From this time forward Antwerp was in a state of constant excitement and
commotion. Count Brederode took up his quarters in the city, and daily
entertained a crowd of nobles at his hotel, stirring them up to oppose
the Government. Count Meghem, the great enemy of the Reformers, also
came into the city; and it was supposed that he was laying a plan for
the introduction of a garrison, and for collecting a store of ammunition
to overawe the inhabitants. The chief people of the city, therefore,
resolved to send to the Prince of Orange, to request his presence, in
order to try and pacify all parties. He reached Antwerp on the 13th of
July. The inhabitants of the city were wild with enthusiasm at the
thought of his coming. Thousands, I may say tens of thousands, from all
parts of the city went forth from the gates to bid him welcome. A'Dale
and I were among the number. The road along which he was to pass for
miles was lined with human beings. The roofs of the houses--the
ramparts--every spot whence a sight of the street could be obtained, was
packed close with eager and expectant faces. A long cavalcade of
citizens, with Count Brederode and a number of confederates, rode forth
to escort him into the city. As soon as he appeared at the head of a
small body of gentlemen, his demeanour calm and unmoved, Brederode and
his companions fired a salute from their pistols. It was the signal for
loud and reiterated shouts from the assembled multitude, while again and
again the cry of "Long live the Beggars!" was repeated. In vain the
Prince entreated them not to utter that cry.
"I have come," he said, "not to side with any party, but to endeavour to
restore tranquillity to the city."
The general feeling was that he had both the power and ability to keep
his word. Day after day he was engaged in endeavouring to quiet the
public mind. All classes of the people were consulted. At length it
was agreed that the exercise of the Reformed religion should be excluded
from the city, but tolerated in the suburbs; and that an armed force of
the citizens should be kept in readiness to suppress insurrection. To
these arrangements the people agreed, and the Regent highly commended
the Prince for what he had done: King Philip pretended also to approve
of his conduct, but in reality took no steps to abolish the Inquisition
or to renounce persecution. He, as was suspected, only awaited his time
to destroy the Prince himself.
Shortly after this the Prince was called away to Brussels, to attend a
council held by the Regent. About the same time a meeting of the
confederates had been held in Duffel, the result of which was that Louis
of Nassau, with twelve associates, laid before the Regent a statement of
their views. They declared that they were ever ready to mount and ride
against a foreign foe, but that they would never draw a sword to injure
their innocent countrymen. Their proposals were received with a very
bad grace by the Regent, whom they quitted, most of them feeling that
the only resource left was to draw the sword in defence of their
country.
No sooner had the Prince of Orange left Antwerp than the city was once
more thrown into a state of commotion. I should mention that Antwerp
contains numerous fine and richly adorned churches: the largest is that
of Our Lady, which King Philip a short time before had converted into a
cathedral.
Close to the chief entrance I had frequently seen an old woman--Barbara
Trond by name--who gained her livelihood by the sale of wax tapers,
little leaden ornaments of the Virgin and saints, and other Papistical
trickeries. She managed also to gain many a coin by the persuasive
powers of her tongue, which she wagged with considerable effect on all
occasions. When she pleased, nothing could be more smooth and oily; but
when angered, that tongue could utter oaths and abuse with unsurpassed
vehemence. One morning A'Dale and I were strolling beside the
cathedral, when a small party of idle boys and ragamuffins happened to
come that way intent on mischief, if they could possibly achieve it.
One of them with a grave air walked up to the old woman's table, and,
taking a taper in one hand and a saint in the other, inquired the price
of the articles. A loud laugh followed her reply.
"What! your whole stock in trade is not worth a tenth of the sum. Your
saints if melted together would scarcely make one decent-sized bullet,
and all your candles would not afford light sufficient to an honest
weaver during the labours of one winter evening. Give up selling such
trash, Dame Trond; try and make a livelihood in some more respectable
calling!"
Such and similar remarks quickly excited the ire of old Barbara. Her
replies were not such as to soothe the tempers of those who stood by
her. Gibes and shouts of laughter proceeded from every side, till the
old dame, giving way to the fury of her temper, seized the stool on
which she sat, and began to lay about her on every side. In an instant,
the mob charged the table on which her wares were spread for exhibition,
and trampled them on the ground. She retreating, and flourishing her
stool, entered the cathedral, where they with shouts of laughter
followed her. We should have been wise if we had kept out of the
church, but instead of that we could not resist the temptation of
following the old woman's pursuers, as did numbers of others who were
near at the time. Her courage was worthy of a better cause, not that
any one really attempted to injure her--though she, as she went up the
church, seized whatever came in her way, and hurled it at the heads of
her assailants. The shouts of the rabble attracted others from a
distance, and thus in a short time the cathedral was full of people;
some, like Barbara Trond's first assailants, inclined for mischief, but
a large number merely spectators, as we were. The mob began to shout
now one thing, now another. "Down with these Romish mummeries! down
with the idols!" were the cries we chiefly heard. The crowd surged to
and fro, but contented themselves with merely shouting, without
attempting to commit any mischief. It was evident, however, that to
this they would soon proceed, as several persons had already hurried off
to the Town House to give information of the outbreak to the
magistrates. In a short time a body of these dignitaries, in their
robes of state, were seen entering the cathedral, headed by the Margrave
of Antwerp--John Van Immerzeel--the two burgomasters walking on either
side of him, and the senators following. He stopped in the centre of
the church, and harangued the mob. By his persuasions those on the
outside agreed to take their departure, hoping that their example might
be followed by the rest. But the hour of evening service was
approaching, and the ragamuffin crew, who certainly cared very little
for masses or services of any sort, declared that they could not think
of leaving the church until they had enjoyed the benefit of that about
to be performed. In reply, they were told that no vespers would be held
that night, and were again entreated to disperse.
"If we go, the people will follow," observed one of the burgomasters to
the Margrave. "Let all the doors be closed, except the one out of which
we go, and the people will swarm out like bees from their hive."
Thankful to get out of the church with whole skins, the magistrates
marched forth in as dignified a manner as they could assume. The
Margrave, however, remained behind, endeavouring to persuade those who
were still in the church to retreat. But the rabble were not in a
humour to be persuaded. Something said by the Margrave offended them,
and, in spite of his threats and exhortations, they rushed on him and
sent him ignominiously flying out of the church. They instantly threw
open all the other portals, and the populace, who had been retiring like
an ebbing tide, now rushed back, and flowed into the building, raging
and foaming like an angry sea.
A'Dale and I had remained at the further end of the church, unable,
without mixing with the crowd, to make our escape. Those who had charge
of the building made a vain attempt to carry off some of its more
precious possessions, but they had to retreat before the threatening
aspect of the crowd. Instead of the expected vespers, a hymn was raised
by the multitude who filled the church. At that moment, perhaps many
who joined in it hoped that it would have the effect of tranquillising
the multitude. Scarcely, however, had it concluded before a band of the
most ruffianly-looking of the assemblage united together, and, as if
with one accord, made a rush at the figure of the Virgin--the same idol
which had been carried about the city a few days previously. Before any
one could interfere, it was dragged from its pedestal and hurled to the
ground. It was immediately set upon, the rich robes were torn off it,
and with axes and hammers, wielded by brawny arms, the figure in a few
minutes was hewn into a thousand pieces, which were scattered over the
floor. A wild shout of triumph succeeded. All sorts of weapons of
destruction were now produced by the mob. Some had sledge-hammers in
their hands, others axes, and others bludgeons; while ladders,
handspikes, and ropes and blocks were brought into the church.
Immediately they went to work. The images which could be most easily
got at were hurled from their niches, and the pictures were torn from
the walls, and the painted windows shivered to atoms. Some of the men
were seen climbing up the carved work, striking with their hammers on
every side; others, placing ladders against the walls or columns,
ascended to dizzy heights, with ropes and blocks, and pulled down the
ornaments which were otherwise out of reach. The wax candles were
seized from the altars, and held by some of the party to light the
others in executing their task. Everything was done in the most
systematic manner. There were no less than seven chapels in the
cathedral, every one of which in succession was utterly spoilt. Chests
of treasure were broken open, and the gorgeous robes of the priests
dragged forth, many of the mob attiring themselves in them. Casks of
wine were broached and the liquor poured into the golden chalices, out
of which the despoilers quaffed huge draughts to the Beggars' health.
Splendid manuscripts were torn into sheds; and in a short time the
interior of the richest church in the Netherlands was an utter wreck.
But poor as were the despoilers, not a particle of gold or silver did
any of them carry off. The ground was literally strewn with cups and
ornaments of precious metals, and jewels, and embroidered garments,
broken, torn, and defaced, in every possible way, mingled with the
marble fragments of the images and the rich and elaborate carvings which
had been cast to the ground.
Their work being complete, the band of image-breakers, each seizing a
burning torch, rushed forth from the cathedral, and, as they swept
through the streets, shouted with loud and hoarse voices, "Long live the
Beggars!" On they went. Every crucifix, every image of the Virgin or
other idol, every symbol of Romanism, was dashed to pieces. With sturdy
blows they burst open the doors of the next church they reached. In
they rushed with their ladders, and sledge-hammers, and other weapons,
and in a short time all the images, and all the ornaments were hurled to
the ground and broken in pieces. Church after church felt the effects
of their fury; none escaped. With wonderful rapidity the interiors were
completely gutted.
Although by this time the streets were full of people, yet but a small
band--it was generally thought not more than one hundred men--performed
the whole of the work. They probably had many friends and supporters;
but it was strange that no one should have attempted to interfere with
them.
The authorities were completely panic-struck, expecting that their own
Town Hall would be the next attacked. From the churches they went to
the convents, which they treated in the same way. All the altars,
statues, and pictures were utterly destroyed; and, to punish the monks,
they descended into the cellars, where they broached every cask they
found, pouring out the wine in one great flood, though abstaining from
drinking it themselves. The inmates of the nunneries fled, and in all
directions they were seen in the streets, rushing here and there,
shrieking and crying out as if they were pursued. Their terror,
however, was imaginary, for, savage as the image-breakers might have
appeared, they had but one object in view, and not a nun or monk was in
the slightest degree injured. In the prison of the Barefooted Monastery
they found an unhappy monk who had been shut up for twelve years for his
heretical opinions, and with loud shouts of joy they liberated him from
his dungeon.
When morning dawned, it was found that the interiors of no less than
thirty churches inside the walls had been utterly destroyed. Not a
graven image, scarcely a picture, remained in any of them.
We were out all night watching what was going forward. I, of course,
have given but a very brief account of all the events which took place.
When we returned, Master Clough was not a little angry with us for
having gone without his leave, although he was willing enough to receive
the account we had to give him. He talked indeed of reporting us to Sir
Thomas as idle varlets, who did as little as they could for their pay.
More came out of this matter, as might be expected, as I shall have
shortly to describe.