should be above sacrificing a young maid to
the idolaters——"
Thus grumbling he went into the still-room to search for the manuscripts
his master required. The other assistant, a stout young Burgundian, by
name Walter de la Barre, had now brought his pots to the right heat and
set them aside to cool.
He came forward, wiping his hands which were stained with clay and lead.
"Did the Elector command you to the feast, Magister?" he asked. "I heard
to-day it was to be in the town hall, for the palace is not large
enough—and all attending are to bring their own butlers and cooks and
plate, and there is to be a three days' tourney——"
"Walter! Walter!" interrupted Vanderlinden sternly. "Is it a wonder that
your metals will not fuse, your minerals dissolve, that your liquids
turn, and your furnaces fall out when your head is full of such idleness
as this?
"How often have I told you that it is the spirit and not the mind shall
conquer in this pursuit of ours? Leave these worldly, silly things and
fix your thoughts on the great mystery, the awful secret which God is
pleased to withhold from us."
The young man flushed, and turned again to his furnace which he was
keeping at white heat for the melting of more lead wherewith to seal a
further row of pots containing a strange solution with which
Vanderlinden was experimenting. Hans returned with the three rolls of
manuscript and the book. The alchemist, with a severe injunction to them
to keep up the furnace and refrain from idle speech, withdrew to his
private chamber in the roof or gables, where he usually meditated and
struggled with the problems he discovered in the mystical writings and
oblique instructions, veiled hints and tortuous references of the
ancient sages and masters.
The two young men, as soon as they were alone, at once went to the
window and leant out, squeezing themselves together with some
difficulty, for the casement was narrow.
The furnace made the chamber intolerably hot, and both sighed with
relief at the comparative coolness of the summer breeze on their flushed
faces.
Leipsic—roofs, gables, towers, spires—spread before them, pleasantly
glimmering in the gold dust of the heat and softly outlined against the
rich blue of the August sky.
There was an air of festival, of languor, of midsummer joyousness
abroad, the little figures below in the street all looked as if they
were making holiday; it seemed as if no one in the city was working,
troubling, or grieving.
The two youths at the window sighed with contentment, rested the elbows
of their stained sleeves on the warm sill, and forgot the furnace, the
chemicals, the minerals, and all the materials of the vases, pots, and
bottles in the chambers behind them.
"If I were a knight," said Hans, "I would offer myself as a champion to
the Lady Anne to challenge this Romanist and rescue her from him. What
would she be doing now, Walter—weeping perhaps?"
"Have you ever seen her?" asked the Burgundian.
"Never; she is kept close in the castle, poor soul."
"Well, it is a cruel thing," agreed Walter, "to exile a young girl from
her home and her faith for some whim of policy no one understands."
"Nay, the reason is simple," replied Hans. "If the Lady Anne were to
marry a German Prince who might put forward some claims, what of the
Elector's position? whereas wedded to a great foreign noble she will
give her uncle no trouble at all, at least so said Graf von Gebers to
the master the other day, and he added he would not marry his daughter
to a Papist to save his head, but then, as I said, the Elector is
afraid——If the Lady Anne had been a man she would have had Saxony."
"But these great ones," remarked Walter, "they marry regardless of their
faith."
"As to that," said Hans wisely, "all is confusion. A king will burn at
the stake a subject who is of the true faith, yet take a Protestant to
wife if it suits him. Who shall explain these great ones? But it is an
ill thing," added the young man earnestly, "to ask a man to die for what
he believes and then to wed his Princess to one of those who are his
executioners. King Philip burns the Protestants whenever the Holy
Inquisition can seize them, yet our Protestant Princess is to be wed to
the friend of King Philip!"
"A question of policy," said the young Burgundian vaguely. "They always
say that—State reasons—policy."
"_I_ say it is a cursed marriage and one which God will not bless,"
returned the Lutheran with some heat.
"So declares the old Landgrave Philip," remarked Walter, "but what is
the use? And we may as well see the festivities, I hear they are to cost
a hundred thousand thalers—and a three days' tourney——"
"For the great ones—where will there be a place for you or I?"
"Oh, like enough we shall get on behind the rope as well as another. It
would be a gracious thing to see the Elector tilt, and the Princess will
be there in her grand dress—we must go——"
"The furnace!" cried the other with a start. "If we let that out we are
not like to see much of the Lady Anne's wedding."
They withdrew their heads hastily from the window and applied themselves
to the furnace, which was already beginning to turn a dead colour at the
outside.
While these two young men bent their perspiring faces over the fire that
was to be the womb (they hoped) of the philosopher's stone, and
discussed the marriage of the Elector's ward, Philip of Spain in the
Escorial, Margaret of Parma and the Bishop of Arras in Brussels, the old
Landgrave of Hesse in Cassel, the Emperor in Vienna, and the King of
France at the Louvre were all occupied, more or less completely, with
this same marriage, for the groom was one of King Philip's most
important subjects—his father's most intimate page and confidant, and
also, in his own right, a person of unusual riches, power, and position,
one of the first cavaliers of his age, an extremely popular noble, and a
man already, in his first youth, distinguished as soldier and governor;
therefore all these rulers and statesmen were so keenly considering his
marriage.
The name of the bridegroom—a name obnoxious to the Lutherans of Germany
as belonging to a great Papist noble—was William of Nassau, Prince of
Orange.