Philip innocent of any attempt upon the life of his son, but others
state that the physician of the prince was informed that it was very
desirable that the death of Carlos should appear to result from natural
causes; and that medicine was administered to the unsuspecting patient
in such doses as slowly to accomplish the desired end. Philip II. was
a fanatic in religion, and the terrible persecution of the Protestants
during his reign has filled the world with horror, as the shocking
stories have been told.
Philip had not forgotten his father’s command to punish heretics
with the utmost rigor. The Reformation had been silently and rapidly
advancing in Spain. Now the terrible persecutions of the Inquisition
were turned against this heroic little band of fearless Christians by
those professing to worship the same merciful God, and to be followers
of the same loving and sinless Christ. How such awful crimes could
have been perpetrated in the sacred name of religion seems at the
present day incomprehensible, and we shudder at the recital of such
savage barbarity, more especially when committed by the enlightened and
civilized nations of the world less than four centuries ago.
The bigoted Philip issued an edict “that all who bought, sold, or read
prohibited works were to be burned alive.” Every person suspected of
heresy was arrested and thrown into prison. In Seville alone, eight
hundred were arrested in one day. The accused were then dragged from
their dungeons and subjected to the horrors of the most merciless
tortures to induce them to give up their Protestant faith; and these
shocking deeds were performed in the name of religion. The awful
details of those barbarous crimes are too horrible to relate. What must
the reality have been to the poor victims of this inhuman persecution!
The first act of burning, under the decrees of the Pope, Philip II.,
and the Spanish inquisitor-general, Valdés, took place in May, 1559, at
Valladolid. This terrible ceremony was called _auto de fé_, or act of
faith; and so common did they at length become, that Catholics would
engage to meet each other at the _“auto de fé,”_ as in modern times
appointments are made to meet at the theatre, opera, or other place of
public gathering. One of the historians thus describes the second _auto
de fé_ in Valladolid, in October, 1559: “The Pope wished to invest the
scene with all the terrors of the Day of Judgment. That he might draw
an immense crowd, an indulgence of forty days was granted to all who
should be present at the spectacle.
“The tragedy was enacted in the great square of the city. At one end of
the square a large platform was erected, richly carpeted and decorated,
where seats were arranged for the inquisitors. A royal gallery was
constructed for the king and his court. Two hundred thousand spectators
surrounded the arena. At six o’clock in the morning all the bells
of the city began to toll the funeral knell. A solemn procession
emerged from the dismal fortress of the Inquisition. A body of troops
led the van. Then came the condemned. There were two classes: the
first consisting of those who were to be punished with confiscation
and imprisonment; and the second, of those who were to suffer death.
The latter were covered with a loose gown of yellow cloth, and wore
upon the head a paper cap of conical form. Both the gown and cap
were covered with pictures of flames fanned and fed by demons. Two
priests were by the side of each one of the victims, urging him to
abjure his errors. Those who were merely to endure loss of property
and to be thrown into the dungeons of the Inquisition were clothed
in garments of black. A vast concourse of dignitaries of state, and
of the common people, closed the procession. The fanaticism of the
times was such, that probably but few of the people had any sympathy
with the sufferers. The ceremonies were opened with a sermon by the
bishop of Zamora. Then the whole assembled multitude took an oath, upon
their knees, to defend the Inquisition and the purity of the Catholic
faith, and to inform against any one who should swerve from the faith.
Then those who, to escape the flames, had expressed penitence for
their errors, after a very solemn recantation, were absolved from
death. But heresy was too serious a crime to be _forgiven_, even upon
penitence. All were doomed to the confiscation of property, and to
imprisonment—some for life—in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Their
names were branded with infamy, and in many cases their immediate
descendants were rendered ineligible to any public office. These first
received their doom, and under a strong guard were conveyed back to
prison.
“And now all eyes were turned to the little band of thirty, who, in
the garb of ignominy, and with ropes around their necks, were waiting
their sentence. Many of these were men illustrious for rank, and still
more renowned for talents and virtues. Their countenances were wan
and wasted, their frames emaciated, and many of them were distorted
by the cruel ministry of the rack. Those who were willing to make
confession were allowed the privilege of being strangled before their
bodies were exposed to the torture of the fire. After being strangled
by the _garrote_, their bodies were thrown into the flames. Enfeebled
by suffering, all but two of them thus purchased exemption from being
burned alive.
“One of these, Don Carlos de Seso, was a Florentine noble. He had
married a Spanish lady of high rank, and had taken up his residence
in Spain, where he had adopted the principles of the Reformation.
For fifteen months, with unshaken constancy, he had suffered in the
dungeons of the Inquisition. When sentence of death at the stake was
pronounced upon him, he called for pen and paper in his cell. His
judges supposed that he intended to make confession. Instead of that he
wrote a very eloquent document, avowing his unshaken trust in the great
truths of the Reformation. De Seso had stood very high in the regards
of Philip’s father, Charles V. As he was passing before the royal
gallery to be chained to the stake, he looked up to Philip, and said,
‘Is it thus that you allow your innocent subjects to be persecuted?’
The king replied, ‘If it were my own son, I would fetch the wood to
burn him, were he such a wretch as thou art.’
“He was chained to the stake. As the flames slowly enveloped him in
their fiery wreaths, he called upon the soldiers to heap up the fagots,
that his agonies might sooner terminate. Soon life was extinct, and
the soul of the noble martyr was borne on angel wings to heaven. The
fellow-sufferer of De Seso was Domingo de Rexas, son of the marquis of
Posa. Five of this noble family, including the eldest son, had been
victims of the Inquisition. De Rexas had been a Dominican monk. In
accordance with usage, he retained his sacerdotal habit until he stood
before the stake. Then in the midst of the jeers of the populace his
garments were one by one removed, and the vestments of the condemned,
with their hideous picturings, were placed upon him. He attempted to
address the spectators. Philip angrily ordered him to be gagged. A
piece of cleft wood was thrust into his mouth, causing great pain.
He was thus led to the stake and burned alive. The cruel exhibition
occupied from six o’clock in the morning until two o’clock in the
afternoon.”
Such were some of the shocking and barbarous scenes connected with the
notorious Spanish Inquisition. This persecution raged year after year.
So fiercely did these fires of persecution burn throughout all Spain,
that nearly all traces of the Protestant religion were eradicated from
the kingdom. The Spaniards degenerated into semi-barbarism. Education
was discouraged, all human rights were trampled upon, and Spain became
one of the most debased, impoverished, and miserable nations in Europe.
Thus had religious fanaticism turned this fair province of Philip’s
into a desert. In regard to the blame which rests upon Philip II., for
this deplorable state of things, his own words will answer. He wrote to
his sister, whom he had appointed his regent in the Netherlands, thus:—
“I have never had any object in view than the good of my subjects! In
all that I have done I have trod in the footsteps of my father, under
whom the people of the Netherlands must admit that they lived contented
and happy. As to the Inquisition, whatever people may say of it, I
have never attempted anything new. With regard to the edicts, I have
been always resolved to live and die in the Catholic faith. I could not
be content to have my subjects do otherwise. Yet I see not how this
can be compassed without punishing the transgressors. God knows how
willingly I would avoid shedding a drop of Christian blood; but I would
rather lose a hundred thousand lives, if I had so many, than allow a
single change in matters of religion.”
In the Netherlands persecutions and rebellions caused constant strife.
Scarcely forty years had elapsed since Luther had publicly burned
the papal bull at Wittenburg. Since that time his doctrines had been
received in Denmark and Sweden. In England, under Queen Elizabeth,
Protestantism had become the established religion of the state. The
Reformation had reached the hills and valleys of Scotland, and tens
of thousands had gathered to hear the preaching of Knox. The Low
Countries, or Netherlands, which now constitute Holland and Belgium,
were the “debatable land,” on which the various sects of reformers,
the Lutherans, the Calvinists, and the English Protestants, contended
for mastery over the Roman Catholic Church. Calvinism was embraced by
some of the cantons of Switzerland, and had also spread widely through
France, where the adherents to the Protestant faith were known as the
Huguenots. The cry of the Reformation had passed the Alps, and was
heard even under the walls of the Vatican, and had crossed the Pyrenees.
The king of Navarre declared himself a Protestant, and the spirit of
the Reformation, as we have related, had also secretly spread into
Spain. But there already the terrible Inquisition, with Philip II.
at its head, had crushed out Protestantism from Spain. It was not to
be expected that Philip, having exterminated heresy in one part of
his dominions, would tolerate its existence in any other, least of
all in so important a country as the Netherlands. So the persecutions
commenced there. During the latter part of the fifteenth century, and
the beginning of the sixteenth, the pontifical throne had been filled
by a succession of popes, notorious for their religious indifference,
and the carelessness and profligacy of their lives. This was one of
the prominent causes of the Reformation. But before the close of the
sixteenth century, a line of popes had arisen, of stern and austere
natures, without a touch of sympathy for the joys and sorrows of
mankind, and entirely devoted to the work of regaining the lost powers
of the Roman Catholic Church. Pope Pius the Fifth was such a pontiff.
He wrote to Philip, urging him not to falter in the good cause, and
to allow no harm to the Catholic faith, but to march against his
rebellious vassals at the head of his army, and wash out the stain of
heresy in the blood of the heretic. To him Philip replied: that the
Pope might rest assured that the king would consent to nothing that
could prejudice the service of God, or the interests of religion. He
deprecated force, as that would involve the ruin of the country. Still
he would march in person, without regard to his own peril, and employ
force, though it should cost the ruin of the provinces; but he would
bring his vassals to submission. “For he would sooner lose a hundred
lives, and every rood of empire, than reign a lord over heretics.”
With such a pope, and such a king, no wonder that the Inquisition
flourished.
The situation of the Netherlands was such that the various opinions
of the surrounding nations were easily transferred to their shores.
On the south were the Lutherans of Germany; on the west, the French
Huguenots; while by the ocean, they held communication with England and
the nations of the Baltic. The soldier quartered on their territory,
the seaman who visited their shores, the trader who trafficked in their
towns, brought with them different forms of the “_New Religion_.” As
most of the people were able to read, books from France and Germany
were circulated amongst them. Philip II. understood the importance of
his position. His whole life proves that he felt it to be his especial
mission to restore the tottering fortunes of Catholicism, and stay the
torrent which was sweeping away the Roman Catholic faith. Philip had
made his half-sister, Margaret, regent in the Netherlands.
In order to a clearer understanding of the revolt in the Netherlands,
a brief sketch of William, prince of Orange, will be necessary. He
was descended from ancestors who had given an emperor to Germany;
William’s parents were both Lutherans, and he was educated in that
faith. But Charles V. obtained the consent of his parents to remove him
to Brussels, when in his twelfth year, and he was brought up in the
family of the Emperor’s sister. In this household, the young prince was
instructed in the Catholic faith. When fifteen years of age, William
became the page of Charles V. On the abdication of that monarch, he
commended William to Philip II., who at first received the prince of
Orange with much favor. William married for his second wife, Anne, the
daughter of Maurice, the great Lutheran champion; and though he did
not openly espouse the cause, but continued in the service of Philip,
a writer of the times says of him: “The prince of Orange passed for
a Catholic among Catholics, and a Lutheran among Lutherans.” But this
portrait of him was by an unfriendly hand, and a truer declaration is
that of Prescott, “that he possessed a spirit of toleration, the more
honorable that in that day it was so rare. He condemned the Calvinists
as restless and seditious, and the Catholics for their bigoted
attachment to a dogma. Persecution, in matters of faith, he totally
condemned, for freedom of judgment in such matters he regarded as the
inalienable right of man. These conclusions, at which the world, after
an incalculable amount of human suffering, has been three centuries in
arriving, must be allowed to reflect great credit on the character of
William, prince of Orange.”
There was now formed in the Netherlands a league called “The Gueux.”
Some of this party of confederates demanded entire liberty of
conscience; others would not have stopped short of a revolution, that
would enable the country to shake off the Spanish yoke. Though this
party was a political rather than a religious organization, they joined
hands with the Lutherans and Calvinists, and became, for a time, a
great aid to the Reformation. The origin of their name, which became
the fanatical war-cry of the insurgents, happened thus: Two or three
hundred of these confederates went to Brussels, to petition Margaret,
the regent, to mediate with Philip in their behalf, that they should
have more political liberty, and be freed from the edicts and the
Inquisition. During the week spent by the league in Brussels, a banquet
was given, where three hundred of the confederates were present. During
the repast, Brederode, one of their number, described the manner in
which their petition had been received by the regent. “She seemed at
first disconcerted,” he said, “by the number of the confederates, but
was reassured by Barlaimont, who told her that ‘they were nothing but a
crowd of beggars.’”
Some of the company were much incensed at this treatment, but
Brederode, taking it good-humoredly, said, “that he and his friends
had no objection to the name, since they were ready at any time to
become beggars for the service of their king and country.” This witty
sally was received by the company with great applause, who shouted,
“_Vivent les Gueux!_”—“long live the beggars!” Brederode, finding the
jest took so well, left the room, and soon returned with a beggar’s
wallet and a wooden bowl, such as were used by the mendicant fraternity
in the Netherlands. Then pledging the company in a bumper, he swore
to devote his life and fortune to the cause. The wallet and the bowl
went round the table, and as each of the merry guests drank, the shout
arose, “_Vivent les Gueux!_” In every language in which the history of
these acts has been recorded, the French term, Gueux, is employed to
designate this party of malcontents in the Netherlands.
The league now adopted the dress and symbols of mendicants. They
affected their garments as a substitute for their family liveries,
dressing their retainers in the ash-gray habiliments of the begging
friars. Wooden bowls, spoons, and knives became in great request,
though they were richly inlaid with silver, according to the wealth
of the possessor. Pilgrims’ staffs were carried, elaborately carved.
Medals resembling those stuck by the beggars in their bonnets were
worn as a badge. The “Gueux penny,” as it was called, a gold or silver
coin, was hung from the neck, bearing on one side the effigy of Philip,
with the inscription, “_Fideles au roi_,” and on the other, two
hands grasping a beggar’s wallet, and the words, “_jusques a porter
la besace_,”—“Faithful to the king, even to carrying the wallet.” The
war-cry of “_Vivent les Gueux_” soon resounded through the Netherlands.
[Illustration: DESTROYING STATUES, ETC., IN THE CATHEDRAL AT ANTWERP.]
Philip paid little or no attention to the frequent appeals of Margaret,
his regent, that he should come to some concessions which should
satisfy the people and bring the rebellion to an end. But while Philip
was procrastinating, the Iconoclasts rose in fury, and inspired by a
false zeal, committed many terrible, sacrilegious outrages, which cast
dishonor upon the upholders of the Reformation. These Iconoclasts,
or image-breakers, were simply armed mobs of ignorant people, who
imagined they were doing a service to God by breaking into the Catholic
churches, and ruthlessly destroying everything they could lay their
hands on. Prescott thus describes the destruction caused by this band
of rioters in Antwerp:—
“When the rest of the congregation had withdrawn, after vespers, the
mob rushed forward, as by a common impulse, broke open the doors of the
chapel, and dragged forth the image of the Virgin. Some called on her
to cry, ‘_Vivent les Gueux!_’ while others tore off her embroidered
robes and rolled the dumb idol in the dust, amidst the shouts of the
spectators.
“This was the signal for havoc. The rioters dispersed in all directions
on the work of destruction. High above the great altar was an image of
the Saviour, curiously carved in wood, and placed between the effigies
of the two thieves crucified with him. The mob contrived to get a rope
round the neck of the statue of Christ, and dragged it to the ground.
They then fell upon it with hatchets and hammers, and it was soon
broken into a hundred fragments. The two thieves, it was remarked, were
spared, as if to preside over the work of rapine below.
“Their fury now turned against the other statues, which were quickly
overthrown from their pedestals. The paintings that lined the walls of
the cathedral were cut into shreds. Many of these were the choicest
specimens of Flemish art, even then, in its dawn, giving promise of
the glorious day which was to shed a lustre over the land. But the
pride of the cathedral and of Antwerp was the great organ, renowned
throughout the Netherlands, not more for its dimensions than its
perfect workmanship. With their ladders the rioters scaled the lofty
fabric, and with their implements soon converted it, like all else they
laid their hands on, into a heap of rubbish.
“The ruin was now universal. Nothing beautiful, nothing holy, was
spared. The altars—and there were no less than seventy in the vast
edifice—were overthrown one after another, their richly embroidered
coverings rudely rent away, their gold and silver vessels appropriated
by the plunderers. The sacramental bread was trodden under foot, the
wine was quaffed by the miscreants, in golden chalices, to the health
of one another, or of the Gueux, and the holy oil was profanely used to
anoint their shoes and sandals. The sculptured tracery on the walls,
the costly offerings that enriched the shrines, the screens of gilded
bronze, the delicately carved woodwork of the pulpit, the marble and
alabaster ornaments, all went down under the fierce blows of the
Iconoclasts. The pavement was strewed with the ruined splendors of a
church, which in size and magnificence was perhaps second only to St.
Peter’s among the churches of Christendom.
“As the light of day faded, the assailants supplied its place with
such light as they could obtain from the candles which they snatched
from the altars. It was midnight before the work of destruction was
completed. The whole number engaged in this work is said not to have
exceeded a hundred, men, women, and boys.
“When their task was completed, they sallied forth in a body from the
doors of the cathedral, roaring out the fanatical war-cry of “_Vivent
les Gueux!_” Flushed with success, and joined on the way by stragglers
like themselves, they burst open the doors of one church after another,
and by the time morning broke, the principal temples in the city had
been dealt with in the same ruthless manner as the cathedral.
“No attempt, all this time, was made to stop these proceedings, on
the part of the magistrates or citizens. As they beheld from their
windows the bodies of armed men hurrying to and fro, by the gleam of
their torches, and listened to the sound of violence in the distance,
they seem to have been struck with a panic. The Catholics remained
within doors, fearing a general uprising of the Protestants. The
Protestants feared to move abroad, lest they should be confounded
with the rioters. For three days these dismal scenes continued....
The fate of Antwerp had its effect on the country. The flames of
fanaticism, burning fiercer than ever, quickly spread over the northern
as they had done over the western provinces.... In Holland, Utrecht,
Friesland,—everywhere in short, with a few exceptions on the southern
borders,—mobs rose against the churches.”
Cathedrals, chapels, monasteries, and nunneries, and even hospitals,
were destroyed by these ignorant fanatics. The great library of
Vicogne, one of the noblest collections in the Netherlands, perished
in the flames kindled by the mob. Four hundred churches were sacked
by the insurgents in Flanders alone. The damage to the cathedral at
Antwerp was said to amount to four hundred thousand ducats. The whole
work of this terrible devastation, occupied less than a fortnight.
This wholesale destruction, perpetrated by the Iconoclasts, cannot be
estimated. It is a melancholy fact that they pretended to be actuated
by a zeal for the Reformation, thus dishonoring the great and glorious
cause, by their ignorant fanaticism. An irreparable loss was occasioned
by the destruction of manuscripts, statuary, and paintings. But the
misguided Iconoclasts, ruthless as was their terrible destruction of
magnificent cathedrals and priceless gems of art, must in justice have
this excuse offered in their behalf, that they had been enfuriated by
the infamous Inquisition which had turned Spain into one great _auto
de fé_ of burning martyrs, and which threatened, through the bigotry
of Philip II., to invade their own land with its fiendish cruelties.
Compared with the Inquisition, with its scarlet hands reeking with the
life-blood of its tortured victims, the retaliation of the Iconoclasts
is scarcely to be wondered at.
The tidings of the tumult in the Netherlands was received by Philip
with the greatest indignation, and he exclaimed: “It shall cost them
dear; by the soul of my father, I swear it, it shall cost them dear!”