visit the mother whom he had not seen for the past nineteen years, was as
much mystified as the rest of the world. Chantonnay was not aware that
any thing but the alleged motives had occasioned the journey, nor did he
know that his brother would perhaps have omitted to visit their common
parent for nineteen years longer had he not received the royal order to
leave the Netherlands.
Philip, on the other side, had sustained his part, in the farce with much
ability. Viglius, Berlaymont, Morillon, and all the lesser cardinalists
were entirely taken in by the letters which were formally despatched to
the Duchess in reply to her own and the Cardinal's notification. "I can
not take it amiss," wrote the King, "that you have given leave of absence
to Cardinal de Granvelle, for two or three months, according to the
advices just received from you, that he may attend to some private
affairs of his own." As soon as these letters had been read in the
council, Viglius faithfully transmitted them to Granvelle for that
personage's enlightenment; adding his own innocent reflection, that "this
was very different language from that held by some people, that your most
illustrious lordship had retired by order of his Majesty." Morillon also
sent the Cardinal a copy of the same passage in the royal despatch,
saying, very wisely, "I wonder what they will all say now, since these
letters have been read in council." The Duchess, as in duty bound,
denied flatly, on all occasions, that Armenteros had brought any letters
recommending or ordering the minister's retreat. She conscientiously
displayed the letters of his Majesty, proving the contrary, and yet, said
Viglius, it was very hard to prevent people talking as they liked.
Granvelle omitted no occasion to mystify every one of his correspondents
on the subject, referring, of course, to the same royal letters which had
been written for public reading, expressly to corroborate these
statements. "You see by his Majesty's letters to Madame de Parma," said
he to Morillon, "how false is the report that the King had ordered me to
leave Flanders, and in what confusion those persons find themselves who
fabricated the story." It followed of necessity that he should carry out
his part in the royal program, but he accomplished his task so adroitly,
and with such redundancy of zeal, as to show his thorough sympathy with
the King's policy. He dissembled with better grace, even if the King did
it more naturally. Nobody was too insignificant to be deceived, nobody
too august. Emperor Ferdinand fared no better than "Esquire" Bordey.
"Some of those who hate me," he wrote to the potentate, "have circulated
the report that I had been turned out of the country, and was never to
return. This story has ended in smoke, since the letters written by his
Majesty to the Duchess of Parma on the subject of the leave of absence
which she had given me." Philip himself addressed a private letter to
Granvelle, of course that others might see it, in which he affected to
have just learned that the Cardinal had obtained permission from the
Regent "to make a visit to his mother, in order to arrange certain family
matters," and gravely gave his approbation to the step. At the same time
it was not possible for the King to resist the temptation of adding one
other stroke of dissimulation to his own share in the comedy. Granvelle
and Philip had deceived all the world, but Philip also deceived
Granvelle. The Cardinal made a mystery of his departure to Pollwiller,
Viglius, Morillon, to the Emperor, to his own brother, and also to the
King's secretary, Gonzalo Perez; but he was not aware that Perez, whom he
thought himself deceiving as ingeniously as he had done all the others,
had himself drawn up the letter of recall, which the King had afterwards
copied out in his own hand and marked "secret and confidential." Yet
Granvelle might have guessed that in such an emergency Philip would
hardly depend upon his own literary abilities.
Granvelle remained month after month in seclusion, doing his best to
philosophize. Already, during the latter period of his residence in the
Netherlands, he had lived in a comparative and forced solitude. His
house had been avoided by those power-worshippers whose faces are rarely
turned to the setting sun. He had, in consequence, already, before his
departure, begun to discourse on the beauties of retirement, the fatigues
of greatness, and the necessity of repose for men broken with the storms
of state. A great man was like a lake, he said, to which a thirsty
multitude habitually resorted till the waters were troubled, sullied,
and finally exhausted. Power looked more attractive in front than in the
retrospect. That which men possessed was ever of less value than that
which they hoped. In this fine strain of eloquent commonplace the
falling minister had already begun to moralize upon the vanity of human
wishes. When he was established at his charming retreat in Burgundy,
he had full leisure to pursue the theme. He remained in retirement till
his beard grew to his waist, having vowed, according to report, that he
would not shave till recalled to the Netherlands. If the report were
true, said some of the gentlemen in the provinces, it would be likely to
grow to his feet. He professed to wish himself blind and deaf that he
might have no knowledge of the world's events, described himself as
buried in literature, and fit for no business save to remain in his
chamber, fastened to his books, or occupied with private affairs and
religious exercises. He possessed a most charming residence at Orchamps,
where he spent a great portion of his time. In one of his letters to
Vice-Chancellor Seld, he described the beauties of this retreat with
much delicacy and vigor--"I am really not as badly off here," said he,
"as I should be in the Indies. I am in sweet places where I have wished
for you a thousand times, for I am certain that you would think them
appropriate for philosophy and worthy the habitation of the Muses.
Here are beautiful mountains, high as heaven, fertile on all their sides,
wreathed with vineyards, and rich with every fruit; here are rivers
flowing through charming valleys, the waters clear as crystal, filled
with trout, breaking into numberless cascades. Here are umbrageous
groves, fertile fields, lovely meadows; on the one aide great warmth,
on the other aide delectable coolness, despite the summer's heat. Nor is
there any lack of good company, friends, and relations, with, as you well
know, the very best wines in the world."
Thus it is obvious that the Cardinal was no ascetic. His hermitage
contained other appliances save those for study and devotion. His
retired life was, in fact, that of a voluptuary. His brother,
Chantonnay, reproached him with the sumptuousness and disorder of his
establishment. He lived in "good and joyous cheer." He professed to be
thoroughly satisfied with the course things had taken, knowing that God
was above all, and would take care of all. He avowed his determination
to extract pleasure and profit even from the ill will of his adversaries.
"Behold my philosophy," he cried, "to live joyously as possible, laughing
at the world, at passionate people, and at all their calumnies."
It is evident that his philosophy, if it had any real existence,
was sufficiently Epicurean. It was, however, mainly compounded of
pretence, like his whole nature and his whole life. Notwithstanding
the mountains high as heaven, the cool grottos, the trout, and the best
Burgundy wines in the world, concerning which he descanted so eloquently,
he soon became in reality most impatient of his compulsory seclusion.
His pretence of "composing himself as much as possible to tranquillity
and repose" could deceive none of the intimate associates to whom he
addressed himself in that edifying vein. While he affected to be blind
and deaf to politics, he had eyes and ears for nothing else. Worldly
affairs were his element, and he was shipwrecked upon the charming
solitude which he affected to admire. He was most anxious to return to
the world again, but he had difficult cards to play. His master was even
more dubious than usual about everything. Granvelle was ready to remain
in Burgundy as long as Philip chose that he should remain there. He was
also ready to go to "India, Peru, or into the fire," whenever his King
should require any such excursion, or to return to the Netherlands,
confronting any danger which might lie in his path. It is probable that
he nourished for a long time a hope that the storm would blow over in the
provinces, and his resumption of power become possible. William of
Orange, although more than half convinced that no attempt would be made
to replace the minister, felt it necessary to keep strict watch on his
movements. "We must be on our guard," said he, "and not be deceived.
Perhaps they mean to put us asleep, in order the better to execute their
designs. For the present things are peaceable, and all the world is
rejoiced at the departure of that good Cardinal." The Prince never
committed the error of undervaluing the talents of his great adversary,
and he felt the necessity of being on the alert in the present emergency.
"'Tis a sly and cunning bird that we are dealing with," said he,
"one that sleeps neither day nor night if a blow is to be dealt to us."
Honest Brederode, after solacing himself with the spectacle of his
enemy's departure, soon began to suspect his return, and to express
himself on the subject, as usual, with ludicrous vehemence. "They say
the red fellow is back again," he wrote to Count Louis, "and that
Berlaymont has gone to meet him at Namur. The Devil after the two would
be a good chase." Nevertheless, the chances of that return became daily
fainter. Margaret of Parma hated the Cardinal with great cordiality.
She fell out of her servitude to him into far more contemptible hands,
but for a brief interval she seemed to take a delight in the recovery of
her freedom. According to Viglius, the court, after Granvelle's
departure, was like a school of boys and girls when the pedagogue's back
is turned. He was very bitter against the Duchess for her manifest joy
at emancipation. The poor President was treated with the most marked
disdain by Margaret, who also took pains to show her dislike to all the
cardinalists. Secretary Armenteros forbade Bordey, who was Granvelle's
cousin and dependent, from even speaking to him in public. The Regent
soon became more intimate with Orange and Egmont than she had ever been
with the Cardinal. She was made to see--and, seeing, she became
indignant--the cipher which she had really been during his
administration. "One can tell what's o'clock," wrote Morillon to the
fallen minister, "since she never writes to you nor mentions your name."
As to Armenteros, with whom Granvelle was still on friendly relations,
he was restless in his endeavors to keep the once-powerful priest from
rising again. Having already wormed himself into the confidence of the
Regent, he made a point of showing to the principal seigniors various
letters, in which she had been warned by the Cardinal to put no trust in
them. "That devil," said Armenteros, "thought he had got into Paradise
here; but he is gone, and we shall take care that he never returns."
It was soon thought highly probable that the King was but temporizing,
and that the voluntary departure of the minister had been a deception.
Of course nothing was accurately known upon the subject. Philip had
taken good care of that, but meantime the bets were very high that there
would be no restoration, with but few takers. Men thought if there had
been any royal favor remaining for the great man, that the Duchess would
not be so decided in her demeanor on the subject. They saw that she was
scarlet with indignation whenever the Cardinal's name was mentioned.
They heard her thank Heaven that she had but one son, because if she had
had a second he must have been an ecclesiastic, and as vile as priests
always were. They witnessed the daily contumely which she heaped upon
poor Viglius, both because he was a friend of Granvelle and was preparing
in his old age to take orders. The days were gone, indeed, when Margaret
was so filled with respectful affection for the prelate, that she could
secretly correspond with the Holy Father at Rome, and solicit the red hat
for the object of her veneration. She now wrote to Philip, stating that
she was better informed as to affairs in the Netherlands than she had
ever formerly been. She told her brother that all the views of Granvelle
and of his followers, Viglius with the rest, had tended to produce a
revolution which they hoped that Philip would find in full operation when
he should come to the Netherlands. It was their object, she said, to
fish in troubled waters, and, to attain that aim, they had ever pursued
the plan of gaining the exclusive control of all affairs. That was the
reason why they had ever opposed the convocation of the states-general.
They feared that their books would be read, and their frauds, injustice,
simony, and rapine discovered. This would be the result, if tranquillity
were restored to the country, and therefore they had done their best to
foment and maintain discord. The Duchess soon afterwards entertained her
royal brother with very detailed accounts of various acts of simony,
peculation, and embezzlement committed by Viglius, which the Cardinal had
aided and abetted, and by which he had profited.--[Correspondence de
Phil. II, i. 318-320.]--These revelations are inestimable in a
historical point of view. They do not raise our estimate of Margaret's
character, but they certainly give us a clear insight into the nature of
the Granvelle administration. At the same time it was characteristic of
the Duchess, that while she was thus painting the portrait of the
Cardinal for the private eye of his sovereign, she should address the
banished minister himself in a secret strain of condolence, and even of
penitence. She wrote to assure Granvelle that she repented extremely
having adopted the views of Orange. She promised that she would state.
publicly every where that the Cardinal was an upright man, intact in his
morals and his administration, a most zealous and faithful servant of the
King. She added that she recognized the obligations she was under to
him, and that she loved him like a brother. She affirmed that if the
Flemish seigniors had induced her to cause the Cardinal to be deprived of
the government, she was already penitent, and that her fault deserved
that the King, her brother, should cut off her head, for having
occasioned so great a calamity.--["Memoires de Granvelle," tom. 33,
p. 67.]
There was certainly discrepancy between the language thus used
simultaneously by the Duchess to Granvelle and to Philip, but Margaret
had been trained in the school of Macchiavelli, and had sat at the feet
of Loyola.
The Cardinal replied with equal suavity, protesting that such a letter
from the Duchess left him nothing more to desire, as it furnished him
with an "entire and perfect justification" of his conduct. He was aware
of her real sentiments, no doubt, but he was too politic to quarrel with
so important a personage as Philip's sister.
An incident which occurred a few months after the minister's departure
served, to show the general estimation in which he was held by a11 ranks
of Netherlanders. Count Mansfeld celebrated the baptism of his son,
Philip Octavian, by a splendid series of festivities at Luxemburg, the
capital of his government. Besides the tournaments and similar sports,
with which the upper classes of European society were accustomed at that
day to divert themselves, there was a grand masquerade, to which the
public were admitted as spectators. In this "mummery" the most
successful spectacle was that presented by a group arranged in obvious
ridicule of Granvelle. A figure dressed in Cardinal's costume, with the
red hat upon his head, came pacing through the arena upon horseback.
Before him marched a man attired like a hermit, with long white beard,
telling his beads upon a rosary, which he held ostentatiously in his
hands. Behind the mounted Cardinal came the Devil, attired in the usual
guise considered appropriate to the Prince of Darkness, who scourged both
horse and rider with a whip of fog-tails, causing them to scamper about
the lists in great trepidation, to the immense delight of the spectators.
The practical pun upon Simon Renard's name embodied in the fox-tail, with
the allusion to the effect of the manifold squibs perpetrated by that
most bitter and lively enemy upon Granvelle, were understood and relished
by the multitude. Nothing could be more hearty than the blows bestowed
upon the minister's representative, except the applause with which this
satire, composed of actual fustigation, was received. The humorous
spectacle absorbed all the interest of the masquerade, and was frequently
repeated. It seemed difficult to satisfy the general desire to witness a
thorough chastisement of the culprit.
The incident made a great noise in the country. The cardinalists felt
naturally very much enraged, but they were in a minority. No censure
came from the government at Brussels, and Mansfeld was then and for a
long time afterwards the main pillar of royal authority in the
Netherlands. It was sufficiently obvious that Granvelle, for the time at
least, was supported by no party of any influence.
Meantime he remained in his seclusion. His unpopularity did not,
however, decrease in his absence. More than a year after his departure,
Berlaymont said the nobles detested the Cardinal more than ever, and
would eat him alive if they caught him. The chance of his returning was
dying gradually out. At about the same period Chantonnay advised his
brother to show his teeth. He assured Granvelle that he was too quiet in
his disgrace, reminded him that princes had warm affections when they
wished to make use of people, but that when they could have them too
cheaply, they esteemed them but little; making no account of men whom
they were accustomed to see under their feet. He urged the Cardinal, in
repeated letters, to take heart again, to make himself formidable, and to
rise from his crouching attitude. All the world say, he remarked, that
the game is up between the King and yourself, and before long every one
will be laughing at you, and holding you for a dupe.
Stung or emboldened by these remonstrances, and weary of his retirement,
Granvelle at last abandoned all intention of returning to the
Netherlands, and towards the end of 1565, departed to Rome, where he
participated in the election of Pope Pius V. Five years afterwards he
was employed by Philip to negotiate the treaty between Spain, Rome, and
Venice against the Turk. He was afterwards Viceroy of Naples, and in
1575, he removed to Madrid, to take an active part in the management of
the public business, "the disorder of which," says the Abbe Boisot,
"could be no longer arrested by men of mediocre capacity." He died in
that city on the 21st September, 1586, at the age of seventy, and was
buried at Besancon.
We have dwelt at length on the administration of this remarkable
personage, because the period was one of vital importance in the history
of the Netherland commonwealth. The minister who deals with the country
at an epoch when civil war is imminent, has at least as heavy a
responsibility upon his head as the man who goes forth to confront the
armed and full-grown rebellion. All the causes out of which the great
revolt was born, were in violent operation during the epoch of
Granvelle's power. By the manner in which he comported himself in
presence of those dangerous and active elements of the coming
convulsions, must his character as a historical personage be measured.
His individuality had so much to do with the course of the government,
the powers placed in his hands were so vast, and his energy so untiring,
that it is difficult to exaggerate the importance of his influence upon
the destiny of the country which he 'vas permitted to rule. It is for
this reason that we have been at great pains to present his picture,
sketched as it were by his own hand. A few general remarks are, however,
necessary. It is the historian's duty to fix upon one plain and definite
canvas the chameleon colors in which the subtle Cardinal produced his own
image. Almost any theory concerning his character might be laid down and
sustained by copious citations from his works; nay, the most opposite
conclusions as to his interior nature, may be often drawn from a single
one of his private and interminable letters. Embarked under his
guidance, it is often difficult to comprehend the point to which we are
tending. The oarsman's face beams upon us with serenity, but he looks in
one direction, and rows in the opposite course. Even thus it was three
centuries ago. Was it to be wondered at that many did not see the
precipice towards which the bark which held their all was gliding under
the same impulse?
No man has ever disputed Granvelle's talents. From friend and foe his
intellect has received the full measure of applause which it could ever
claim. No doubt his genius was of a rare and subtle kind. His great
power was essentially dramatic in its nature. He mastered the characters
of the men with whom he had to deal, and then assumed them. He practised
this art mainly upon personages of exalted station, for his scheme was to
govern the world by acquiring dominion over its anointed rulers. A
smooth and supple slave in appearance, but, in reality, while his power
lasted, the despot of his masters, he exercised boundless control by
enacting their parts with such fidelity that they were themselves
deceived. It is impossible not to admire the facility with which this
accomplished Proteus successively assumed the characters of Philip and of
Margaret, through all the complicated affairs and voluminous
correspondence of his government.
When envoys of high rank were to be despatched on confidential missions
to Spain, the Cardinal drew their instructions as the Duchess--threw
light upon their supposed motives in secret letters as the King's sister
--and answered their representations with ponderous wisdom as Philip;
transmitting despatches, letters and briefs for royal conversations,
in time to be thoroughly studied before the advent of the ambassador.
Whoever travelled from Brussels to Madrid in order to escape the
influence of the ubiquitous Cardinal, was sure to be confronted with him
in the inmost recesses of the King's cabinet as soon as he was admitted
to an audience. To converse with Philip or Margaret was but to commune
with Antony. The skill with which he played his game, seated quietly in
his luxurious villa, now stretching forth one long arm to move the King
at Madrid, now placing Margaret upon what square he liked, and dealing
with Bishops, Knight of the Fleece, and lesser dignitaries, the
Richardota, the Morillons, the Viglii and the Berlaymonts, with sole
reference to his own scheme of action, was truly of a nature to excite
our special wonder. His aptitude for affairs and his power to read
character were extraordinary; but it was necessary that the affairs
should be those of a despotism, and the characters of an inferior nature.
He could read Philip and Margaret, Egmont or Berlaymont, Alva or Viglius,
but he had no plummet to sound the depths of a mind like that of William
the Silent. His genius was adroit and subtle, but not profound. He
aimed at power by making the powerful subservient, but he had not the
intellect which deals in the daylight face to face with great events and
great minds. In the violent political struggle of which his
administration consisted, he was foiled and thrown by the superior
strength of a man whose warfare was open and manly, and who had no
defence against the poisoned weapons of his foe.