the Prince of Orange could be detached from his party--if by bribery,
however enormous, he could be induced--to abandon a tottering cause, and
depart for the land of his birth--he was distinctly but indirectly given
to understand that he had but to name his terms. We have seen the issue
of similar propositions made by Don John of Austria. Probably there was
no man living who would care to make distinct application of this
dishonorable nature to the Father of his country. The Aerschots, the
Meluns, the Lalains, and a swarm of other nobles, had their price, and
were easily transferable from one to another, but it was not easy to make
a direct offer to William of Orange. They knew--as he said shortly
afterwards in his famous Apology--that "neither for property nor for
life, neither for wife nor for children, would he mix in his cup a single
drop of treason." Nevertheless, he was distinctly given to understand
that "there was nothing he could demand for himself personally that would
not be granted." All his confiscated property, restoration of his
imprisoned son, liberty of worship for himself, payment of all his debts,
reimbursement of all his past expenses, and anything else which he could
desire, were all placed within his reach. If he chose to retire into
another land, his son might be placed in possession of all his cities,
estates, and dignities, and himself indemnified in Germany; with a
million of money over and above as a gratuity. The imperial envoy, Count
Schwartzenburg, pledged his personal honor and reputation that every
promise which might be made to the Prince should be most sacredly
fulfilled.
It was all in vain. The indirect applications of the imperial
commissioners made to his servants and his nearest relations were
entirely unsuccessful. The Prince was not to be drawn into a negotiation
in his own name or for his own benefit. If the estates were satisfied,
he was satisfied. He wanted no conditions but theirs; "nor would he
directly, or indirectly," he said, "separate himself from the cause on
which hung all his evil or felicity." He knew that it was the object of
the enemy to deprive the country of its head, and no inducements were
sufficient to make him a party to the plot. At the same time, he was
unwilling to be an obstacle, in his own person, to the conclusion of an
honorable peace. He would resign his offices which he held at the
solicitation of the whole country, if thus a negotiation were likely to
be more successful. "The Prince of Parma and the disunited provinces,"
said he to the states-general, "affect to consider this war as one waged
against me and in my name--as if the question alone concerned the name
and person of the general. If it be so, I beg you to consider whether it
is not because I have been ever faithful to the land. Nevertheless, if I
am an obstacle, I am ready to remove it. If you, therefore, in order to
deprive the enemy of every right to inculpate us, think proper to choose
another head and conductor of your affairs, I promise you to serve and to
be obedient to him with all my heart. Thus shall we leave the enemy no
standing-place to work dissensions among us." Such was his language to
friend and foe, and here, at least, was one man in history whom kings
were not rich enough to purchase.
On the 18th of May, the states' envoys at Cologne presented fourteen
articles, demanding freedom of religion and the ancient political
charters. Religion, they said, was to be referred; not to man, but to
God. To him the King was subject as well as the people. Both King and
people--"and by people was meant every individual in the land"--were
bound to serve God according to their conscience.
The imperial envoys found such language extremely reprehensible, and
promptly refused, as umpires, to entertain the fourteen articles. Others
drawn up by Terranova and colleagues, embodying the claims of the royal
and Roman party, were then solemnly presented, and as promptly rejected.
Then the imperial umpires came forward with two bundles of
proposisitions--approved beforehand by the Spanish plenipotentiaries.
In the political bundle; obedience due to the King was insisted upon,
"as in the time of the Emperor Charles." The religious category declared
that "the Roman religion--all others excluded--should thenceforth be
exercised in all the provinces." Both these categories were considered
more objectionable by the states' envoys than the terms of Terranova, and
astonishment was expressed that "mention should again be made of the
edicts--as if blood enough had not been shed already in the cause of
religion."
The Netherland envoys likewise gave the imperial commissioners distinctly
to understand that--in case peace were not soon made--"the states would
forthwith declare the King fallen from his sovereignty;" would for ever
dispense the people from their oaths of allegiance to him, and would
probably accept the Duke of Anjou in his place. The states-general, to
which body the imperial propositions had been sent, also rejected the
articles in a logical and historical argument of unmerciful length.
An appeal secretly made by the imperial and Spanish commissioners, from
the states' envoys to the states themselves, and even to the people of
the various provinces, had excited the anger of the plenipotentiaries.
They complained loudly of this violation of all diplomatic etiquette, and
the answer of the states-general, fully confirming the views of their
ambassadors, did not diminish their wrath.
On the 13th of November, 1579, the states' envoys were invited into the
council chamber of the imperial commissioners, to hear the last solemn
commonplaces of those departing, functionaries. Seven months long they
had been waiting in vain, they said, for the states' envoys to accede to
moderate demands. Patience was now exhausted. Moreover, their mediatory
views had been the subject of bitter lampooning throughout the country,
while the authorities of many cities had publicly declared that all the
inhabitants would rather, die the death than accept such terms. The
peace-makers, accordingly, with endless protestations as to, their own
purity, wisdom, and benevolence, left the whole "in the hands of God and
the parties concerned."
The reply to this elaborate farewell was curt and somewhat crusty. "Had
they known," said the states' envoys, "that their transparencies and
worthinesses had no better intention, and the Duke of Terranova no ampler
commission, the whole matter might have been despatched, not in six
months, but in six days."
Thus ended the conferences, and the imperial commissioners departed.
Nevertheless, Schwartzenburg remained yet a little time at Cologne, while
five of the states' envoys also protracted their stay, in order to make
their private peace with the King. It is hardly necessary to observe
that the chief of these penitents was the Duke of Aerschot. The
ultimatum of the states was deposited by the departing envoys with
Schwartzenburg, and a comparison of its terms with those offered by the
imperial mediators, as the best which could be obtained from Spain, shows
the hopelessness of the pretended negotiation. Departure of the foreign
troops, restitution of all confiscated property, unequivocal recognition
of the Ghent treaty and the perpetual edict, appointment to office of
none but natives, oaths of allegiance to the King and the states-general,
exercise of the Reformed religion and of the Confession of Augsburg in
all places where it was then publicly practised: such were the main
demands of the patriot party.
In the secret instructions furnished by the states to their envoys, they
were told to urge upon his Majesty the absolute necessity, if he wished
to retain the provinces, of winking at the exercise of the Reformed and
the Augsburg creeds. "The new religion had taken too deep root," it was
urged, "ever to be torn forth, save with the destruction of the whole
country."
Thus, after seven dreary months of negotiation, after protocols and
memoranda in ten thousand folia, the august diplomatists had travelled
round to the points from which they had severally started. On the one
side, unlimited prerogative and exclusive Catholicism; on the other,
constitutional liberty, with freedom of conscience for Catholic and
Protestant alike: these were the claims which each party announced at the
commencement, and to which they held with equal firmness at the close of
the conferences.
The congress had been expensive. Though not much had been accomplished
for the political or religious advancement of mankind, there had been
much excellent eating and drinking at Cologne during the seven months.
Those drouthy deliberations had needed moistening. The Bishop of
Wurtzburg had consumed "eighty hogsheads of Rhenish wine and twenty great
casks of beer." The expense of the states' envoys were twenty-four
thousand guldens. The Archbishop of Cologne had expended forty thousand
thalers. The deliberations were, on the whole, excessively detrimental
to the cause of the provinces, "and a great personage" wrote to the
states-general, that the King had been influenced by no motive save to
cause dissension. This was an exaggeration, for his Majesty would have
been well pleased to receive the whole of the country on the same terms
which had been accepted by the Walloons. Meantime, those southern
provinces had made their separate treaty, and the Netherlands were
permanently dissevered. Maestricht had fallen. Disunion and dismay had
taken possession of the country.
During the course of the year other severe misfortunes had happened to
the states. Treachery, even among the men who had done good service to
the cause of freedom, was daily showing her hateful visage. Not only
the great chieftains who had led the Malcontent Walloon party, with the
fickle Aerschot and the wavering Havre besides, had made their separate
reconciliation with Parma, but the epidemic treason had mastered such
bold partisans as the Seigneur de Bours, the man whose services in
rescuing the citadel of Antwerp had been so courageous and valuable. He
was governor of Mechlin; Count Renneberg was governor of Friesland. Both
were trusted implicitly by Orange and by the estates; both were on the
eve of repaying the confidence reposed in them by the most venal treason.
It was already known that Parma had tampered with De Bours; but Renneberg
was still unsuspected. "The Prince," wrote Count John, "is deserted by
all the noblemen; save the stadholder of Friesland and myself, and has no
man else in whom he can repose confidence." The brothers were doomed to
be rudely awakened from the repose with regard to Renneberg, but
previously the treason of a less important functionary was to cause a
considerable but less lasting injury to the national party.
In Mechlin was a Carmelite friar, of audacious character and great
eloquence; a man who, "with his sweet, poisonous tongue, could ever
persuade the people to do his bidding." This dangerous monk, Peter
Lupus, or Peter Wolf, by name, had formed the design of restoring
Mechlin to the Prince of Parma, and of obtaining the bishopric of Namur
as the reward of his services. To this end he had obtained a complete
mastery over the intellect of the bold but unprincipled De Bours.
A correspondence was immediately opened between Parma and the governor,
and troops were secretly admitted into the city. The Prince of Orange,
in the name of the Archduke and the estates, in vain endeavoured to recal
the infatuated governor to his duty. In vain he conjured him, by letter
after letter, to be true to his own bright fame so nobly earned. An old
friend of De Bours, and like himself a Catholic, was also employed to
remonstrate with him. This gentleman, De Fromont by name, wrote him many
letters; but De Bours expressed his surprise that Fromont, whom he had
always considered a good Catholic and a virtuous gentleman, should wish
to force him into a connection with the Prince of Orange and his heretic
supporters. He protested that his mind was quite made up, and that he
had been guaranteed by Parma not only the post which he now held, but
even still farther advancement.
De Fromont reminded him, in reply, of the frequent revolutions of
fortune's wheel, and warned him that the advancement of which he boasted
would probably be an entire degradation. He bitterly recalled to the
remembrance of the new zealot for Romanism his former earnest efforts to
establish Calvinism. He reproached him, too, with having melted up the
silver images of the Mechlin churches, including even the renowned shrine
of Saint Rombout, which the Prince of Orange had always respected.
"I don't say how much you took of that plunder for your own share,"
continued the indignant De Fromont, "for the very children cry it in your
ears as you walk the streets. 'Tis known that if God himself had been
changed into gold you would have put him in your pocket."
This was plain language, but as just as it was plain. The famous shrine
of Saint Rombout--valued at seventy thousand guldens, of silver gilt, and
enriched with precious stones--had been held sacred alike by the
fanatical iconoclasts and the greedy Spaniards who had successively held
the city. It had now been melted up, and appropriated by Peter Lupin;
the Carmelite, and De Bours, the Catholic convert, whose mouths were full
of devotion to the ancient Church and of horror for heresy.
The efforts of Orange and of the states were unavailing. De Bours
surrendered the city, and fled to Parma, who received him with
cordiality, gave him five thousand florins--the price promised for his
treason, besides a regiment of infantry--but expressed surprise that he
should have reached the camp alive. His subsequent career was short, and
he met his death two years afterwards, in the trenches before Tournay.
The archiepiscopal city was thus transferred to the royal party, but the
gallant Van der Tympel, governor of Brussels, retook it by surprise
within six months of its acquisition by Parma, and once more restored it
to the jurisdiction of the states. Peter Lupus, the Carmelite, armed to
the teeth, and fighting fiercely at the head of the royalists, was slain
in the street, and thus forfeited his chance for the mitre of Namur.
During the weary progress of the Cologne negotiations, the Prince
had not been idle, and should this august and slow-moving congress be
unsuccessful in restoring peace, the provinces were pledged to an act of
abjuration. They would then be entirely without a head. The idea of a
nominal Republic was broached by none. The contest had not been one of
theory, but of facts; for the war had not been for revolution, but for
conservation, so far as political rights were concerned. In religion,
the provinces had advanced from one step to another, till they now
claimed the largest liberty--freedom of conscience--for all. Religion,
they held, was God's affair, not man's, in which neither people nor king
had power over each other, but in which both were subject to God alone.
In politics it was different. Hereditary sovereignty was acknowledged as
a fact, but at the same time, the spirit of freedom was already learning
its appropriate language. It already claimed boldly the natural right of
mankind to be governed according to the laws of reason and of divine
justice. If a prince were a shepherd, it was at least lawful to deprive
him of his crook when he butchered the flock which he had been appointed
to protect.
"What reason is there," said the states-general, "why the provinces
should suffer themselves to be continually oppressed by their sovereign,
with robbings, burnings, stranglings, and murderings? Why, being thus
oppressed, should they still give their sovereign--exactly as if he were
well conducting himself--the honor and title of lord of the land?" On
the other hand, if hereditary rule were an established fact, so also were
ancient charters. To maintain, not to overthrow, the political compact,
was the purpose of the states. "Je maintiendrai" was the motto of
Orange's escutcheon. That a compact existed between prince and people,
and that the sovereign held office only on condition of doing his duty,
were startling truths which men were beginning, not to whisper to each
other in secret, but to proclaim in the market-place. "'Tis well known
to all," said the famous Declaration of Independence, two years
afterwards, "that if a prince is appointed by God over the land, 'tis to
protect them from harm, even as a shepherd to the guardianship of his
flock. The subjects are not appointed by God for the behoof of the
prince, but the prince for his subjects, without whom he is no prince.
Should he violate the laws, he is to be forsaken by his meanest subject,
and to be recognized no longer as prince."
William of Orange always recognized these truths, but his scheme of
government contemplated a permanent chief, and as it was becoming obvious
that the Spanish sovereign would soon be abjured, it was necessary to fix
upon a substitute. "As to governing these provinces in the form of a
republic," said he, speaking for the states-general, "those who know the
condition, privileges, and ordinances of the country, can easily
understand that 'tis hardly possible to dispense with a head or
superintendent." At the same time, he plainly intimated that this "head
or superintendent" was to be, not a monarch--a one-ruler--but merely the
hereditary chief magistrate of a free commonwealth.
Where was this hereditary chief magistrate to be found? His own claims
he absolutely withdrew. The office was within his grasp, and he might
easily have constituted himself sovereign of all the Netherlands.
Perhaps it would have been better at that time had he advanced his claims
and accepted the sovereignty which Philip had forfeited. As he did not
believe in the possibility of a republic, he might honestly have taken
into his own hands the sceptre which he considered indispensable. His
self-abnegation was, however, absolute. Not only did he decline
sovereignty, but he repeatedly avowed his readiness to, lay down all the
offices which he held, if a more useful substitute could be found. "Let
no man think," said he, in a remarkable speech to the states-general,"
that my good-will is in any degree changed or diminished. I agree to
obey--as the least of the lords or gentlemen of the land could do--
whatever person it may, please you to select. You have but to command
my services wheresoever they are most wanted; to guard a province or a
single city, or in any capacity in which I may be found most useful.
I promise to do my duty, with all my strength and skill, as God and my
conscience are witnesses that I have done it hitherto."
The negotiations pointed to a speedy abjuration of Philip; the Republic
was contemplated by none; the Prince of Orange absolutely refused to
stretch forth his own hand; who then was to receive the sceptre which was
so soon to be bestowed? A German Prince--had been tried--in a somewhat
abnormal position--but had certainly manifested small capacity for aiding
the provinces. Nothing could well be more insignificant than the figure
of Matthias; and, moreover, his imperial brother was anything but
favorably disposed. It was necessary to manage Rudolph. To treat the
Archduke with indignity, now that he had been partly established in the
Netherlands, would be to incur the Emperor's enmity. His friendship,
however, could hardly be secured by any advancement bestowed upon his
brother; for Rudolph's services against prerogative and the Pope were in
no case to be expected. Nor was there much hope from the Protestant
princes of Germany. The day had passed for generous sympathy with those
engaged in the great struggle which Martin Luther had commenced. The
present generation of German Protestants were more inclined to put down
the Calvinistic schism at home than to save it from oppression abroad.
Men were more disposed to wrangle over the thrice-gnawed bones of
ecclesiastical casuistry, than to assist their brethren in the field.
"I know not," said Gaultherus, "whether the calamity of the Netherlands,
or the more than bestial stupidity of the Germans, be most deplorable.
To the insane contests on theological abstractions we owe it that many
are ready to breathe blood and slaughter against their own brethren. The
hatred of the Lutherans has reached that point that they can rather
tolerate Papists than ourselves."
In England, there was much sympathy for the provinces and there--although
the form of government was still arbitrary--the instincts for civil and
religious freedom, which have ever characterized the Anglo-Saxon race,
were not to be repressed. Upon many a battle-field for liberty in the
Netherlands, "men whose limbs were made in England" were found contending
for the right. The blood and treasure of Englishmen flowed freely in the
cause of their relatives by religion and race, but these were the efforts
of individuals. Hitherto but little assistance had been rendered by the
English Queen, who had, on the contrary, almost distracted the provinces
by her fast-and-loose policy, both towards them and towards Anjou. The
political rivalry between that Prince and herself in the Netherlands had,
however, now given place to the memorable love-passage from which
important results were expected, and it was thought certain that
Elizabeth would view with satisfaction any dignity conferred upon her
lover.
Orange had a right to form this opinion. At the same time, it is well
known that the chief councillors of Elizabeth--while they were all in
favor of assisting the provinces--looked with anything but satisfaction
upon the Anjou marriage. "The Duke," wrote Davidson to Walsingham in
July, 1579, "seeks, forsooth, under a pretext of marriage with her
Highness, the rather to espouse the Low Countries--the chief ground and
object of his pretended love, howsoever it be disguised." The envoy
believed both Elizabeth and the provinces in danger of taking unto
themselves a very bad master. "Is there any means," he added, "so apt to
sound the very bottom of our estate, and to hinder and breake the neck of
all such good purpose as the necessity of the tyme shall set abroch?"
The provinces of Holland and Zealand, notwithstanding the love they bore
to William of Orange, could never be persuaded by his arguments into
favoring Anjou. Indeed, it was rather on account of the love they bore
the Prince--whom they were determined to have for their sovereign--that
they refused to listen to any persuasion in favor of his rival, although
coming from his own lips. The states-general, in a report to the states
of Holland, drawn up under the superintendence of the Prince, brought
forward all the usual arguments for accepting the French duke, in case
the abjuration should take place. They urged the contract with Anjou (of
August 13th, 1578), the great expenses he had already incurred in their
behalf; the danger of offending him; the possibility that in such case
he would ally himself with Spain; the prospect that, in consequence of
such a result, there would be three enemies in the field against them--
the Walloons, the Spaniards, and the French, all whose forces would
eventually be turned upon Holland and Zealand alone. It was represented
that the selection of Anjou would, on the other hand, secure the
friendship of France--an alliance which would inspire both the Emperor
and the Spanish monarch with fear; for they could not contemplate without
jealousy a possible incorporation of the provinces with that kingdom.
Moreover, the geographical situation of France made its friendship
inexpressibly desirable. The states of Holland and Zealand were,
therefore, earnestly invited to send deputies to an assembly of the
states-general, in order to conclude measures touching the declaration
of independence to be made against the King, and concerning the election
of the Duke of Anjou.
The official communications by speech or writing of Orange to the
different corporations and assemblies, were at this period of enormous
extent. He was moved to frequent anger by the parsimony, the inter-
provincial jealousy, the dull perception of the different estates, and he
often expressed his wrath in unequivocal language. He dealt roundly with
all public bodies. His eloquence was distinguished by a bold,
uncompromising, truth-telling spirit, whether the words might prove
palatable or bitter to his audience. His language rebuked his hearers
more frequently than it caressed them, for he felt it impossible, at all
times, to consult both the humors and the high interests of the people,
and he had no hesitation, as guardian of popular liberty, in denouncing
the popular vices by which it was endangered.
By both great parties, he complained, his shortcomings were all noted,
the good which he had accomplished passed over in silence.
[Letter to the States-general, August, 1579, apud Bor, xiv. 97,
sqq. This was the opinion frequently expressed by Languet: "Cherish
the friendship of the Prince, I beseech you," he writes to Sir
Philip Sydney, "for there is no man like him in all Christendom.
Nevertheless, his is the lot of all men of prudence--to be censured
by all parties. The people complain that he despises them; the
nobility declare that it is their order which he hates; and this is
as sensible as if you were to tell me that you were the son of a
clown."]