THE PROTECTORATE OF THE NETHERLANDS: 1584-86
We are now approaching the great crisis of the reign--some may think of
English history--the grand struggle with Spain; a struggle which, if
Elizabeth had allowed herself to be guided by her most celebrated
counsellors, would have been entered upon a quarter of a century
earlier. England was then unarmed and weighed down with a load of debt,
the legacy of three thriftless and pugnacious reigns. The population was
still mainly Catholic. The great nobles still thought themselves a match
for the crown, and many of them longed to make one more effort to assert
their old position in the State. Trade and industry were languishing.
The poorer classes were suffering and discontented. Scotland was in the
hands of a most dangerous enemy, whose title to the English crown was
held by many to be better than Elizabeth’s. Philip II., as yet
unharassed by revolt, seemed almost to have drawn England as a sort of
satellite into the vast orbit of his empire.
Nearly a generation had now passed away since Elizabeth ascended the
throne. Every year of it had seen some amendment in the condition of
the country. Under a pacific and thrifty Government taxation had been
light beyond precedent. All debts, even those of Henry VIII., had been
honourably paid off. While the lord of American gold mines and of the
richest commercial centres in Europe could not raise a loan on any
terms, Elizabeth could borrow when she pleased at five per cent. But she
had ceased to borrow, for she had a modest surplus stored in her
treasury, a department of the administration managed under her own close
personal supervision. A numerous militia had been enrolled and partially
trained. Large magazines of arms had been accumulated. A navy had been
created; not a large one indeed; but it did not need to be large, for
the warship of those days did not differ from the ordinary vessel of
commerce, nor was its crew differently trained. The royal navy could
therefore be indefinitely increased if need arose. Philip’s great
generals, Alva and Parma, had long come to the conclusion that the
conquest of England would be the most difficult enterprise their master
could undertake. The wealth of landed proprietors and traders had
increased enormously. New manufactures had been started by exiles from
the Netherlands. New branches of foreign commerce had been opened up.
The poor were well employed and contented. I believe it would be
impossible to find in the previous history of England, or, for that
matter, of Europe, since the fall of the Roman Empire, any instance of
peace, prosperity, and good government extending over so many years.
Looking abroad we find that in all directions the strength and security
of Elizabeth’s position had been immensely increased. Her ministers,
especially Walsingham--for Burghley in his old age came at last to see
more with the eyes of his mistress--believed that by a more spirited
policy Scotland might have been converted into a submissive and valuable
ally. Elizabeth alone saw that this was impossible; that, so treated,
Scotland would become to England what Holland was to Philip, what “the
Spanish ulcer” was afterwards to Napoleon--a fatal drain on her strength
and resources. It was enough for Elizabeth if the northern kingdom was
so handled as to be harmless; and this, as I have shown, was in fact its
condition from the moment that the only Scottish ruler who could be
really dangerous was locked up in England.
The Dutch revolt crippled Philip. The conquest of England was postponed
till the Dutch revolt should be suppressed. Why then, it has been asked,
did not Elizabeth support the Dutch more vigorously? The answer is a
simple one. If she had done so the suppression of the Dutch revolt would
have been postponed to the conquest of England. This is proved by the
events now to be related. Elizabeth was obliged by new circumstances to
intervene more vigorously in the Netherlands, and the result was the
Armada. If the attack had come ten or fifteen years earlier the fortune
of England might have been different.
Elizabeth’s foreign policy has been judged unfavourably by writers who
have failed to keep in view how completely it turned on her relations
with France. Though her interests and those of Henry III. cannot be
called identical, they coincided sufficiently to make it possible to
keep up a good understanding which was of the highest advantage to both
countries. But to maintain this good understanding there was need of the
coolest temper and judgment on the part of the rulers; for the two
peoples were hopelessly hostile. They were like two gamecocks in
adjoining pens. The Spaniards were respected and liked by our
countrymen. Their grave dignity, even their stiff assumption of
intrinsic superiority, were too like our own not to awake a certain
appreciative sympathy. Whereas all Englishmen from peer to peasant would
at any time have enjoyed a tussle with France, until its burdens began
to be felt.
Henry III., with whom the Valois dynasty was about to expire, was far
from being the incompetent driveller depicted by most historians. He had
good abilities, plenty of natural courage when roused, and a thorough
comprehension of the politics of his day. His aims and plans were well
conceived. But with no child to care for, and immersed in degrading
self-indulgence, he wearied of the exertions and sacrifices necessary
for carrying them through. Short spells of sensible and energetic action
were succeeded by periods of unworthy lassitude and pusillanimous
surrender. Before he came to the throne he had been the chief organiser
of the Bartholomew Massacre. As King he naturally inclined, like
Elizabeth, William of Orange, and Henry of Navarre, to make
considerations of religion subordinate to considerations of State. Both
he and Navarre would have been glad to throw over the fanatical or
factious partisans by whom they were surrounded, and rally the
_Politiques_ to their support. But it was a step that neither as yet
ventured openly to take. The one was obliged to affect zeal for the old
religion, the other for the new.
Elizabeth’s ministers, with short-sighted animosity, had been urging her
throughout her reign to give vigorous support to the Huguenots. She
herself took a broader view of the situation. She preferred to deal with
the legitimate government of France recognised by the vast majority of
Frenchmen. Henry III., as she well knew, did not intend or desire to
exterminate the Huguenots. If that turbulent faction had been openly
abetted in its arrogant claims by English assistance, he would have been
obliged to become the mere instrument of Elizabeth’s worst enemies,
Guise and the Holy League. France would have ceased to be any
counterpoise to Spain. The English Queen had so skilfully played a most
difficult and delicate game that Henry of Navarre had been able to keep
his head above water; Guise had upon the whole been held in check; the
royal authority, though impaired, had still controlled the foreign
policy of France, and so, since 1572, had given England a firm and
useful ally. As long as this balanced situation could be maintained,
England was safe.
But the time was now at hand when this nice equilibrium of forces would
be disturbed by events which neither Elizabeth nor any one else could
help. Alençon, the last of the Valois line, was dying. When he should be
gone, the next heir to the French King would be no other than the
Huguenot Henry of Bourbon, King of the tiny morsel of Navarre that lay
north of the Pyrenees. Henry III. wished to recognise his right. But it
was impossible that Guise or Philip, or the French nation itself, should
tolerate this prospect. Thus the great war of religion which Elizabeth
had so carefully abstained from stirring up was now inevitable. The
French alliance, the key-stone of her policy, was about to crumble away
with the authority of the French King which she had buttressed up. He
would be compelled either to become the mere instrument of the Papal
party or to combine openly with the Huguenot leader. In either case,
Guise, not Henry III., would be the virtual sovereign, and Elizabeth’s
alliance would not be with France but with a French faction. She would
thus be forced into the position which she had hitherto refused to
accept--that of sole protector of French and Dutch Protestants, and open
antagonist of Spain. The more showy part she was now to play has been
the chief foundation of her glory with posterity. It is a glory which
she deserves. The most industrious disparagement will never rob her of
it. But the sober student will be of opinion that her reputation as a
statesman has a more solid basis in the skill and firmness with which
during so many years she staved off the necessity for decisive action.
Although the discovery of the Throgmorton plot (Nov. 1583), and the
consequent expulsion of the Spanish ambassador, Mendoza, were not
immediately followed by open war between England and Spain, yet the
course of events thenceforward tended directly to that issue. Elizabeth
immediately proposed to the Dutch States to form a naval alliance
against Spain, and to concert other measures for mutual defence. Orange
met the offer with alacrity, and pressed Elizabeth to accept the
sovereignty of Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht. Perhaps there was no
former ruler of England who would not have clutched at such an
opportunity of territorial aggrandisement. For Elizabeth it had no
charms. Every sensible person now will applaud the sobriety of her aims.
But though she eschewed territory, she desired to have military
occupation of one or more coast fortresses, at all events for a time,
both as a security for the fidelity of the Dutch to any engagements they
might make with her, and to enable her to treat on more equal terms with
France or Spain, if the Netherlands were destined, after all, to fall
into the hands of one of those powers.
While these negotiations were in progress, William of Orange was
murdered (June 30/July 10, 1584). Alençon had died a month earlier. The
sovereignty of the revolted Netherlands was thus vacant. Elizabeth
advised a joint protectorate by France and England. But the Dutch had
small confidence in protectorates, especially of the joint kind. What
they wanted was a sovereign, and as Elizabeth would not accept them as
her subjects they offered themselves to Henry III. But after nibbling at
the offer for eight months Henry was obliged to refuse it. His openly
expressed intention to recognise the King of Navarre as his heir had
caused a revival of the Holy League. During the winter 1584-5 its
reorganisation was busily going on. Philip promised to subsidise it.
Mendoza, now ambassador at Paris, was its life and soul. The
insurrection was on the point of breaking out. Henry III. knew that the
vast majority of Frenchmen were Catholics. To accept the Dutch offer
would, he feared, drive them all into the ranks of the Holy League. He
therefore dismissed the Dutch envoys with the recommendation that they
should apply to England for protection (February 28/March 10, 1585).
The manifesto of the Leaguers appeared at the end of March (1585). Henry
of Navarre was declared incapable, as a Protestant, of succeeding to the
crown. Henry III. was summoned to extirpate heresy. To enforce these
demands the Leaguers flew to arms all over France. Had Henry III. been a
man of spirit he would have placed himself at the head of the loyal
Catholics and fought it out. But by the compact of Nemours he conceded
all the demands of the League (June 28/July 7, 1585). Thus began the
last great war of religion, which lasted till Henry of Navarre was
firmly seated on the throne of France.
Elizabeth had now finally lost the French alliance, the sheet-anchor of
her policy since 1572, and she prepared for the grand struggle which
could no longer be averted. As France failed her, she must make the best
of the Dutch alliance. She did not conceal from herself that she would
have to do her share of the fighting. But she was determined that the
Dutch should also do theirs. Deprived of all hope of help from France
they wished for annexation to the English crown, because solidarity
between the two countries would give them an unlimited claim upon
English resources. Elizabeth uniformly told them, first and last, that
nothing should induce her to accept that proposal. She would give them a
definite amount of assistance in men and money. But every farthing
would have to be repaid when the war was over; and in the meantime she
must have Flushing and Brill as security. They must also bind themselves
to make proper exertions in their own defence. Gilpin, her agent in
Zealand, had warned her that if she showed herself too forward they
would simply throw the whole burden of the war upon her. Splendid as had
often been the resistance of separate towns when besieged, there had
been, from the first, lamentable selfishness and apathy as to measures
for combined defence. The States had less than 6000 men in the
field--half of them English volunteers--at the very time when they were
assuring Elizabeth that, if she would come to their assistance, they
could and would furnish 15,000. She was justified in regarding their
fine promises with much distrust.
While this discussion was going on, Antwerp was lost. The blame of the
delay, if blame there was, must be divided equally between the
bargainers. The truth is that, cavil as they might about details, the
strength of the English contingent was not the real object of concern to
either of them. Each was thinking of something else. Though Elizabeth
had so peremptorily refused the sovereignty offered by the United
Provinces, they were still bent on forcing it upon her. She, on the
other hand, had not given up the hope that her more decisive
intervention would drive Philip to make the concessions to his revolted
subjects which she had so often urged upon him. In her eyes, Philip’s
sovereignty over them was indefeasible. They were, perhaps, justified
in asserting their ancient constitutional rights. But if those were
guaranteed, continuance of the rebellion would be criminal. Moreover,
she held that elected deputies were but amateur statesmen, and had
better leave the _haute politique_ to princes to settle. “Princes,” she
once told a Dutch deputation, “are not to be charged with breach of
faith if they sometimes listen to both sides; for they transact business
in a princely way and with a princely understanding such as private
persons cannot have.” Her promise not to make peace behind their backs
was not to be interpreted as literally as if it had been made to a
brother prince. It merely bound her--so she contended--not to make peace
without safeguarding their interests; that is to say, what she
considered to be their true interests. Conduct based on such a theory
would not be tolerated now, and was not tamely acquiesced in by the
Dutch then. But to speak of it as base and treacherous is an abuse of
terms.
It would be impossible to follow in detail the peace negotiations which
went on between Elizabeth and Parma up to the very sailing of the Armada
(1586-8). The terms on which the Queen was prepared to make peace never
varied substantially from first to last. We know very well what they
were. She claimed for the Protestants of the Netherlands (who were a
minority, perhaps, even in the rebel provinces) precisely the same
degree of toleration which she allowed to her own Catholics. They were
not to be questioned about their religion; but there was to be no public
worship or proselytising. The old constitution, as before Alva, was to
be restored, which would have involved the departure of the foreign
troops. These terms would not have satisfied the States, and if Philip
could have been induced to grant them, the States and Elizabeth must
have parted company. But, as he would make no concessions, the
Anglo-Dutch alliance could, and did, continue. The cautionary towns she
was determined never to give up to any one unless (first) she was repaid
her expenses for which they had been mortgaged, and (secondly) the
struggle in the Netherlands was brought to an end on terms which she
approved. There was, therefore, never any danger of their being
surrendered to Philip, and they did, in fact, remain in Elizabeth’s
hands till her death.
Elizabeth has been severely censured for selecting Leicester to command
the English army in the Netherlands. It is certain that he was marked
out by public opinion as the fittest person. The Queen’s choice was
heartily approved by all her ministers, especially by Walsingham, who
kept up the most confidential relations with Leicester, and backed him
throughout. Custom prescribed that an English army should be commanded,
not by a professional soldier, but by a great nobleman. Among the
nobility there were a few who had done a little soldiering in a rough
way in Scotland or Ireland, but no one who could be called a
professional general. The momentous step which Elizabeth was taking
would have lost half its significance in the eyes of Europe if any less
conspicuous person than Leicester had been appointed. Moreover, it was
essential that the nobleman selected should be able and willing to spend
largely out of his own resources. By traditional usage, derived from
feudal times, peers who were employed on temporary services not only
received no salary, but were expected to defray their own expenses, and
defray them handsomely. Never did an English nobleman show more public
spirit in this respect than Leicester. He raised every penny he could by
mortgaging his estates. He not only paid his own personal expenses, but
advanced large sums for military purposes, which his mistress never
thought of repaying him. If he effected little as a general, it was
because he was not provided with the means. Serious mistakes he
certainly made, but they were not of a military kind.
Leicester was now fifty-four, bald, white-bearded, and red-faced, but
still imposing in figure, carriage, and dress. To Elizabeth he was dear
as the friend of her youth, one who, she was persuaded, had loved her
for herself when they were both thirty years younger, and was still her
most devoted and trustworthy servant. Burghley she liked and trusted,
and all the more since he had become a more docile instrument of her
policy. Walsingham, a keener intellect and more independent character,
she could not but value, though impatient under his penetrating
suspicion and almost constant disapproval. Leicester was the intimate
friend, the frequent companion of her leisure hours. None of her younger
favourites had supplanted him in her regard. By long intimacy he knew
the _molles aditus et tempora_ when things might be said without offence
which were not acceptable at the council-board. The other ministers were
glad to use him for this purpose. There can be no question that his
appointment to the command in the Netherlands was meant as the most
decisive indication that could be given of Elizabeth’s determination to
face open war with Philip rather than allow him to establish absolute
government in that country.
Since the deaths of Alençon and William of Orange, the United Provinces
had been without a ruler. The government had been provisionally carried
on by the “States,” or deputies from each province. Leicester had come
with no other title than that of Lieutenant-General of the Queen’s
troops. But what the States wanted was not so much a military leader as
a sovereign ruler. They therefore urged Leicester to accept the powers
and title of Governor-General, the office which had been held by the
representatives of Philip. From this it would follow, both logically and
practically, that Elizabeth herself stood in the place of Philip--in
other words, that she was committed to the sovereignty which she had so
peremptorily refused.
The offer was accepted by Leicester almost immediately after his arrival
(Jan. 14/24, 1586). There can be little doubt that it was a preconcerted
plan between the States and Elizabeth’s ministers, who had all along
supported the Dutch proposals. Leicester, we know, had contemplated it
before leaving England. Davison, who was in Holland, hurried it on, and
undertook to carry the news to Elizabeth. Burghley and Walsingham
maintained that the step had been absolutely necessary, and implored her
not to undo it. Elizabeth herself had suspected that something of the
sort would be attempted, and had strictly enjoined Leicester at his
departure to accept no such title. It was not that she wished his
powers--that is to say, her own powers--to be circumscribed. On the
contrary, she desired that they should in practice be as large and
absolute as possible. What she objected to was the title, with all the
consequences it involved. And what enraged her most of all was the
attempt of her servants to push the thing through behind her back, on
the calculation that she would be obliged to accept the accomplished
fact. Her wrath vented itself on all concerned, on her ministers, on the
States, and on Leicester. To the latter she addressed a characteristic
letter:--
“_To my Lord of Leicester from the Queen by Sir Thomas Heneage._
“How contemptuously we conceive ourself to have been used by you,
you shall by this bearer understand, whom we have expressly sent
unto you to charge you withal. We could never have imagined, had we
not seen it fall out in experience, that a man raised up by ourself
and extraordinarily favoured by us above any other subject of this
land, would have in so contemptible [contemptuous] a sort, broken
our commandment, in a cause that so greatly toucheth us in honour;
whereof although you have showed yourself to make but little
account, in most undutiful a sort, you may not therefore think that
we have so little care of the reparation thereof as we mind to pass
so great a wrong in silence unredressed. And therefore our express
pleasure and command is that, all delays and excuses laid apart,
you do presently, on the duty of your allegiance, obey and fulfil
whatsoever the bearer hereof shall direct you to do in our name.
Whereof fail not, as you will answer the contrary at your uttermost
peril.”
Nor were these cutting reproaches reserved for his private perusal. She
severely rebuked the States for encouraging “a creature of her own” to
disobey her injunctions, and, as a reparation from them and from him,
she required that he should make a public resignation of the government
in the place where he had accepted it.
It is not to be wondered at that Elizabeth should think the vindication
of her outraged authority to be the most pressing requirement of the
moment. But the result was unfortunate for the object of the expedition.
The States had conferred “absolute” authority upon Leicester, and would
have thought it a cheap price to pay if, by their adroit manœuvre,
they had succeeded in forcing the Queen’s hand. But they did not care to
entrust absolute powers to a mere general of an English contingent.
After long discussion, Elizabeth was at length persuaded that the least
of evils was to allow him to retain the title which the States had
conferred on him (June 1586). But in the meantime they had repented of
their haste in letting power go out of their own hands. Their efforts
were thenceforth directed to explain away the term “absolute.” The long
displeasure of the Queen had destroyed the principal value of Leicester
in their eyes. He himself had soon incurred their dislike. Impetuous and
domineering, he could not endure opposition. Every man who did not fall
in with his plans was a malicious enemy, a traitor, a tool of Parma, who
ought to be hanged. He still enjoyed the favour of the democratic and
bigoted Calvinist party, especially in Utrecht, and he tried to play
them off against the States, thereby promoting the rise of the factions
which long afterwards distracted the United Provinces. The displeasure
of the Queen had taken the shape of not sending him money, and his
troops were in great distress and unable to move. Moreover, rumours of
the secret peace negotiations were craftily spread by Parma, who,
knowing well that they would come to nothing, turned them to the best
account by leading the States to suspect that they were being betrayed
to Spain.
Elizabeth had sent her army abroad more as a warning to Philip than with
a view to active operations. It was no part of her plan to recover any
of the territory already conquered by Parma, even if it had lain in her
power. She knew that the majority of its inhabitants were Catholics and
royalists. She knew also that Parma’s attenuated army was considerably
outnumbered by the Anglo-Dutch forces, and that he was in dire distress
for food and money. The recovered provinces were completely ruined by
the war. Their commerce was swept from the sea. The mouths of their
great rivers were blockaded. The Protestants of Flanders and Brabant had
largely migrated to the unsubdued provinces, whose prosperity,
notwithstanding the burdens of war, was advancing by leaps and bounds.
Their population was about two millions. That of England itself was
little more than four. Religion was no longer the only or the chief
motive of their resistance. For even the Catholics among them, who were
still very numerous--some said a majority--keenly relished the material
prosperity which had grown with independence. Encouraged by English
protection, the States were in no humour to listen to compromise. But a
compromise was what Elizabeth desired. She was therefore not unwilling
that her forces should be confined to an attitude of observation, till
it should appear whether her open intervention would extract from
Philip such concessions as she deemed reasonable.
Leicester was eager to get to work, and he was warmly supported by
Walsingham. Burghley’s conduct was less straightforward. He had long
found it advisable to cultivate amicable relations with the favourite.
He had probably concurred in the plan for making him Governor-General.
Even now he was professing to take his part. In reality he was not sorry
to see him under a cloud; and though he sympathised as much as ever with
the Dutch, he cared more for crippling his rival. Hence his activity in
those obscure peace negotiations which he so carefully concealed from
Leicester and Walsingham. To keep Walsingham long in the dark, on that
or any other subject, was indeed impossible. It was found necessary at
last to let him be present at an interview with the agents employed by
Burghley and Parma, which brought their back-stairs diplomacy to an
abrupt conclusion. “They that have been the employers of them,” he wrote
to Leicester, “are ashamed of the matter.” The negotiations went on
through other channels, but never made any serious progress.
To compel Philip to listen to a compromise, without at the same time
emboldening the Dutch to turn a deaf ear to it--such was the problem
which Elizabeth had set herself. She therefore preferred to apply
pressure in other quarters. Towards the end of 1585, Drake appeared on
the coast of Spain itself, and plundered Vigo. Then crossing the
Atlantic, he sacked and burned St. Domingo and Carthagena. Again in
1587, he forced his way into Cadiz harbour, burnt all the shipping and
the stores collected for the Armada, and for two months plundered and
destroyed every vessel he met off the coast of Portugal.
Philip had so long and so tamely submitted to the many injuries and
indignities which Elizabeth heaped upon him, that it is not wonderful if
she had come to think that he would never pluck up courage to retaliate.
This time she was wrong. The conquest of England had always had its
place in his overloaded programme. But it was to be in that hazy
ever-receding future, when he should have put down the Dutch rebellion
and neutralised France. Elizabeth’s open intervention in the Netherlands
at length induced him to change his plan. England, he now decided, must
be first dealt with.
In the meantime, Parma’s operations in the Netherlands were starved
quite as much as Leicester’s. Plundering excursions, two or three petty
combats not deserving the name of battles, half-a-dozen small towns
captured on one side or the other--such is the military record from the
date of Elizabeth’s intervention to the arrival of the Armada. Parma had
somewhat the best of this work, such as it was. But the war in the
Netherlands was practically stagnant.
At the end of the first year of Leicester’s government, events of the
highest importance obliged him to pay a visit to England (Nov. 1586).
The Queen of Scots had been found guilty of conspiring to assassinate
Elizabeth, and Parliament had been summoned to decide upon her fate.