THE DEPARTURE OF THE CARDINAL
Cardinal Granvelle had asked and obtained leave to go to Burgundy to see
his mother, whom he had not beheld for nineteen years.
That was now common knowledge, and a tumult of rejoicing broke forth
which frightened the Regent almost more than the tumult of rage and hate
which had preceded it.
For it seemed as if the people believed that with the departure of the
Cardinal all their wrongs and miseries would end and the golden age
begin; pamphlets, lampoons, caricatures, issued in hundreds from the
secret printing presses, were scattered in the streets, pasted on the
walls of the churches, and found their way even to Granvelle's cabinet
and Margaret's antechamber; the rhetoric players became daily bolder and
performed their satirical plays before huge audiences who forcibly
protected the actors; heretic preachers addressed their followers even
from the pulpits of churches from which the priests had been driven, and
two of them, condemned to the flames by the Inquisition at Antwerp, were
rescued, even after they had been chained to the stake, by the furious
people, who carried them back in triumph to their lodgings.
And it was not only the people who thus recklessly displayed their joy
at the departure of the hated minister. The victorious nobles,
particularly Egmont and Brederode, openly exulted in the downfall of
their enemy, for none of them believed that the object of his visit was
more than an excuse, and it was generally thought that his journey to
Burgundy was a mere pretext for retiring with dignity from a position he
could no longer maintain.
Various rumours were abroad: some said the Cardinal had asked to be
removed from the Netherlands, others that he was obeying secret orders
from Philip and was furious at leaving the contest with the grandees,
but whichever of their surmises might be correct it was certain that he
was leaving and almost as sure that he would not return. Already a wit
had pasted a notice "to be sold" over his villa "La Fontaine," and much
laughter was provoked by the famous statue with "_Durate_" on the
pedestal, which word had a mocking sound now.
But through all this hearty, intense, noisy rejoicing of the
Netherlanders the Cardinal remained serene. Perhaps what gave him his
calm was his knowledge of the other side of the picture; he knew Madrid,
he knew Philip; he knew too how all this present rejoicing would be paid
for some day, how Philip had marked and noted the names of these gay
nobles who had driven out his minister, how all the reckless jests,
pasquinades and speeches, the famous insolence of Egmont's livery, the
disloyalty of Berghen and Montigny, were all known to Philip, and by him
patiently and painstakingly noted down. Philip knew how to wait, but he
had a memory no detail escaped.
Granvelle was not vindictive, and he was too politic to be inclement; he
had no desire to be avenged on the men who had caused his downfall, and
his last words to the Regent were to advise her to overlook the present
disorders.
Indeed he disdained all his opponents save one only, the Prince of
Orange.
He saw that without him the other nobles would be nothing; he was the
guiding spirit of Egmont and Hoorne, neither of whom could have stood
alone, and the first of whom, at least, would easily have been won by
the Cardinal but for Orange.
"He is a dangerous man," said Granvelle with admiration, and loyally
warned his master; then, with an unruffled spirit and a smile for all,
set out on his journey to Burgundy.
Brussels seethed with excitement and joy; the members of the great trade
guilds, the armourers, the cloth makers, the glovers, the gardeners,
turned out in bands and paraded the streets; many of the shops closed
while the servers and apprentices went out to see the Cardinal pass;
parties of Protestants went about singing the hymns of Marot, and
defying the law. It was a general holiday, and the only people angry and
discomfited were the Cardinalists, Barlaymont, Aerschot, and Vigilius,
who saw their power at an end; even the Regent was glad to see Granvelle
go, for she hoped and imagined that the seigneurs would be easier to
manage than the astute and able priest.
"Poor Madame Parma," remarked the Cardinal to his brother, the Seigneur
de Chantonnay, who accompanied him in his carriage, "she cannot manage
her charge at all. His Majesty should send a man to the Netherlands."
"The Duke of Alva for example," replied Chantonnay, who hated the
Netherlanders.
"Alva is too severe," returned Granvelle; "these are people who will not
bear too light a curb, too heavy a yoke. Alva has already recommended
the taking off of the heads of Egmont and Hoorne."
"Why not?" said the other, who was vexed at his brother's fall and
extremely irritated by the joyous and insolent farewells being given to
the cavalcade as it passed towards the gates. "They are little better
than rebels."
"Egmont is more useful to His Majesty alive than dead—better buy him
than behead him."
"Is he to be bought?"
"Easily—poor, extravagant, vain——"
"But he is under the influence of Orange," said Chantonnay.
Granvelle smiled.
"There you have the crux of the situation, my friend," he replied. "The
Prince of Orange. That is the man to strike, the others are boys and
roysterers—but he knows how to use them. If it had not been for him I
should not be leaving the Netherlands now."
"Why is he so disloyal?" asked Chantonnay peevishly.
"Ah, who knows what game he plays!" replied the Cardinal rather wearily.
"He is serving neither King nor Church, so he must be serving
himself—ambition!"
They had now nearly reached the gates of Caudenberg, and the Cardinal's
escort, princely train and numerous equipages, were blocked for a moment
by the narrowness of the streets and the pressure of the exulting
crowds. Chantonnay was afraid of violence, even of assassination; there
had been rumours of hired murderers lying in wait for the Cardinal,
ready to take the first opportunity of attack; but Granvelle, who had
driven alone and unarmed at night out to his country residence, was not
to be frightened now, though the crowd might very well be dangerous.
He looked steadily and keenly out of the coach window at the faces of
his enemies.
"They are sturdy people," he remarked, "who will give the King much
trouble. And what truly grieves me is to see what little respect there
is for holy things, one might say that there is no religion left in the
land."
"Yet the great nobles have taken the Cardinal's Hat from the livery, I
observe," said Chantonnay, "and put instead a bunch of arrows."
"The Duchess requested it," returned the Cardinal, who was still
intently observing the crowd. "But what helps that? The Hat but meant
insult to me and God's poor priests, whereas the arrows mean that they
are banded together against the King, which is a declaration of
rebellion no monarch should endure."
The carriage now moved on, and the Cardinal leant back in his seat; he
had been looking to see if any of the nobles were among the crowd, for
he wished to report very exactly the behaviour of these seigneurs to
Philip. So far he had noticed none above the baser sort, but presently,
as they neared the gate, he looked out again and up at the house near by
where he knew Brederode had his lodgings.
And there at one of the windows was the Count together with the Count
Hoogstraaten, the two of them laughing and throwing up their caps and
clapping their hands in undisguised triumph and delight. This boyish
exultation brought to Granvelle's cheek the angry flush the stately
victory of William of Orange had failed to evoke; the brilliant
minister, the skilful politician, the haughty priest tasted humiliation
when he saw himself the butt of the malicious wits of these two young
cavaliers.
He drew into the farthest corner of the carriage, but they had seen him,
and, leaning out of the window, shouted their farewells with redoubled
pleasure as the procession finally passed through the gates.
Then, with the common impulse not to let their defeated enemy escape too
cheaply, they rushed down to the courtyard.
"I must see the last of the old fox!" cried Hoogstraaten, and he flung
himself on his horse which stood waiting for him.
"I too!" laughed Brederode, "and as I am not booted I will come with
you."
So saying he leapt on the Count's croup, and they dashed through street
and gates in pursuit of the Cardinal's stately cortége, which was
attended by a number of sumpter-mules, lent him by the Duchess.
The two knights on the one horse, Hoogstraaten in his buff and gold
riding suit, his black velvet cap with the long heron's feather fastened
by an emerald, his violet mantle; Brederode in the tawny damask satin,
Flanders lace, scarlet points, and silk hose, in which he had danced
nearly all through the night, were at once recognized by the crowd and
cheered and applauded as heartily as the Cardinal had been hissed and
execrated.
Brederode gaily waved the mantle he had snatched up as a pretence at a
disguise, and laughed over the edge of his triple ruff which was
something broken and something stained, and the couple plunged through
the gates and out on to the road where the Cardinal was commencing his
stately, if tedious, progress towards Namur, the first stage of the
journey.
There were several others following the cavalcade, notably one of
Egmont's gentlemen, and one who was in the employ of the Marquis
Berghen, that nobleman whom the Cardinal disliked and feared next to the
Prince of Orange.
But there was no representative of the House of Nassau dogging the
retreat of His Eminence, and William would have been far from pleased
had he known of the exploit of Hoogstraaten and Brederode.
For a while these two cavaliers kept a discreet distance from the
Cardinal, and remained at the side of the road in the rear and near to
the baggage mules.
But this did not long satisfy Brederode; he wished to ride by
Granvelle's actual carriage, and to let him see who was escorting him on
his journey.
And so, when the road fell into a little ravine, the two cavaliers rode
along the edge of the height until they were beside the carriage and
could look down on it, and when the way was level again they reappeared
at the edge of the autumn forest, near enough to His Eminence's coach to
look in at the window.
Granvelle's attention was attracted by Chantonnay to this spectacle of
two men on one horse, and he looked out of the carriage.
Hoogstraaten had thrown his mantle over the lower part of his face, but
Brederode's reckless face was uncovered save for the brown curls the
March wind blew across his brow and cheeks (for he was hatless).
The Cardinal knew both instantly.
"They are buffoons," he remarked, but though he tried thus to dismiss
the incident, it vexed him; however, the annoyance passed when he
reflected how dearly the jesters were likely to pay for their jest.
The two cavaliers, regardless of the fact that the Cardinal had seen
them and that therefore a full account of their exploit was certain to
reach Philip, continued to follow the cavalcade in its slow progress
over the rough, muddy winter roads until they reached a high piece of
rising ground that commanded a full view of the surrounding country—bare
woods, fields, hedges, disappearing into the cold blue mist of the
distance.
Here they waited, and looking scornfully down on the Cardinal's coach as
it passed, watched it lumbering along the road to Namur until a turn hid
it from their eyes.
"At the first stage Granvelle will write of this to the Duchess,"
remarked Hoogstraaten, in a grave voice; his high spirits had left him,
his prudence, though not his courage, was alarmed at what he had done.
But Brederode laughed; prudence was as unknown to him as fear; he had a
far better claim than Philip to the Countship of all Holland, for his
ancestry went unbrokenly back five hundred years to the ancient
sovereigns of that province. In his heart he regarded the King as a
usurper, and he had no respect either for him or his ministers; indeed,
his furious loathing of Granvelle and his policies was based on his
hatred of seeing his native land, where his forebears had ruled, in the
hands of foreigners.
"Well, we have seen the last flick of the fox's tail," he said joyously,
"and now we may go home to dinner, this keen air has given me an
appetite."
Hoogstraaten turned the horse's head towards Brussels.
"Yes, the Cardinal has gone, but his disciples remain," he answered
thoughtfully.
"The seigneurs will see to them," said Brederode confidently.
"Ah, I know not," remarked Hoogstraaten; "I believe Armenteros, the
Regent's secretary, has more influence with her than Orange himself. But
we shall see."
"Ay, we shall see, my Anthony," returned Brederode, "for my part I do
not think so gloomily; if Armenteros behave as Granvelle has, then he
may follow the same road—we have cast down a Cardinal, do you think we
are to be baffled by a clerk?"
And he began to sing a cheerful song in a merry bass voice which rose
very pleasantly over the still winter woodlands.
When they reached the Caudenberg gate they found the city still full of
joyous emotion, and received as noisy a greeting as they had done on
their departure.
Hoogstraaten would have dismounted at Brederode's lodgings, but that
nobleman would by no means permit it, and they continued their progress
through the city, exchanging joyful congratulations and greetings with
those who were making a festival of Granvelle's departure.
As they made their way up the high streets which led to the ancient
Brabant palace which was the Regent's residence, they were hailed by a
half-laughing voice, and the Prince of Orange galloped alongside them.
"We have escorted His Eminence on the road to Namur!" cried Brederode.
"And though hungry and thirsty and cold," added Hoogstraaten, "we are
now joining in the rejoicings of the good citizens."
"Ah, seigneurs," said William, with a little smile, "one day your
pleasantries will end in a mischief, I fear."
"To our enemies, yes," replied Brederode. "Where is Your Highness
going?"
"To wait on the Regent."
"So soon?"
"Ay, Margaret having flung away one prop must seize another; she is a
weak woman and cannot stand alone," remarked Hoogstraaten.
"Shall we see you at supper to-night?" asked Brederode, as the Prince
touched up his horse.
"Nay," smiled the Prince, "a wise man avoids your suppers, my Brederode,
at least when he has business to perform."
"I have an excellent cook," pleaded the Count.
William, still smiling, shook his head and rode on towards the Brabant
palace.
He went slowly, without parade or a single attendant, greeted
affectionately and loyally by most of the people, for though some were
doubtful of his attitude, the bulk believed that he would defend their
liberties, and a great number even of the heretics had their hope in the
great Catholic Prince who had already spoken against the Inquisition.
To-day, too, he was regarded by the people with added respect and
interest, for it was clear that now the Cardinal had fallen, the Prince,
as the principal member of the league that had brought about Granvelle's
downfall, would be the greatest man in the Netherlands. Many wistful
eyes were turned towards him as he rode, for many felt their fate was in
his hands.
His deportment was not that of a man either triumphant or joyous; he was
pale beneath the clear brown of his proper complexion, his eyes were
guarded and thoughtful, and though he smiled with his usual pleasantness
at those of his acquaintances he met, his manner was absent, and he
seemed neither so gay nor so careless as he had done even a few days
before.
When he reached the Brabant palace he met Egmont leaving the gates; the
Count was flushed with pleasure at the reception the Regent had given
him, and loud in his protestations of loyalty to Church and King; he was
disposed to be frank and generous in his triumphs, and to heartily
forgive all his enemies now the chief of them had been removed.
William regarded him affectionately, but said very little, and his air
was still grave as he entered the palace.