friends. Granvelle sent Philibert de Bruxelles to Valenciennes to
procure their immediate condemnation and execution. He rebuked the
judges and inquisitors, he sent express orders to Marquis Berghen to
repair at once to the scene of his duties. The prisoners were condemned
in the autumn of 1561. The magistrates were, however, afraid to carry
the sentence into effect. Granvelle did not cease to censure them for
their pusillanimity, and wrote almost daily letters, accusing the
magistrates of being themselves the cause of the tumults by which they
were appalled. The popular commotion was, however, not lightly to be
braved. Six or seven months long the culprits remained in confinement,
while daily and nightly the people crowded the streets, hurling threats
and defiance at the authorities, or pressed about the prison windows,
encouraging their beloved ministers, and promising to rescue them in case
the attempt should be made to fulfil the sentence. At last Granvelle
sent down a peremptory order to execute the culprits by fire. On the
27th of April, 1562, Faveau and Mallart were accordingly taken from their
jail and carried to the market-place, where arrangements had been made
for burning them. Simon Faveau, as the executioner was binding him to
the stake, uttered the invocation, "O! Eternal Father!" A woman in the
crowd, at the same instant, took off her shoe and threw it at the funeral
pile. This was a preconcerted signal. A movement was at once visible in
the crowd. Men in great numbers dashed upon the barriers which had been
erected in the square around the place of execution. Some seized the
fagots, which had been already lighted, and scattered them in every
direction; some tore up the pavements; others broke in pieces the
barriers. The executioners were prevented from carrying out the
sentence, but the guard were enabled, with great celerity and
determination, to bring off the culprits and to place them in their
dungeon again. The authorities were in doubt and dismay. The
inquisitors were for putting the ministers to death in prison, and
hurling their heads upon the street. Evening approached while the
officials were still pondering. The people who had been chanting the
Psalms of David through the town, without having decided what should be
their course of action, at last determined to rescue the victims. A vast
throng, after much hesitation, accordingly directed their steps to the
prison. "You should have seen this vile populace," says an eye-witness,
"moving, pausing, recoiling, sweeping forward, swaying to and fro like
the waves of the sea when it is agitated by contending winds." The
attack was vigorous, the defence was weak--for the authorities had
expected no such fierce demonstration, notwithstanding the menacing
language which had been so often uttered. The prisoners were rescued,
and succeeded in making their escape from the city. The day in which the
execution had been thus prevented was called, thenceforward, the "day of
the ill-burned," (Journee des mau-brulez). One of the ministers,
however, Simon Faveau, not discouraged by this near approach to
martyrdom, persisted in his heretical labors, and was a few years
afterwards again apprehended. "He was then," says the chronicler,
cheerfully, "burned well and finally" in the same place whence he had
formerly been rescued. [Valenciennes MS.]
This desperate resistance to tyranny was for a moment successful,
because, notwithstanding the murmurs and menaces by which the storm had
been preceded, the authorities had not believed the people capable of
proceeding to such lengths. Had not the heretics--in the words of
Inquisitor Titelmann--allowed themselves, year after year, to be taken
and slaughtered like lambs? The consternation of the magistrates was
soon succeeded by anger. The government at Brussels was in a frenzy of
rage when informed of the occurrence. A bloody vengeance was instantly
prepared, to vindicate the insult to the inquisition. On the 29th of
April, detachments of Bossu's and of Berghen's "band of ordonnance" were
sent into Valenciennes, together with a company of the Duke of Aerschot's
regiment. The prisons were instantly filled to overflowing with men and
women arrested for actual or suspected participation in the tumult.
Orders had been sent down from the capital to make a short process and a
sharp execution for all the criminals. On the 16th of May, the slaughter
commenced. Some were burned at the stake, some were beheaded: the number
of victims was frightful. "Nothing was left undone by the magistrates,"
says an eyewitness, with great approbation, "which could serve for the
correction and amendment of the poor people." It was long before the
judges and hangmen rested from their labors. When at last the havoc was
complete, it might be supposed that a sufficient vengeance had been taken
for the "day of the ill-burned," and an adequate amount of "amendment"
provided for the "poor people."
Such scenes as these did not tend to increase the loyalty of the nation,
nor the popularity of the government. On Granvelle's head was poured a
daily increasing torrent of hatred. He was looked upon in the provinces
as the impersonation of that religious oppression which became every
moment more intolerable. The King and the Regent escaped much of the
odium which belonged to them, because the people chose to bestow all
their maledictions upon the Cardinal. There was, however, no great
injustice in this embodiment. Granvelle was the government. As the
people of that day were extremely reverent to royalty, they vented all
their rage upon the minister, while maintaining still a conventional
respect for the sovereign. The prelate had already become the constant
butt of the "Rhetoric Chambers." These popular clubs for the manufacture
of homespun poetry and street farces out of the raw material of public
sentiment, occupied the place which has been more effectively filled in
succeeding ages, and in free countries by the daily press. Before the
invention of that most tremendous weapon, which liberty has ever wielded
against tyranny, these humble but influential associations shared with
the pulpit the only power which existed of moving the passions or
directing the opinions of the people. They were eminently liberal in
their tendencies. The authors and the actors of their comedies, poems,
and pasquils were mostly artisans or tradesmen, belonging to the class
out of which proceeded the early victims, and the later soldiers of the
Reformation. Their bold farces and truculent satire had already effected
much in spreading among the people a detestation of Church abuses. They
were particularly severe upon monastic licentiousness. "These corrupt
comedians, called rhetoricians," says the Walloon contemporary already
cited, "afforded much amusement to the people." Always some poor little
nuns or honest monks were made a part of the farce. It seemed as if the
people could take no pleasure except in ridiculing God and the Church.
The people, however, persisted in the opinion that the ideas of a monk
and of God were not inseparable. Certainly the piety of the early
reformers was sufficiently fervent, and had been proved by the steadiness
with which they confronted torture and death, but they knew no measure
in the ridicule which they heaped upon the men by whom they were daily
murdered in droves. The rhetoric comedies were not admirable in an
aesthetic point of view, but they were wrathful and sincere. Therefore
they cost many thousand lives, but they sowed the seed of resistance to
religious tyranny, to spring up one day in a hundredfold harvest. It was
natural that the authorities should have long sought to suppress these
perambulating dramas. "There was at that tyme," wrote honest Richard
Clough to Sir Thomas Gresham, "syche playes (of Reteryke) played thet
hath cost many a 1000 man's lyves, for in these plays was the Word of God
first opened in thys country. Weche playes were and are forbidden moche
more strictly than any of the bookes of Martin Luther."
These rhetoricians were now particularly inflamed against Granvelle.
They were personally excited against him, because he had procured the
suppression of their religious dramas. "These rhetoricians who make
farces and street plays," wrote the Cardinal to Philip, "are particularly
angry with me, because two years ago I prevented them from ridiculing the
holy Scriptures." Nevertheless, these institutions continued to pursue
their opposition to the course of the government. Their uncouth gambols,
their awkward but stunning blows rendered daily service to the cause of
religious freedom. Upon the newly-appointed bishops they poured out an
endless succession of rhymes and rebuses, epigrams, caricatures and
extravaganzas. Poems were pasted upon the walls of every house, and
passed from hand to hand. Farces were enacted in every street; the
odious ecclesiastics figuring as the principal buffoons. These
representations gave so much offence, that renewed edicts were issued to
suppress them. The prohibition was resisted, and even ridiculed in many
provinces, particularly in Holland. The tyranny which was able to drown
a nation in blood and tears, was powerless to prevent them from laughing
most bitterly at their oppressors. The tanner, Cleon, was never
belabored more soundly by the wits of Athens, than the prelate by these
Flemish "rhetoricians." With infinitely less Attic salt, but with as
much heartiness as Aristophanes could have done, the popular rhymers
gave the minister ample opportunity to understand the position which he
occupied in the Netherlands. One day a petitioner placed a paper in his
hand and vanished. It contained some scurrilous verses upon himself,
together with a caricature of his person. In this he was represented as
a hen seated upon a pile of eggs, out of which he was hatching a brood of
bishops. Some of these were clipping the shell, some thrusting forth an
arm, some a leg, while others were running about with mitres on their
heads, all bearing whimsical resemblance to various prelates who had been
newly-appointed. Above the Cardinal's head the Devil was represented
hovering, with these words issuing from his mouth: "This is my beloved
Son, listen to him, my people."
There was another lampoon of a similar nature, which was so well
executed, that it especially excited Granvelle's anger. It was a rhymed
satire of a general nature, like the rest, but so delicate and so
stinging, that the Cardinal ascribed it to his old friend and present
enemy, Simon Renard. This man, a Burgundian by birth, and college
associate of Granvelle, had been befriended both by himself and his
father. Aided by their patronage and his own abilities, he had arrived
at distinguished posts; having been Spanish envoy both in France and
England, and one of the negotiators of the truce of Vaucelles. He had
latterly been disappointed in his ambition to become a councillor of
state, and had vowed vengeance upon the Cardinal, to whom he attributed
his ill success. He was certainly guilty of much ingratitude, for he had
been under early obligations to the man in whose side he now became a
perpetual thorn. It must be confessed, on the other hand, that Granvelle
repaid the enmity of his old associate with a malevolence equal to his
own, and if Renard did not lose his head as well as his political
station, it was not for want of sufficient insinuation on the part of the
minister. Especially did Granvelle denounce him to "the master" as the
perverter of Egmont, while he usually described that nobleman himself, as
weak, vain, "a friend of smoke," easily misguided, but in the main well-
intentioned and loyal. At the same time, with all these vague
commendations, he never omitted to supply the suspicious King with an
account of every fact or every rumor to the Count's discredit. In the
case of this particular satire, he informed Philip that he could swear it
came from the pen of Renard, although, for the sake of deception, the
rhetoric comedians had been employed. He described the production as
filled with "false, abominable, and infernal things," and as treating not
only himself, but the Pope and the whole ecclesiastical order with as
much contumely as could be showed in Germany. He then proceeded to
insinuate, in the subtle manner which was peculiarly his own, that Egmont
was a party to the publication of the pasquil. Renard visited at that
house, he said, and was received there on a much more intimate footing
than was becoming. Eight days before the satire was circulated, there
had been a conversation in Egmont's house, of a nature exactly similar to
the substance of the pamphlet. The man, in whose hands it was first
seen, continued Granvelle, was a sword cutler, a godson of the Count.
This person said that he had torn it from the gate of the city hall, but
God grant, prayed the Cardinal, that it was not he who had first posted
it up there. 'Tis said that Egmont and Mansfeld, he added, have sent
many times to the cutler to procure copies of the satire, all which
augments the suspicion against them.
With the nobles he was on no better terms than with the people. The
great seigniors, Orange, Egmont, Horn, and others, openly avowed their
hostility to him, and had already given their reasons to the King.
Mansfeld and his son at that time were both with the opposition.
Aerschot and Aremberg kept aloof from the league which was forming
against the prelate, but had small sympathy for his person. Even
Berlaymont began to listen to overtures from the leading nobles, who,
among other inducements, promised to supply his children with bishoprics.
There were none truly faithful and submissive to the Cardinal but such
men as the Prevot Morillon, who had received much advancement from him.
This distinguished pluralist was popularly called "double A, B, C," to
indicate that he had twice as many benefices as there were letters in the
alphabet. He had, however, no objection to more, and was faithful to the
dispensing power. The same course was pursued by Secretary Bave, Esquire
Bordey, and other expectants and dependents. Viglius, always remarkable
for his pusillanimity, was at this period already anxious to retire. The
erudite and opulent Frisian preferred a less tempestuous career. He was
in favor of the edicts, but he trembled at the uproar which their literal
execution was daily exciting, for he knew the temper of his countrymen.
On the other hand, he was too sagacious not to know the inevitable
consequence of opposition to the will of Philip. He was therefore most
eager to escape the dilemma. He was a scholar, and could find more
agreeable employment among his books. He had accumulated vast wealth,
and was desirous to retain it as long as possible. He had a learned head
and was anxious to keep it upon his shoulders. These simple objects
could be better attained in a life of privacy. The post of president of
the privy council and member of the "Consulta" was a dangerous one. He
knew that the King was sincere in his purposes. He foresaw that the
people would one day be terribly in earnest. Of ancient Frisian blood
himself, he knew that the, spirit of the ancient Batavians and Frisians
had not wholly deserted their descendants. He knew that they were not
easily roused, that they were patient, but that they would strike at last
and would endure. He urgently solicited the King to release him, and
pleaded his infirmities of body in excuse. Philip, however, would not
listen to his retirement, and made use of the most convincing arguments
to induce him to remain. Four hundred and fifty annual florins, secured
by good reclaimed swamps in Friesland, two thousand more in hand, with a
promise of still larger emoluments when the King should come to the
Netherlands, were reasons which the learned doctor honestly confessed
himself unable to resist. Fortified by these arguments, he remained at
his post, continued the avowed friend and adherent of Granvelle, and
sustained with magnanimity the invectives of nobles and people. To do
him justice, he did what he could to conciliate antagonists and to
compromise principles. If it had ever been possible to find the exact
path between right and wrong, the President would have found it, and
walked in it with respectability and complacency.
In the council, however, the Cardinal continued to carry it with a high
hand; turning his back on Orange and Egmont, and retiring with the
Duchess and President to consult, after every session. Proud and
important personages, like the Prince and Count, could ill brook such
insolence; moreover, they suspected the Cardinal of prejudicing the mind
of their sovereign against them. A report was very current, and obtained
almost universal belief, that Granvelle had expressly advised his Majesty
to take off the heads of at least half a dozen of the principal nobles in
the land. This was an error; "These two seigniors," wrote the Cardinal
to Philip, "have been informed that I have written to your Majesty, that
you will never be master of these provinces without taking off at least
half a dozen heads, and that because it would be difficult, on account of
the probable tumults which such a course would occasion, to do it here,
your Majesty means to call them to Spain and do it there. Your Majesty
can judge whether such a thing has ever entered my thoughts. I have
laughed at it as a ridiculous invention. This gross forgery is one of
Renard's." The Cardinal further stated to his Majesty that he had been
informed by these same nobles that the Duke of Alva, when a hostage for
the treaty of Cateau Cambresis, had negotiated an alliance between the
crowns of France and Spain for the extirpation of heresy by the sword.
He added, that he intended to deal with the nobles with all gentleness,
and that he should do his best to please them. The only thing which he
could not yield was the authority of his Majesty; to sustain that, he
would sacrifice his life, if necessary. At the same time Granvelle
carefully impressed upon the King the necessity of contradicting the
report alluded to, a request which he took care should also be made
through the Regent in person. He had already, both in his own person and
in that of the Duchess, begged for a formal denial, on the King's part,
that there was any intention of introducing the Spanish inquisition into
the Netherlands, and that the Cardinal had counselled, originally, the
bishoprics. Thus instructed, the King accordingly wrote to Margaret of
Parma to furnish the required contradictions. In so doing, he made a
pithy remark. "The Cardinal had not counselled the cutting off the half
a dozen heads," said the monarch, "but perhaps it would not be so bad to
do it!" Time was to show whether Philip was likely to profit by the hint
conveyed in the Cardinal's disclaimer, and whether the factor "half
dozen" were to be used or not as a simple multiplier in the terrible
account preparing.
The contradictions, however sincere, were not believed by the persons
most interested. Nearly all the nobles continued to regard the Cardinal
with suspicion and aversion. Many of the ruder and more reckless class
vied with the rhetoricians and popular caricaturists in the practical
jests which they played off almost daily against the common foe.
Especially Count Brederode, "a madman, if there ever were one," as a
contemporary expressed himself, was most untiring in his efforts to make
Granvelle ridiculous. He went almost nightly to masquerades, dressed as
a cardinal or a monk; and as he was rarely known to be sober on these or
any other occasions, the wildness of his demonstrations may easily be
imagined. He was seconded on all these occasions by his cousin Robert de
la Marck, Seigneur de Lumey, a worthy descendant of the famous "Wild Boar
of Ardennes;" a man brave to temerity, but utterly depraved, licentious,
and sanguinary. These two men, both to be widely notorious, from their
prominence in many of the most striking scenes by which the great revolt
was ushered in, had vowed the most determined animosity to the Cardinal,
which was manifested in the reckless, buffooning way which belonged to
their characters. Besides the ecclesiastical costumes in which they
always attired themselves at their frequent festivities, they also wore
fog-tails in their hats instead of plumes. They decked their servants
also with the same ornaments; openly stating, that by these symbols they
meant to signify that the old fox Granvelle, and his cubs, Viglius,
Berlaymont, and the rest, should soon be hunted down by them, and the
brush placed in their hats as a trophy.
Moreover, there is no doubt that frequent threats of personal violence
were made against the Cardinal. Granvelle informed the King that his
life was continually menaced by, the nobles, but that he feared them
little, "for he believed them too prudent to attempt any thing of the
kind." There is no doubt, when his position with regard to the upper
and lower classes in the country is considered, that there was enough
to alarm a timid man; but Granvelle was constitutionally brave. He was
accused of wearing a secret shirt of mail, of living in perpetual
trepidation, of having gone on his knees to Egmont and Orange, of having
sent Richardot, Bishop of Arras, to intercede for him in the same
humiliating manner with Egmont. All these stories were fables. Bold as
he was arrogant, he affected at this time to look down with a forgiving
contempt on the animosity of the nobles. He passed much of his time
alone, writing his eternal dispatches to the King. He had a country-
house, called La Fontaine, surrounded by beautiful gardens, a little way
outside the gates of Brussels, where he generally resided, and whence,
notwithstanding the remonstrances of his friends, he often returned to
town, after sunset, alone, or with but a few attendants. He avowed that
he feared no attempts at assassination, for, if the seigniors took his
life, they would destroy the best friend they ever had. This villa,
where most of his plans were matured and his state papers drawn up,
was called by the people, in derision of his supposed ancestry,
"The Smithy." Here, as they believed, was the anvil upon which the
chains of their slavery were forging; here, mostly deserted by those who
had been his earlier, associates, he assumed a philosophical demeanor
which exasperated, without deceiving his adversaries. Over the great
gate of his house he had placed the marble statue of a female. It held
an empty wine-cup in one hand, and an urn of flowing water in the other.
The single word "Durate" was engraved upon the pedestal. By the motto,
which was his habitual device, he was supposed, in this application,
to signify that his power would outlast that of the nobles, and that
perennial and pure as living water, it would flow tranquilly on, long
after the wine of their life had been drunk to the lees. The fiery
extravagance of his adversaries, and the calm and limpid moderation of
his own character, thus symbolized, were supposed to convey a moral
lesson to the world. The hieroglyphics, thus interpreted, were not
relished by the nobles--all avoided his society, and declined his
invitations. He consoled himself with the company of the lesser gentry,
--a class which he now began to patronize, and which he urgently
recommended to the favor of the King,--hinting that military and civil
offices bestowed upon their inferiors would be a means of lowering the
pride of the grandees. He also affected to surround himself with even
humbler individuals. "It makes me laugh," he wrote to Philip, "to see
the great seigniors absenting themselves from my dinners; nevertheless,
I can always get plenty of guests at my table, gentlemen and councillors.
I sometimes invite even citizens, in order to gain their good will."
The Regent was well aware of the anger excited in the breasts of the
leading nobles by the cool manner in which they had been thrust out of
their share in the administration of affairs. She defended herself with
acrimony in her letters to the King, although a defence was hardly needed
in that quarter for implicit obedience to the royal commands. She
confessed her unwillingness to consult with her enemies.
She avowed her determination to conceal the secrets of the government
from those who were capable of abusing her confidence. She represented
that there were members of the council who would willingly take advantage
of the trepidation which she really felt, and which she should exhibit if
she expressed herself without reserve before them. For this reason she
confined herself, as Philip had always intended, exclusively to the
Consulta. It was not difficult to recognize the hand which wrote the
letter thus signed by Margaret of Parma.