prodigious, and he wrote at will in seven languages. 'This polyglot
facility was not in itself a very remarkable circumstance, for it grew
out of his necessary education and geographical position. Few men in
that age and region were limited to their mother tongue. The Prince of
Orange, who made no special pretence to learning, possessed at least five
languages. Egmont, who was accounted an ignorant man, was certainly
familiar with three. The Cardinal, however, wrote not only with ease,
but with remarkable elegance, vigor and vivacity, in whatever language he
chose to adopt. The style of his letters and other documents, regarded
simply as compositions, was inferior to that of no writer of the age.
His occasional orations, too, were esteemed models of smooth and flowing
rhetoric, at an epoch when the art of eloquence was not much cultivated.
Yet it must be allowed that beneath all the shallow but harmonious flow
of his periods, it would be idle to search for a grain of golden sand.
Not a single sterling, manly thought is to be found in all his
productions. If at times our admiration is excited with the appearance
of a gem of true philosophy, we are soon obliged to acknowledge, on
closer inspection, that we have been deceived by a false glitter. In
retirement, his solitude was not relieved by serious application to any
branch of knowledge. Devotion to science and to the advancement of
learning, a virtue which has changed the infamy of even baser natures
than his into glory, never dignified his seclusion. He had elegant
tastes, he built fine palaces, he collected paintings, and he discoursed
of the fine arts with the skill and eloquence of a practised connoisseur;
but the nectared fruits of divine philosophy were but harsh and crabbed
to him.
His moral characteristics are even more difficult to seize than his
intellectual traits. It is a perplexing task to arrive at the intimate
interior structure of a nature which hardly had an interior. He did not
change, but he presented himself daily in different aspects. Certain
peculiarities he possessed, however, which were unquestionable. He was
always courageous, generally calm. Placed in the midst of a nation which
hated him, exposed to the furious opposition of the most powerful
adversaries, having hardly a friend, except the cowardly Viglius and
the pluralist Morillon, secretly betrayed by Margaret of Parma, insulted
by rude grandees, and threatened by midnight assassins, he never lost
his self-possession, his smooth arrogance, his fortitude. He was
constitutionally brave. He was not passionate in his resentments.
To say that he was forgiving by nature would be an immense error;
but that he could put aside vengeance at the dictate of policy is very
certain. He could temporize, even after the reception of what he
esteemed grave injuries, if the offenders were powerful. He never
manifested rancor against the Duchess. Even after his fall from power in
the Netherlands, he interceded with the Pope in favor of the principality
of Orange, which the pontiff was disposed to confiscate. The Prince was
at that time as good a Catholic as the Cardinal. He was apparently on
good terms with his sovereign, and seemed to have a prosperous career
before him. He was not a personage to be quarrelled with. At a later
day, when the position of that great man was most clearly defined to the
world, the Cardinal's ancient affection for his former friend and pupil
did not prevent him from suggesting the famous ban by which a price was
set upon his head, and his life placed in the hands of every assassin in
Europe. It did not prevent him from indulging in the jocularity of a
fiend, when the news of the first-fruits of that bounty upon murder
reached his ears. It did not prevent him from laughing merrily at the
pain which his old friend must have suffered, shot through the head and
face with a musket-ball, and at the mutilated aspect which his "handsome
face must have presented to the eyes of his apostate wife." It did not
prevent him from stoutly disbelieving and then refusing to be comforted,
when the recovery of the illustrious victim was announced. He could
always dissemble without entirely forgetting his grievances. Certainly,
if he were the forgiving Christian he pictured himself, it is passing
strange to reflect upon the ultimate fate of Egmont, Horn, Montigny,
Berghen, Orange, and a host of others, whose relations with him were
inimical.
His extravagance was enormous, and his life luxurious. At the same time
he could leave his brother Champagny--a man, with all his faults, of a
noble nature, and with scarcely inferior talents to his own--to languish
for a long time in abject poverty; supported by the charity of an ancient
domestic. His greediness for wealth was proverbial. No benefice was
too large or too paltry to escape absorption, if placed within his
possible reach. Loaded with places and preferments, rolling in wealth,
he approached his sovereign with the whine of a mendicant. He talked of
his property as a "misery," when he asked for boons, and expressed his
thanks in the language of a slave when he received them. Having obtained
the abbey of St. Armand, he could hardly wait for the burial of the
Bishop of Tournay before claiming the vast revenues of Afflighem,
assuring the King as he did so that his annual income was but eighteen
thousand crowns. At the same time, while thus receiving or pursuing the
vast rents of St. Armand and Afflighem, he could seize the abbey of
Trulle from the expectant hands of poor dependents, and accept tapestries
and hogsheads of wine from Jacques Lequien and others, as a tax on the
benefices which he procured for them. Yet the man who, like his father
before him, had so long fattened on the public money, who at an early
day had incurred the Emperor's sharp reproof for his covetousness,
whose family, beside all these salaries and personal property, possessed
already fragments of the royal domain, in the shape of nineteen baronies
and seigniories in Burgundy, besides the county of Cantecroix and other
estates in the Netherlands, had the effrontery to affirm, "We have always
rather regarded the service of the master than our own particular
profit."
In estimating the conduct of the minister, in relation to the provinces,
we are met upon the threshold by a swarm of vague assertions which are of
a nature to blind or distract the judgment. His character must be judged
as a whole, and by its general results, with a careful allowance for
contradictions and equivocations. Truth is clear and single, but the
lights are parti-colored and refracted in the prism of hypocrisy. The
great feature of his administration was a prolonged conflict between
himself and the leading seigniors of the Netherlands. The ground of the
combat was the religious question. Let the quarrel be turned or tortured
in any manner that human ingenuity can devise, it still remains
unquestionable that Granvelle's main object was to strengthen and to
extend the inquisition, that of his adversaries to overthrow the
institution. It followed, necessarily, that the ancient charters were to
be trampled in the dust before that tribunal could be triumphant. The
nobles, although all Catholics, defended the cause of the poor religious
martyrs, the privileges of the nation and the rights of their order.
They were conservatives, battling for the existence of certain great
facts, entirely consonant to any theory of justice and divine reason--for
ancient constitutions which had been purchased with blood and treasure.
"I will maintain," was the motto of William of Orange. Philip, bigoted
and absolute almost beyond comprehension, might perhaps have proved
impervious to any representations, even of Granvelle. Nevertheless, the
minister might have attempted the task, and the responsibility is heavy
upon the man who shared the power and directed the career, but who never
ceased to represent the generous resistance of individuals to frantic
cruelty, as offences against God and the King.
Yet extracts are drawn from his letters to prove that he considered the
Spaniards as "proud and usurping," that he indignantly denied ever having
been in favor of subjecting the Netherlands to the soldiers of that
nation; that he recommended the withdrawal of the foreign regiments, and
that he advised the King, when he came to the country, to bring with him
but few Spanish troops. It should, however, be remembered that he
employed, according to his own statements, every expedient which human
ingenuity could suggest to keep the foreign soldiers in the provinces,
that he "lamented to his inmost soul' their forced departure, and that he
did not consent to that measure until the people were in a tumult, and
the Zealanders threatening to lay the country under the ocean. "You may
judge of the means employed to excite the people," he wrote to Perez in
1563, "by the fact that a report is circulated that the Duke of Alva is
coming hither to tyrannize the provinces." Yet it appears by the
admissions of Del Ryo, one of Alva's blood council, that, "Cardinal
Granvelle expressly advised that an army of Spaniards should be sent
to the Netherlands, to maintain the obedience to his Majesty and the
Catholic religion, and that the Duke of Alva was appointed chief by
the advice of Cardinal Spinosa, and by that of Cardinal Granvelle,
as, appeared by many letters written at the time to his friends. By the
same confessions; it appeared that the course of policy thus distinctly
recommended by Granvelle, "was to place the country under a system of
government like that of Spain and Italy, and to reduce it entirely under
the council of Spain." When the terrible Duke started on his errand of
blood and fire, the Cardinal addressed him, a letter of fulsome flattery;
protesting "that all the world know that no person could be found so
appropriate as he, to be employed in an affair of such importance;"
urging him to advance with his army as rapidly as possible upon the
Netherlands, hoping that "the Duchess of Parma would not be allowed to
consent that any pardon or concession should be made to the cities, by
which the construction of fortresses would be interfered with, or the
revocation of the charters which had been forfeited, be prevented,"
and giving him much advice as to the general measures to be adopted,
and the persons to be employed upon his arrival, in which number the
infamous Noircarmes was especially recommended. In a document found among
his papers, these same points, with others, were handled at considerable
length. The incorporation of the provinces into one kingdom, of which
the King was to be crowned absolute sovereign; the establishment of,
a universal law for the Catholic religion, care being taken not to call
that law inquisition, "because there was nothing so odious to the
northern nations as the word Spanish Inquisition, although the thing in
itself be most holy and just;" the abolition and annihilation of the
broad or general council in the cities, the only popular representation
in the country; the construction of many citadels and fortresses to be
garrisoned with Spaniards, Italians, and Germans. Such were the leading
features in that remarkable paper.
The manly and open opposition of the nobles was stigmatized as a cabal by
the offended priest. He repeatedly whispered in the royal ear that their
league was a treasonable conspiracy, which the Attorney-General ought to
prosecute; that the seigniors meant to subvert entirely the authority of
the Sovereign; that they meant to put their King under tutelage, to
compel him to obey all their commands, to choose another prince of the
blood for their chief, to establish a republic by the aid of foreign
troops. If such insinuations, distilled thus secretly into the ear of
Philip, who, like his predecessor, Dionysius, took pleasure in listening
daily to charges against his subjects and to the groans of his prisoners,
were not likely to engender a dangerous gangrene in the royal mind, it
would be difficult to indicate any course which would produce such a
result. Yet the Cardinal maintained that he had never done the gentlemen
ill service, but that "they were angry with him for wishing to sustain
the authority of the master." In almost every letter he expressed vague
generalities of excuse, or even approbation, while he chronicled each
daily fact which occurred to their discredit. The facts he particularly
implored the King to keep to himself, the vague laudation he as urgently
requested him to repeat to those interested. Perpetually dropping small
innuendos like pebbles into the depths of his master's suspicious soul,
he knew that at last the waters of bitterness would overflow, but he
turned an ever-smiling face upon those who were to be his victims. There
was ever something in his irony like the bland request of the inquisitor
to the executioner that he would deal with his prisoners gently. There
was about the same result in regard to such a prayer to be expected from
Philip as from the hangman. Even if his criticisms had been uniformly
indulgent, the position of the nobles and leading citizens thus subjected
to a constant but secret superintendence, would have been too galling to
be tolerated. They did not know, so precisely as we have learned after
three centuries, that all their idle words and careless gestures as well
as their graver proceedings, were kept in a noting book to be pored over
and conned by rote in the recesses of the royal cabinet and the royal
mind; but they suspected the espionage of the Cardinal, and they openly
charged him with his secret malignity.
The men who refused to burn their fellow-creatures for a difference in
religious opinion were stigmatized as demagogues; as ruined spendthrifts
who wished to escape from their liabilities in the midst of revolutionary
confusion; as disguised heretics who were waiting for a good opportunity
to reveal their true characters. Montigny, who, as a Montmorency, was
nearly allied to the Constable and Admiral of France, and was in
epistolary correspondence with those relatives, was held up as a
Huguenot; of course, therefore, in Philip's eye, the most monstrous of
malefactors.
Although no man could strew pious reflections and holy texts more
liberally, yet there was always an afterthought even in his most edifying
letters. A corner of the mask is occasionally lifted and the deadly face
of slow but abiding vengeance is revealed. "I know very well," he wrote,
soon after his fall, to Viglius, "that vengeance is the Lord's-God is my
witness that I pardon all the past." In the same letter, nevertheless,
he added, "My theology, however, does not teach me, that by enduring,
one is to enable one's enemies to commit even greater wrongs. If the
royal justice is not soon put into play, I shall be obliged to right
myself. This thing is going on too long-patience exhausted changes to
fury. 'Tis necessary that every man should assist himself as he can, and
when I choose to throw the game into confusion I shall do it perhaps more
notably than the others." A few weeks afterwards, writing to the same
correspondent, he observed, "We shall have to turn again, and rejoice
together. Whatever the King commands I shall do, even were I to march
into the fire, whatever happens, and without fear or respect for any
person I mean to remain the same man to the end--Durate;--and I have a
head that is hard enough when I do undertake any thing--'nec animism
despondeo'." Here, certainly, was significant foreshadowing of the
general wrath to come, and it was therefore of less consequence that the
portraits painted by him of Berghen, Horn, Montigny, and others, were so
rarely relieved by the more flattering tints which he occasionally
mingled with the sombre coloring of his other pictures. Especially with
regard to Count Egmont, his conduct was somewhat perplexing and, at first
sight, almost inscrutable. That nobleman had been most violent in
opposition to his course, had drawn a dagger upon him, had frequently
covered him with personal abuse, and had crowned his offensive conduct
by the invention of the memorable fool's-cap: livery. Yet the Cardinal
usually spoke of him with pity and gentle consideration, described him
as really well disposed in the main, as misled by others, as a "friend of
smoke," who might easily be gained by flattery and bribery. When there
was question of the Count's going to Madrid, the Cardinal renewed his
compliments with additional expression of eagerness that they should be
communicated to their object. Whence all this Christian meekness in the
author of the Ban against Orange and the eulogist of Alva? The true
explanation of this endurance on the part of the Cardinal lies in the
estimate which he had formed of Egmont's character. Granvelle had taken
the man's measure, and even he could not foresee the unparalleled cruelty
and dulness which were eventually to characterize Philip's conduct
towards him. On the contrary, there was every reason why the Cardinal
should see in the Count a personage whom brilliant services, illustrious
rank, and powerful connexions, had marked for a prosperous future. It
was even currently asserted that Philip was about to create him Governor-
General of the Netherlands, in order to detach him entirely from Orange,
and to bind him more closely to the Crown. He was, therefore, a man to
be forgiven. Nothing apparently but a suspicion of heresy could damage
the prospects of the great noble, and Egmont was orthodox beyond all
peradventure. He was even a bigot in the Catholic faith. He had
privately told the Duchess of Parma that he had always been desirous of
seeing the edicts thoroughly enforced; and he denounced as enemies all
those persons who charged him with ever having been in favor of
mitigating the System. He was reported, to be sure, at about the time of
Granvelle's departure from the Netherlands, to have said "post pocula,
that the quarrel was not with the Cardinal, but with the King, who was
administering the public affairs very badly, even in the matter of
religion." Such a bravado, however, uttered by a gentleman in his cups,
when flushed with a recent political triumph, could hardly outweigh in
the cautious calculations of Granvelle; distinct admissions in favor of
persecution. Egmont in truth stood in fear of the inquisition. The hero
of Gravelingen and St. Quentin actually trembled before Peter Titelmann.
Moreover, notwithstanding all that had past, he had experienced a change
in his sentiments in regard to the Cardinal. He frequently expressed the
opinion that, although his presence in the Netherlands was inadmissible,
he should be glad to see him Pope. He had expressed strong
disapprobation of the buffooning masquerade by which he had been
ridiculed at the Mansfeld christening party. When at Madrid he not only
spoke well of Granvelle himself; but would allow nothing disparaging
concerning him to be uttered in his presence. When, however, Egmont had
fallen from favor, and was already a prisoner, the Cardinal diligently
exerted himself to place under the King's eye what he considered the most
damning evidence of the Count's imaginary treason; a document with which
the public prosecutor had not been made acquainted.
Thus, it will be seen by this retrospect how difficult it is to seize all
the shifting subtleties of this remarkable character. His sophisms even,
when self-contradictory, are so adroit that they are often hard to parry.
He made a great merit to himself for not having originated the new
episcopates; but it should be remembered that he did his utmost to
enforce the measure, which was "so holy a scheme that he would sacrifice
for its success his fortune and his life." He refused the archbishopric
of Mechlin, but his motives for so doing were entirely sordid. His
revenues were for the moment diminished, while his personal distinction
was not, in his opinion, increased by the promotion. He refused to
accept it because "it was no addition to his dignity, as he was already
Cardinal and Bishop of Arras," but in this statement he committed an
important anachronism. He was not Cardinal when he refused the see of
Mechlin; having received the red hat upon February 26, 1561, and having
already accepted the archbishopric in May of the preceding year.
He affirmed that "no man would more resolutely defend the liberty and
privileges of the provinces than he would do," but he preferred being
tyrannized by his prince, to maintaining the joyful entrance. He
complained of the insolence of the states in meddling with the supplies;
he denounced the convocation of the representative bodies, by whose
action alone, what there was of "liberty and privilege" in the land could
be guarded; he recommended the entire abolition of the common councils in
the cities. He described himself as having always combated the opinion
that "any thing could be accomplished by terror, death and violence," yet
he recommended the mission of Alva, in whom "terror, death, and violence"
were incarnate. He was indignant that he should be accused of having
advised the introduction of the Spanish inquisition; but his reason was
that the term sounded disagreeably in northern ears, while the thing was
most commendable. He manifested much anxiety that the public should be
disabused of their fear of the Spanish inquisition, but he was the
indefatigable supporter of the Netherland inquisition, which Philip
declared with reason to be "the more pitiless institution" of the two.
He was the author, not of the edicts, but of their re-enactment, verbally
and literally, in all the horrid extent to which they had been carried by
Charles the Fifth; and had recommended the use of the Emperor's name to
sanctify the infernal scheme. He busied himself personally in the
execution of these horrible laws, even when judge and hangman slackened.
To the last he denounced all those "who should counsel his Majesty to
permit a moderation of the edicts," and warned the King that if he should
consent to the least mitigation of their provisions, things would go
worse in the provinces than in France. He was diligent in establishing
the reinforced episcopal inquisition side by side with these edicts, and
with the papal inquisition already in full operation. He omitted no
occasion of encouraging the industry of all these various branches in the
business of persecution. When at last the loud cry from the oppressed
inhabitants of Flanders was uttered in unanimous denunciation by the four
estates of that province of the infamous Titelmann, the Cardinal's voice,
from the depths of his luxurious solitude, was heard, not in sympathy
with the poor innocent wretches, who were daily dragged from their humble
homes to perish by sword and fire, but in pity for the inquisitor who was
doing the work of hell. "I deeply regret," he wrote to Viglius, "that
the states of Flanders should be pouting at inquisitor Titelmann. Truly
he has good zeal, although sometimes indiscreet and noisy; still he must
be supported, lest they put a bridle upon him, by which his authority
will be quite enervated." The reader who is acquainted with the
personality of Peter Titelmann can decide as to the real benignity of the
joyous epicurean who could thus commend and encourage such a monster of
cruelty.