On the second of June, 1568, a body of three thousand men was ordered
to Ghent to escort the Counts Egmont and Hoorne to Brussels. No
resistance was offered, altho the presence of the Spaniards caused a
great sensation among the inhabitants of the place, who too well
foreboded the fate of their beloved lord.
[Footnote 67: From Book III, Chapter V, of the "History of the Reign
of Philip II, King of Spain."]
The nobles, each accompanied by two officers, were put into separate
chariots. They were guarded by twenty companies of pikemen and
arquebusiers; and a detachment of lancers, among whom was a body of
the duke's own horse, rode in the van, while another of equal strength
protected the rear. Under this strong escort they moved slowly toward
Brussels. One night they halted at Dendermonde, and toward evening, on
the fourth of the month, entered the capital. As the martial array
defiled through its streets, there was no one, however stout-hearted
he might be, says an eye-witness, who could behold the funeral pomp of
the procession, and listen to the strains of melancholy music without
a feeling of sickness at his heart.
The prisoners were at once conducted to the _Brod-huys_, or
"Bread-house," usually known as the _Maison du Roi_--that venerable
pile in the market-place of Brussels, still visited by every traveler
for its curious architecture, and yet more as the last resting-place
of the Flemish lords. Here they were lodged in separate rooms, small,
dark, and uncomfortable, and scantily provided with furniture. Nearly
the whole of the force which had escorted them to Brussels was
established in the great square, to defeat any attempt at a rescue.
But none was made; and the night passed away without disturbance,
except what was occasioned by the sound of busy workmen employed in
constructing a scaffold for the scene of execution on the following
day.
On the afternoon of the fourth, the Duke of Alva[68] had sent for
Martin Rithovius, bishop of Ypres; and, communicating to him the
sentence of the nobles, he requested the prelate to visit the
prisoners, acquaint them with their fate, and prepare them for their
execution on the following day. The bishop, an excellent man, and the
personal friend of Egmont, was astounded by the tidings. He threw
himself at Alva's feet, imploring mercy for the prisoners, and if he
could not spare their lives, beseeching him at least to grant them
more time for preparation. But Alva sternly rebuked the prelate,
saying that he had been summoned not to thwart the execution of the
law, but to console the prisoners and enable them to die like
Christians. The bishop, finding his entreaties useless, rose and
addrest himself to his melancholy mission.
[Footnote 68: The Duke of Alva was sent to the Netherlands as governor
in 1567 where, as an instrument of his cruelty, he established what is
known as "The Council of Blood," a court of inquiry and persecution
which, in the course of three months, put to death 1,600 persons.]
It was near midnight when he entered Egmont's apartment, where he
found the poor nobleman, whose strength had been already reduced by
confinement, and who was wearied by the fatigue of the journey, buried
in slumber. It is said that the two lords, when summoned to Brussels,
had indulged the vain hope that it was to inform them of the
conclusion of their trial and their acquittal! However this may be,
Egmont seems to have been but ill prepared for the dreadful tidings he
received. He turned deadly pale as he listened to the bishop, and
exclaimed, with deep emotion, "It is a terrible sentence. Little did I
imagine that any offense I had committed against God or the king could
merit such punishment. It is not death that I fear. Death is the
common lot of all. But I shrink from dishonor. Yet I may hope that my
sufferings will so far expiate my offenses that my innocent family
will not be involved in my ruin by the confiscation of my property.
This much, at least, I think I may claim in consideration of my past
services." Then, after a pause, he added, "Since my death is the will
of God and his Majesty, I will try to meet it with patience." He
asked the bishop if there were no hope. On being answered, "None
whatever," he resolved to devote himself at once to preparing for the
solemn change.
He rose from his couch, and hastily drest himself. He then made his
confession to the prelate, and desired that mass might be said, and
the sacrament administered to him. This was done with great solemnity,
and Egmont received the communion in the most devout manner,
manifesting the greatest contrition for his sins. He next inquired of
the bishop to what prayer he could best have recourse to sustain him
in this trying hour. The prelate recommended to him that prayer which
our Savior had commended to his disciples. The advice pleased the
count, who earnestly engaged in his devotions. But a host of tender
recollections crowded on his mind, and the images of his wife and
children drew his thoughts in another direction, till the kind
expostulations of the prelate again restored him to himself.
Egmont asked whether it would be well to say anything on the scaffold
for the edification of the people. But the bishop discouraged him,
saying that he would be imperfectly heard, and that the people, in
their present excitement, would be apt to misinterpret what he said to
their own prejudice.
Having attended to his spiritual concerns, Egmont called for writing
materials, and wrote a letter to his wife, whom he had not seen during
his long confinement; and to her he now bade a tender farewell. He
then addrest another letter, written in French, in a few brief and
touching sentences, to the King--which fortunately has been preserved
to us. "This morning," he says, "I have been made acquainted with the
sentence which it has pleased your majesty to pass upon me. And altho
it has never been my intent to do aught against the person or the
service of your majesty, or against our true, ancient, and Catholic
faith, yet I receive in patience what it has pleased God to send me.
If during these troubles I have counseled or permitted aught which
might seem otherwise, I have done so from a sincere regard for the
service of God and your majesty, and from what I believed the
necessity of the times. Wherefore I pray your majesty to pardon it,
and for the sake of my past services to take pity on my poor wife, my
children, and my servants. In this trust I commend myself to the mercy
of God." The letter is dated Brussels, "on the point of death," June
5th, 1568.
Having time still left, the count made a fair copy of the two letters,
and gave them to the bishop, entreating him to deliver them according
to their destination. He accompanied that to Philip with a ring, to be
given at the same time to the monarch. It was of great value, and, as
it had been the gift of Philip himself during the count's late visit
to Madrid, it might soften the heart of the King by reminding him of
happier days, when he had looked with an eye of favor on his unhappy
vassal.
Having completed all his arrangements, Egmont became impatient for the
hour of his departure; and he exprest the hope that there would be no
unnecessary delay. At ten in the morning the soldiers appeared who
were to conduct him to the scaffold. They brought with them cords, as
usual, to bind the prisoner's hands. But Egmont remonstrated, and
showed that he had himself cut off the collar of his doublet and
shirt, in order to facilitate the stroke of the executioner. This he
did to convince them that he meditated no resistance; and on his
promising that he would attempt none, they consented to his remaining
with his hands unbound.
Egmont was drest in a crimson damask robe, over which was a Spanish
mantle fringed with gold. His breeches were of black silk, and his
hat, of the same material, was garnished with white and sable plumes.
In his hand, which, as we have seen, remained free, he held a white
handkerchief. On his way to the place of execution he was accompanied
by Julian de Romero, _maitre de camp_, by the captain, Salinas, who
had charge of the fortress of Ghent, and by the bishop of Ypres. As
the procession moved slowly forward, the count repeated some portion
of the fifty-first Psalm--"Have mercy on me, O God!"--in which the
good prelate joined with him. In the center of the square, on the spot
where so much of the best blood of the Netherlands had been shed,
stood the scaffold, covered with black cloth. On it were two velvet
cushions with a small table, shrouded likewise in black, and
supporting a silver crucifix. At the corners of the platform were two
poles, pointed at the end with steel, intimating the purpose for which
they were intended.
In front of the scaffold was the provost of the court, mounted on
horseback, and bearing the red wand of office in his hand. The
executioner remained, as usual, below the platform, screened from
view, that he might not, by his presence before it was necessary,
outrage the feelings of the prisoners. The troops, who had been under
arms all night, were drawn up around in order of battle; and strong
bodies of arquebusiers were posted in the great avenues which led to
the square. The space left open by the soldiery was speedily occupied
by a crowd of eager spectators. Others thronged the roofs and windows
of the buildings that surrounded the market-place, some of which,
still standing at the present day, show, by their quaint and venerable
architecture, that they must have looked down on the tragic scene we
are now depicting.
It was indeed a gloomy day for Brussels--so long the residence of the
two nobles, where their forms were as familiar and where they were
held in as much love and honor as in any of their own provinces. All
business was suspended. The shops were closed. The bells tolled in all
the churches. An air of gloom, as of some impending calamity, settled
on the city. "It seemed," says one residing there at the time, "as if
the day of judgment were at hand!"
As the procession slowly passed through the ranks of the soldiers,
Egmont saluted the officers--some of them his ancient companions--with
such a sweet and dignified composure in his manner as was long
remembered by those who saw it. And few even of the Spaniards could
refrain from tears as they took their last look at the gallant noble
who was to perish so miserably.
With a steady step he mounted the scaffold, and, as he crossed it,
gave utterance to the vain wish that, instead of meeting such a fate,
he had been allowed to die in the service of his King and country. He
quickly, however, turned to other thoughts, and, kneeling on one of
the cushions, with the bishop beside him on the other, he was soon
engaged earnestly in prayer. With his eyes raised toward heaven with a
look of unutterable sadness, he prayed so fervently and loud as to be
distinctly heard by the spectators. The prelate, much affected, put
into his hands the silver crucifix, which Egmont repeatedly kissed;
after which, having received absolution for the last time, he rose and
made a sign to the bishop to retire. He then stript off his mantle and
robe; and, again kneeling, he drew a silk cap, which he had brought
for the purpose, over his eyes, and, repeating the words, "Into Thy
hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit," he calmly awaited the stroke of
the executioner.
The low sounds of lamentation which from time to time had been heard
among the populace were now hushed into silence as the minister of
justice, appearing on the platform, approached his victim and with a
single blow of the sword severed the head from the body. A cry of
horror rose from the multitude, and some, frantic with grief, broke
through the ranks of the soldiers and wildly dipped their
handkerchiefs in the blood that streamed from the scaffold, treasuring
them up, says the chronicler, as precious memorials of love and
incitements to vengeance. The head was then set on one of the poles at
the end of the platform, while a mantle thrown over the mutilated
trunk hid it from the public gaze.
It was near noon when orders were sent to lead forth the remaining
prisoner to execution. It had been assigned to the curate of La
Chapelle to acquaint Count Hoorne with his fate. That nobleman
received the awful tidings with less patience than was shown by his
friend. He gave way to a burst of indignation at the cruelty and
injustice of the sentence. It was a poor requital, he said, for
eight-and-twenty years of faithful service to his sovereign. Yet, he
added, he was not sorry to be released from a life of such incessant
fatigue. For some time he refused to confess, saying he had done
enough in the way of confession. When urged not to throw away the few
precious moments that were left to him, he at length consented.
The count was drest in a plain suit of black, and wore a Milanese cap
upon his head. He was, at this time, about fifty years of age. He was
tall, with handsome features, and altogether of a commanding presence.
His form was erect, and as he passed with a steady step through the
files of soldiers, on his way to the place of execution, he frankly
saluted those of his acquaintance whom he saw among the spectators.
His look had in it less of sorrow than of indignation, like that of
one conscious of enduring wrong. He was spared one pang, in his last
hour, which had filled Egmont's cup with bitterness; tho, like him, he
had a wife, he was to leave no orphan family to mourn him.
As he trod the scaffold, the apparatus of death seemed to have no
power to move him. He still repeated the declaration that, "often as
he had offended his Maker, he had never, to his knowledge, committed
any offense against the King." When his eyes fell on the bloody shroud
that enveloped the remains of Egmont, he inquired if it were the body
of his friend. Being answered in the affirmative, he made some remark
in Castilian, not understood. He then prayed for a few moments, but in
so low a tone that the words were not caught by the bystanders, and,
rising, he asked pardon of those around if he had ever offended any of
them, and earnestly besought their prayers. Then, without further
delay, he knelt down, and, repeating the words, "_In manus tuas,
Domine_," he submitted himself to his fate.
His bloody head was set up opposite to that of his fellow sufferer.
For three hours these ghastly trophies remained exposed to the gaze of
the multitude. They were then taken down, and, with the bodies, placed
in leaden coffins, which were straightway removed--that containing the
remains of Egmont to the convent of Santa Clara, and that of Hoorne to
the ancient church of Ste. Gudule. To these places, especially to
Santa Clara, the people now flocked as to the shrine of a martyr. They
threw themselves on the coffin, kissing it and bedewing it with their
tears, as if it had contained the relics of some murdered saint; while
many of them, taking little heed of the presence of informers,
breathed vows of vengeance, some even swearing not to trim either hair
or beard till these vows were executed. The government seems to have
thought it prudent to take no notice of this burst of popular feeling.
But a funeral hatchment, blazoned with the arms of Egmont, which, as
usual after the master's death, had been fixt by his domestics on the
gates of his mansion, was ordered to be instantly removed--no doubt,
as tending to keep alive the popular excitement. The bodies were not
allowed to remain long in their temporary places of deposit, but were
transported to the family residences of the two lords in the country,
and laid in the vaults of their ancestors.
Thus by the hand of the common executioner perished these two
unfortunate noblemen, who, by their rank, possessions, and personal
characters, were the most illustrious victims that could have been
selected in the Netherlands. Both had early enjoyed the favor of
Charles the Fifth, and both had been entrusted by Philip with some of
the highest offices in the state. Philip de Montmorency, Count Hoorne,
the elder of the two, came of the ancient house of Montmorency in
France. Besides filling the high post of Admiral of the Low Countries,
he was made governor of the provinces of Guelders and Zutphen, was a
councilor of state, and was created by the Emperor a knight of the
Golden Fleece. His fortune was greatly inferior to that of Count
Egmont; yet its confiscation afforded a supply by no means unwelcome
to the needy exchequer of the Duke of Alva.
However nearly on a footing they might be in many respects, Hoorne was
altogether eclipsed by his friend in military renown.