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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 9.
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1564-1565 [CHAPTER V.]
Return of the three seigniors to the state council--Policy of
Orange--Corrupt character of the government--Efforts of the Prince
in favor of reform--Influence of Armenteros--Painful situation of
Viglius--His anxiety to retire--Secret charges against him
transmitted by the Duchess to Philip--Ominous signs of the times--
Attention of Philip to the details of persecution--Execution of
Fabricius, and tumult at Antwerp--Horrible cruelty towards the
Protestants--Remonstrance of the Magistracy of Bruges and of the
four Flemish estates against Titelmann--Obduracy of Philip--Council
of Trent--Quarrel for precedence between the French and Spanish
envoys--Order for the publication of the Trent decrees in the
Netherlands--Opposition to the measure--Reluctance of the Duchess--
Egmont accepts a mission to Spain--Violent debate in the council
concerning his instructions--Remarkable speech of Orange--Apoplexy
of Viglius--Temporary appointment of Hopper--Departure of Egmont--
Disgraceful scene at Cambray--Character of the Archbishop--Egmont in
Spain--Flattery and bribery--Council of Doctors--Vehement
declarations of Philip--His instructions to Egmont at his departure
--Proceedings of Orange in regard to his principality--Egmont's
report to the state council concerning his mission--His vainglory--
Renewed orders from Philip to continue the persecution--Indignation
of Egmont--Habitual dissimulation of the King--Reproof of Egmont by
Orange--Assembly of doctors in Brussels--Result of their
deliberations transmitted to Philip--Universal excitement in the
Netherlands--New punishment for heretics--Interview at Bayonne
between Catharine de Medici and her daughter, the Queen of Spain--
Mistaken views upon this subject--Diplomacy of Alva--Artful conduct
of Catharine--Stringent letters from Philip to the Duchess with
regard to the inquisition--Consternation of Margaret and of Viglius
--New proclamation of the Edicts, the Inquisition, and the Council
of Trent--Fury of the people--Resistance of the leading seigniors
and of the Brabant Council--Brabant declared free of the
inquisition--Prince Alexander of Parma betrothed to Donna Maria of
Portugal--Her portrait--Expensive preparations for the nuptials--
Assembly of the Golden Fleece--Oration of Viglius--Wedding of Prince
Alexander.
The remainder of the year, in the spring of which the Cardinal had left
the Netherlands, was one of anarchy, confusion, and corruption. At first
there had been a sensation of relief.
Philip had exchanged letters of exceeding amity with Orange, Egmont, and
Horn. These three seigniors had written, immediately upon Granvelle's
retreat, to assure the King of their willingness to obey the royal
commands, and to resume their duties at the state council. They had,
however, assured the Duchess that the reappearance of the Cardinal in the
country would be the signal for their instantaneous withdrawal. They
appeared at the council daily, working with the utmost assiduity often
till late into the night. Orange had three great objects in view, by
attaining which the country, in his opinion, might yet be saved, and the
threatened convulsions averted. These were to convoke the states-
general, to moderate or abolish the edicts, and to suppress the council
of finance and the privy council, leaving only the council of state. The
two first of these points, if gained, would, of course, subvert the whole
absolute policy which Philip and Granvelle had enforced; it was,
therefore, hardly probable that any impression would be made upon the
secret determination of the government in these respects. As to the
council of state, the limited powers of that body, under the
administration of the Cardinal, had formed one of the principal
complaints against that minister. The justice and finance councils
were sinks of iniquity. The most barefaced depravity reigned supreme.
A gangrene had spread through the whole government. The public
functionaries were notoriously and outrageously venal. The
administration of justice had been poisoned at the fountain, and the
people were unable to slake their daily thirst at the polluted stream.
There was no law but the law of the longest purse. The highest
dignitaries of Philip's appointment had become the most mercenary
hucksters who ever converted the divine temple of justice into a den of
thieves. Law was an article of merchandise, sold by judges to the
highest bidder. A poor customer could obtain nothing but stripes and
imprisonment, or, if tainted with suspicion of heresy, the fagot or the
sword, but for the rich every thing was attainable. Pardons for the most
atrocious crimes, passports, safe conducts, offices of trust and honor,
were disposed of at auction to the highest bidder. Against all this sea
of corruption did the brave William of Orange set his breast, undaunted
and unflinching. Of all the conspicuous men in the land, he was the only
one whose worst enemy had never hinted through the whole course of his
public career, that his hands had known contamination. His honor was
ever untarnished by even a breath of suspicion. The Cardinal could
accuse him of pecuniary embarrassment, by which a large proportion of
his revenues were necessarily diverted to the liquidation of his debts,
but he could not suggest that the Prince had ever freed himself from
difficulties by plunging his hands into the public treasury, when it
might easily have been opened to him.
It was soon, however, sufficiently obvious that as desperate a struggle
was to be made with the many-headed monster of general corruption as with
the Cardinal by whom it had been so long fed and governed. The Prince
was accused of ambition and intrigue. It was said that he was determined
to concentrate all the powers of government in the state council, which
was thus to become an omnipotent and irresponsible senate, while the King
would be reduced to the condition of a Venetian Doge. It was, of course,
suggested that it was the aim of Orange to govern the new Tribunal of
Ten. No doubt the Prince was ambitious. Birth, wealth, genius, and
virtue could not have been bestowed in such eminent degree on any man
without carrying with them the determination to assert their value.
It was not his wish so much as it was the necessary law of his being
to impress himself upon his age and to rule his fellow-men. But he
practised no arts to arrive at the supremacy which he felt must always
belong to him, what ever might be his nominal position in the political
hierarchy. He was already, although but just turned of thirty years,
vastly changed from the brilliant and careless grandee, as he stood at
the hour of the imperial abdication. He was becoming careworn in face,
thin of figure, sleepless of habit. The wrongs of which he was the daily
witness, the absolutism, the cruelty, the rottenness of the government,
had marked his face with premature furrows. "They say that the Prince is
very sad," wrote Morillon to Granvelle; "and 'tis easy to read as much in
his face. They say he can not sleep." Truly might the monarch have
taken warning that here was a man who was dangerous, and who thought too
much. "Sleekheaded men, and such as slept o' nights," would have been
more eligible functionaries, no doubt, in the royal estimation, but, for
a brief period, the King was content to use, to watch, and to suspect the
man who was one day to be his great and invincible antagonist. He
continued assiduous at the council, and he did his best, by entertaining
nobles and citizens at his hospitable mansion, to cultivate good
relations with large numbers of his countrymen. He soon, however, had
become disgusted with the court. Egmont was more lenient to the foul
practices which prevailed there, and took almost a childish pleasure in
dining at the table of the Duchess, dressed, as were many of the younger
nobles, in short camlet doublet with the wheat-sheaf buttons.
The Prince felt more unwilling to compromise his personal dignity by
countenancing the flagitious proceedings and the contemptible supremacy
of Armenteros, and it was soon very obvious, therefore, that Egmont was a
greater favorite at court than Orange. At the same time the Count was
also diligently cultivating the good graces of the middle and lower
classes in Brussels, shooting with the burghers at the popinjay, calling
every man by his name, and assisting at jovial banquets in town-house or
guild-hall. The Prince, although at times a necessary partaker also in
these popular amusements, could find small cause for rejoicing in the
aspect of affairs. When his business led him to the palace, he was
sometimes forced to wait in the ante-chamber for an hour, while Secretary
Armenteros was engaged in private consultation with Margaret upon the
most important matters of administration. It could not be otherwise than
galling to the pride and offensive to the patriotism of the Prince, to
find great public transactions entrusted to such hands. Thomas de
Armenteros was a mere private secretary--a simple clerk. He had no right
to have cognizance of important affairs, which could only come before his
Majesty's sworn advisers. He was moreover an infamous peculator. He was
rolling up a fortune with great rapidity by his shameless traffic in
benefices, charges, offices, whether of church or state. His name of
Armenteros was popularly converted into Argenteros, in order to symbolize
the man who was made of public money. His confidential intimacy with the
Duchess procured for him also the name of "Madam's barber," in allusion
to the famous ornaments of Margaret's upper lip, and to the celebrated
influence enjoyed by the barbers of the Duke of Savoy, and of Louis the
Eleventh. This man sold dignities and places of high responsibility at
public auction. The Regent not only connived at these proceedings, which
would have been base enough, but she was full partner in the disgraceful
commerce. Through the agency of the Secretary, she, too, was amassing a
large private fortune. "The Duchess has gone into the business of
vending places to the highest bidders," said Morillon, "with the bit
between her teeth." The spectacle presented at the council-board was
often sufficiently repulsive not only to the cardinalists, who were
treated with elaborate insolence, but to all men who loved honor and
justice, or who felt an interest in the prosperity of government. There
was nothing majestic in the appearance of the Duchess, as she sat
conversing apart with Armenteros, whispering, pinching, giggling, or
disputing, while important affairs of state were debated, concerning
which the Secretary had no right to be informed. It was inevitable that
Orange should be offended to the utmost by such proceedings, although he
was himself treated with comparative respect. As for the ancient
adherents of Granvelle, the Bordeys, Baves, and Morillons, they were
forbidden by the favorite even to salute him in the streets. Berlaymont
was treated by the Duchess with studied insult. "What is the man talking
about?" she would ask with languid superciliousness, if he attempted to
express his opinion in the state-council. Viglius, whom Berlaymont
accused of doing his best, without success, to make his peace with the
seigniors, was in even still greater disgrace than his fellow-
cardinalists. He longed, he said, to be in Burgundy, drinking
Granvelle's good wine. His patience under the daily insults which he
received from the government made him despicable in the eyes of his own
party. He was described by his friends as pusillanimous to an incredible
extent, timid from excess of riches, afraid of his own shadow. He was
becoming exceedingly pathetic, expressing frequently a desire to depart
and end his days in peace. His faithful Hopper sustained and consoled
him, but even Joachim could not soothe his sorrows when he reflected that
after all the work performed by himself and colleagues, "they had only
been beating the bush for others," while their own share in the spoils
had been withheld. Nothing could well be more contumelious than
Margaret's treatment of the learned Frisian. When other councillors were
summoned to a session at three o'clock, the President was invited at
four. It was quite impossible for him to have an audience of the Duchess
except in the presence of the inevitable Armenteras. He was not allowed
to open his mouth, even when he occasionally plucked up heart enough to
attempt the utterance of his opinions. His authority was completely
dead. Even if he essayed to combat the convocation of the states-general
by the arguments which the Duchess, at his suggestion, had often used for
the purpose, he was treated with the same indifference. "The poor
President," wrote Granvelle to the King's chief secretary, Gonzalo Perez,
"is afraid, as I hear, to speak a word, and is made to write exactly what
they tell him." At the same time the poor President, thus maltreated and
mortified, had the vanity occasionally to imagine himself a bold and
formidable personage. The man whom his most intimate friends described
as afraid of his own shadow, described himself to Granvelle as one who
went his own gait, speaking his mind frankly upon every opportunity, and
compelling people to fear him a little, even if they did not love him.
But the Cardinal knew better than to believe in this magnanimous picture
of the doctor's fancy.
Viglius was anxious to retire, but unwilling to have the appearance of
being disgraced. He felt instinctively, although deceived as to the
actual facts, that his great patron had been defeated and banished.
He did not wish to be placed in the same position. He was desirous,
as he piously expressed himself, of withdrawing from the world, "that he
might balance his accounts with the Lord, before leaving the lodgings of
life." He was, however, disposed to please "the master" as well as the
Lord. He wished to have the royal permission to depart in peace.
In his own lofty language, he wished to be sprinkled on taking his leave
"with the holy water of the court." Moreover, he was fond of his salary,
although he disliked the sarcasms of the Duchess. Egmont and others had
advised him to abandon the office of President to Hopper, in order, as he
was getting feeble, to reserve his whole strength for the state-council.
Viglius did not at all relish the proposition. He said that by giving
up the seals, and with them the rank and salary which they conferred,
he should become a deposed saint. He had no inclination, as long as he
remained on the ground at all, to part with those emoluments and honors,
and to be converted merely into the "ass of the state-council." He had,
however, with the sagacity of an old navigator, already thrown out his
anchor into the best holding-ground during the storms which he foresaw
were soon to sweep the state. Before the close of the year which now
occupies, the learned doctor of laws had become a doctor of divinity
also; and had already secured, by so doing, the wealthy prebend of Saint
Bavon of Ghent. This would be a consolation in the loss of secular
dignities, and a recompence for the cold looks of the Duchess. He did
not scruple to ascribe the pointed dislike which Margaret manifested
towards him to the awe in which she stood of his stern integrity of
character. The true reason why Armenteros and the Duchess disliked him
was because, in his own words, "he was not of their mind with regard to
lotteries, the sale of offices, advancement to abbeys, and many other
things of the kind, by which they were in such a hurry to make their
fortune." Upon another occasion he observed, in a letter to Granvelle,
that "all offices were sold to the highest bidder, and that the cause of
Margaret's resentment against both the Cardinal and himself was, that
they had so long prevented her from making the profit which she was now
doing from the sale of benefices, offices, and other favors."
The Duchess, on her part, characterized the proceedings and policy, both
past and present, of the cardinalists as factious, corrupt, and selfish
in the last degree. She assured her brother that the simony, rapine, and
dishonesty of Granvelle, Viglius, and all their followers, had brought
affairs into the ruinous condition which was then but too apparent. They
were doing their best, she said, since the Cardinal's departure, to show,
by their sloth and opposition, that they were determined to allow nothing
to prosper in his absence. To quote her own vigorous expression to
Philip--"Viglius made her suffer the pains of hell." She described him
as perpetually resisting the course of the administration, and she threw
out dark suspicions, not only as to his honesty but his orthodoxy.
Philip lent a greedy ear to these scandalous hints concerning the late
omnipotent minister and his friends. It is an instructive lesson in
human history to look through the cloud of dissimulation in which the
actors of this remarkable epoch were ever enveloped, and to watch them
all stabbing fiercely at each other in the dark, with no regard to
previous friendship, or even present professions. It is edifying to see
the Cardinal, with all his genius and all his grimace, corresponding on
familiar terms with Armenteros, who was holding him up to obloquy upon
all occasions; to see Philip inclining his ear in pleased astonishment to
Margaret's disclosures concerning the Cardinal, whom he was at the very
instant assuring of his undiminished confidence; and to see Viglius, the
author of the edict of 1550, and the uniform opponent of any mitigation
in its horrors, silently becoming involved without the least suspicion of
the fact in the meshes of inquisitor Titelmann.
Upon Philip's eager solicitations for further disclosures, Margaret
accordingly informed her brother of additional facts communicated to her,
after oaths of secrecy had been exchanged, by Titelmann and his colleague
del Canto. They had assured her, she said, that there were grave doubts
touching the orthodoxy of Viglius. He had consorted with heretics during
a large portion of his life, and had put many suspicious persons into
office. As to his nepotism, simony, and fraud, there was no doubt at
all. He had richly provided all his friends and relations in Friesland
with benefices. He had become in his old age a priest and churchman, in
order to snatch the provostship of Saint Bavon, although his infirmities
did not allow him to say mass, or even to stand erect at the altar.
The inquisitors had further accused him of having stolen rings, jewels,
plate, linen, beds, tapestry, and other furniture, from the
establishment, all which property he had sent to Friesland, and of having
seized one hundred thousand florins in ready money which had belonged to
the last abbe--an act consequently of pure embezzlement. The Duchess
afterwards transmitted to Philip an inventory of the plundered property,
including the furniture of nine houses, and begged him to command Viglius
to make instant restitution. If there be truth in the homely proverb,
that in case of certain quarrels honest men recover their rights, it is
perhaps equally certain that when distinguished public personages attack
each other, historians may arrive at the truth. Here certainly are
edifying pictures of the corruption of the Spanish regency in the
Netherlands, painted by the President of the state-council, and of the
dishonesty of the President painted by the Regent.
A remarkable tumult occurred in October of this year, at Antwerp. A
Carmelite monk, Christopher Smith, commonly called Fabricius, had left a
monastery in Bruges, adopted the principles of the Reformation, and taken
to himself a wife. He had resided for a time in England; but, invited by
his friends, he had afterwards undertaken the dangerous charge of gospel-
teacher in the commercial metropolis of the Netherlands. He was,
however, soon betrayed to the authorities by a certain bonnet dealer,
popularly called Long Margaret, who had pretended, for the sake of
securing the informer's fee, to be a convert to his doctrines. He was
seized, and immediately put to the torture. He manfully refused to
betray any members of his congregation, as manfully avowed and maintained
his religious creed. He was condemned to the flames, and during the
interval which preceded his execution, he comforted his friends by
letters of advice, religious consolation and encouragement, which he
wrote from his dungeon. He sent a message to the woman who had betrayed
him, assuring her of his forgiveness, and exhorting her to repentance.
His calmness, wisdom, and gentleness excited the admiration of all.
When; therefore, this humble imitator of Christ was led through the
streets of Antwerp to the stake, the popular emotion was at once visible.
To the multitude who thronged about the executioners with threatening
aspect, he addressed an urgent remonstrance that they would not
compromise their own safety by a tumult in his cause. He invited all,
however, to remain steadfast to the great truth for which he was about to
lay down his life. The crowd, as they followed the procession of
hangmen, halberdsmen, and magistrates, sang the hundred and thirtieth
psalm in full chorus. As the victim arrived upon the market-place,
he knelt upon the ground to pray, for the last time. He was, however,
rudely forced to rise by the executioner, who immediately chained him to
the stake, and fastened a leathern strap around his throat. At this
moment the popular indignation became uncontrollable; stones were
showered upon the magistrates and soldiers, who, after a slight
resistance, fled for their lives. The foremost of the insurgents dashed
into the enclosed arena, to rescue the prisoner. It was too late. The
executioner, even as he fled, had crushed the victim's head with a sledge
hammer, and pierced him through and through with a poniard. Some of the
bystanders maintained afterwards that his fingers and lips were seen to
move, as if in feeble prayer, for a little time longer, until, as the
fire mounted, he fell into the flames. For the remainder of the day,
after the fire had entirely smouldered to ashes, the charred and half-
consumed body of the victim remained on the market-place, a ghastly
spectacle to friend and foe. It was afterwards bound to a stone and cast
into the Scheld. Such was the doom of Christopher Fabricius, for having
preached Christianity in Antwerp. During the night an anonymous placard,
written with blood, was posted upon the wall of the town-house, stating
that there were men in the city who would signally avenge his murder.
Nothing was done, however, towards the accomplishment of the threat.
The King, when he received the intelligence of the transaction, was
furious with indignation, and wrote savage letters to his sister,
commanding instant vengeance to be taken upon all concerned in so foul
a riot. As one of the persons engaged had, however, been arrested and
immediately hanged, and as the rest had effected their escape, the affair
was suffered to drop.
The scenes of outrage, the frantic persecutions, were fast becoming too
horrible to be looked upon by Catholic or Calvinist. The prisons swarmed
with victims, the streets were thronged with processions to the stake.
The population of thriving cities, particularly in Flanders, were
maddened by the spectacle of so much barbarity inflicted, not upon
criminals, but usually upon men remarkable for propriety of conduct and
blameless lives. It was precisely at this epoch that the burgomasters,
senators, and council of the city of Bruges (all Catholics) humbly
represented to the Duchess Regent, that Peter Titelmann, inquisitor of
the Faith, against all forms of law, was daily exercising inquisition
among the inhabitants, not only against those suspected or accused of
heresy, but against all, however untainted their characters; that he was
daily citing before him whatever persons he liked, men or women,
compelling them by force to say whatever it pleased him; that he was
dragging people from their houses, and even from the sacred precincts of
the church; often in revenge for verbal injuries to himself, always under
pretext of heresy, and without form or legal warrant of any kind. They
therefore begged that he might be compelled to make use of preparatory
examinations with the co-operation of the senators of the city, to suffer
that witnesses should make their depositions without being intimidated by
menace, and to conduct all his subsequent proceedings according to legal
forms, which he had uniformly violated; publicly declaring that he would
conduct himself according to his own pleasure.
The four estates of Flanders having, in a solemn address to the King,
represented the same facts, concluded their brief but vigorous
description of Titelmann's enormities by calling upon Philip to suppress
these horrible practices, so manifestly in violation of the ancient
charters which he had sworn to support. It may be supposed that the
appeal to Philip would be more likely to call down a royal benediction
than the reproof solicited upon the inquisitor's head. In the privy
council, the petitions and remonstrances were read, and, in the words of
the President, "found to be in extremely bad taste." In the debate which
followed, Viglius and his friends recalled to the Duchess, in earnest
language, the decided will of the King, which had been so often
expressed. A faint representation was made, on the other hand, of the
dangerous consequences, in case the people were driven to a still deeper
despair. The result of the movement was but meagre. The Duchess
announced that she could do nothing in the matter of the request until
further information, but that meantime she had charged Titelmann to
conduct himself in his office "with discretion and modesty." The
discretion and modesty, however, never appeared in any modification of
the inquisitor's proceedings, and he continued unchecked in his infamous
career until death, which did not occur till several years afterwards.
In truth, Margaret was herself in mortal fear of this horrible personage.
He besieged her chamber door almost daily, before she had risen,
insisting upon audiences which, notwithstanding her repugnance to the
man, she did not dare to refuse. "May I perish," said Morillon, "if she
does not stand in exceeding awe of Titelmann." Under such circumstances,
sustained by the King in Spain, the Duchess in Brussels, the privy
council, and by a leading member of what had been thought the liberal
party, it was not difficult for the inquisition to maintain its ground,
notwithstanding the solemn protestations of the estates and the
suppressed curses of the people.
Philip, so far from having the least disposition to yield in the matter
of the great religious persecution, was more determined as to his course
than ever. He had already, as easy as August of this year, despatched
orders to the Duchess that the decrees of the Council of Trent should be
published and enforced throughout the Netherlands. The memorable quarrel
as to precedency between the French and Spanish delegates had given some
hopes of a different determination. Nevertheless, those persons who
imagined that, in consequence of this quarrel of etiquette, Philip would
slacken in his allegiance to the Church, were destined to be bitterly
mistaken. He informed his sister that, in the common cause of
Christianity, he should not be swayed by personal resentments.
How, indeed, could a different decision be expected? His envoy at Rome,
as well as his representatives at the council, had universally repudiated
all doubts as to the sanctity of its decrees. "To doubt the
infallibility of the council, as some have dared to do," said Francis de
Vargas, "and to think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of
all." Nothing could so much disturb and scandalize the world as such a
sentiment. Therefore the Archbishop of Granada told, very properly, the
Bishop of Tortosa, that if he should express such an opinion in Spain,
they would burn him. These strenuous notions were shared by the King.
Therefore, although all Europe was on tip-toe with expectation to see how
Philip would avenge himself for the slight put upon his ambassador,
Philip disappointed all Europe.
In August, 1564, he wrote to the Duchess Regent, that the decrees were
to be proclaimed and enforced without delay. They related to three
subjects, the doctrines to be inculcated by the Church, the reformation
of ecclesiastical moral, and the education of the people. General police
regulations were issued at the same time, by which heretics were to be
excluded from all share in the usual conveniences of society, and were
in fact to be strictly excommunicated. Inns were to receive no guests,
schools no children, alms-houses no paupers, grave-yards no dead bodies,
unless guests, children, paupers, and dead bodies were furnished with the
most satisfactory proofs of orthodoxy. Midwives of unsuspected Romanism
were alone to exercise their functions, and were bound to give notice
within twenty-four hours of every birth which occurred; the parish clerks
were as regularly to record every such addition to the population, and
the authorities to see that Catholic baptism was administered in each
case with the least possible delay. Births, deaths, and marriages could
only occur with validity under the shadow of the Church. No human being
could consider himself born or defunct unless provided with a priest's
certificate. The heretic was excluded, so far as ecclesiastical dogma
could exclude him, from the pale of humanity, from consecrated earth, and
from eternal salvation.
The decrees contained many provisions which not only conflicted with the
privileges of the provinces, but with the prerogatives of the sovereign.
For this reason many of the lords in council thought that at least the
proper exceptions should be made upon their promulgation. This was also
the opinion of the Duchess, but the King, by his letters of October, and
November (1564), expressly prohibited any alteration in the ordinances,
and transmitted a copy of the form according to which the canons had been
published in Spain, together with the expression of his desire that a
similar course should be followed in the Netherlands. Margaret of Parma
was in great embarrassment. It was evident that the publication could no
longer be deferred. Philip had issued his commands, but grave senators
and learned doctors of the university had advised strongly in favor of
the necessary exceptions. The extreme party, headed by Viglius, were in
favor of carrying out the royal decisions. They were overruled, and
the Duchess was induced to attempt a modification, if her brother's
permission could be obtained. The President expressed the opinion that
the decrees, even with the restrictions proposed, would "give no
contentment to the people, who, moreover, had no right to meddle with
theology." The excellent Viglius forgot, however, that theology had been
meddling altogether too much with the people to make it possible that the
public attention should be entirely averted from the subject. Men and
women who might be daily summoned to rack, stake, and scaffold, in the
course of these ecclesiastical arrangements, and whose births, deaths,
marriages, and position in the next world, were now to be formally
decided upon, could hardly be taxed with extreme indiscretion, if they
did meddle with the subject.
In the dilemma to which the Duchess was reduced, she again bethought
herself of a special mission to Spain. At the end of the year (1564), it
was determined that Egmont should be the envoy. Montigny excused himself
on account of private affairs; Marquis Berghen "because of his
indisposition and corpulence." There was a stormy debate in council
after Egmont had accepted the mission and immediately before his
departure. Viglius had been ordered to prepare the Count's instructions.
Having finished the rough draught, he laid it before the board. The
paper was conceived in general terms and might mean any thing or nothing.
No criticism upon its language was, however, offered until it came to the
turn of Orange to vote upon the document. Then, however, William the
Silent opened his lips, and poured forth a long and vehement discourse,
such as he rarely pronounced, but such as few except himself could utter.
There was no shuffling, no disguise, no timidity in his language.
He took the ground boldly that the time had arrived for speaking out.
The object of sending an envoy of high rank and European reputation like
the Count of Egmont, was to tell the King the truth. Let Philip know it
now. Let him be unequivocally informed that this whole machinery of
placards and scaffolds, of new bishops and old hangmen, of decrees,
inquisitors, and informers, must once and forever be abolished. Their
day was over. The Netherlands were free provinces, they were surrounded
by free countries, they were determined to vindicate their ancient
privileges. Moreover, his Majesty was to be plainly informed of the
frightful corruption which made the whole judicial and administrative
system loathsome. The venality which notoriously existed every where,
on the bench, in the council chamber, in all public offices, where purity
was most essential, was denounced by the Prince in scathing terms.
He tore the mask from individual faces, and openly charged the Chancellor
of Brabant, Engelbert Maas, with knavery and corruption. He insisted
that the King should be informed of the necessity of abolishing the two
inferior councils, and of enlarging the council of state by the admission
of ten or twelve new members selected for their patriotism, purity, and
capacity. Above all, it was necessary plainly to inform his Majesty that
the canons of Trent, spurned by the whole world, even by the Catholic
princes of Germany, could never be enforced in the Netherlands, and that
it would be ruinous to make the attempt. He proposed and insisted that
the Count of Egmont should be instructed accordingly. He avowed in
conclusion that he was a Catholic himself and intended to remain in the
Faith, but that he could not look on with pleasure when princes strove to
govern the souls of men, and to take away their liberty in matters of
conscience and religion.
Here certainly was no daintiness of phraseology, and upon these leading
points, thus slightly indicated, William of Orange poured out his
eloquence, bearing conviction upon the tide of his rapid invective.
His speech lasted till seven in the evening, when the Duchess adjourned
the meeting. The council broke up, the Regent went to supper, but the
effect of the discourse upon nearly all the members was not to be
mistaken. Viglius was in a state of consternation, perplexity, and
despair. He felt satisfied that, with perhaps the exception of
Berlaymont, all who had listened or should afterwards listen to the
powerful arguments of Orange, would be inevitably seduced or bewildered.
The President lay awake, tossing and tumbling in his bed, recalling the
Prince's oration, point by point, and endeavoring, to answer it in order.
It was important, he felt, to obliterate the impression produced.
Moreover, as we have often seen, the learned Doctor valued himself upon
his logic.
It was absolutely necessary, therefore, that in his reply, next day, his
eloquence should outshine that of his antagonist. The President thus
passed a feverish and uncomfortable night, pronouncing and listening to
imaginary harangues. With the dawn of day he arose and proceeded to
dress himself. The excitement of the previous evening and the subsequent
sleeplessness of his night had, however, been too much for his feeble and
slightly superannuated frame. Before he had finished his toilet,
a stroke of apoplexy stretched him senseless upon the floor.
His servants, when they soon afterwards entered the apartment,
found him rigid, and to all appearance dead. After a few days,
however, he recovered his physical senses in part, but his reason
remained for a longer time shattered, and was never perhaps fully
restored to its original vigor.
This event made it necessary that his place in the council should be
supplied. Viglius had frequently expressed intentions of retiring,
a measure to which he could yet never fully make up his mind. His place
was now temporarily supplied by his friend and countryman, Joachim
Hopper, like himself a, Frisian doctor of ancient blood and extensive
acquirements, well versed in philosophy and jurisprudence; a professor of
Louvain and a member of the Mechlin council. He was likewise the
original founder and projector of Douay University, an institution which
at Philip's desire he had successfully organized in 1556, in order that a
French university might be furnished for Walloon youths, as a substitute
for the seductive and poisonous Paris. For the rest, Hopper was a mere
man of routine. He was often employed in private affairs by Philip,
without being entrusted with the secret at the bottom of them. His mind
was a confused one, and his style inexpressibly involved and tedious.
"Poor master Hopper," said Granvelle, "did not write the best French in
the world; may the Lord forgive him. He was learned in letters, but knew
very little of great affairs." His manners were as cringing as his
intellect was narrow. He never opposed the Duchess, so that his
colleagues always called him Councillor "Yes, Madam," and he did his best
to be friends with all the world.
In deference to the arguments of Orange, the instructions for Egmont were
accordingly considerably modified from the original draughts of Viglius.
As drawn up by the new President, they contained at least a few hints to
his Majesty as to the propriety of mitigating the edicts and extending
some mercy to his suffering people. The document was, however, not very
satisfactory to the Prince, nor did he perhaps rely very implicitly upon
the character of the envoy.
Egmont set forth upon his journey early in January (1565). He travelled
in great state. He was escorted as far as Cambray by several nobles of
his acquaintance, who improved the occasion by a series of tremendous
banquets during the Count's sojourn, which was protracted till the end of
January. The most noted of these gentlemen were Hoogstraaten, Brederode,
the younger Mansfeld, Culemburg, and Noircarmes. Before they parted with
the envoy, they drew up a paper which they signed with their blood, and
afterwards placed in the hands of his Countess. In this document they
promised, on account of their "inexpressible and very singular affection"
for Egmont, that if, during his mission to Spain, any evil should befal
him, they would, on their faith as gentlemen and cavaliers of honor, take
vengeance, therefore, upon the Cardinal Granvelle, or upon all who should
be the instigators thereof.
[Green v. P., Archives, etc., i. 345, from Arnoldi, Hist. Denkwurd,
p. 282., It is remarkable that after the return of the Count from.
Spain, Hoogstraaten received this singular bond from the Countess,
and gave it to Mansfeld, to be burned in his presence. Mansfeld,
however, advised keeping it, on account of Noircarmes, whose
signature was attached to the document, and whom he knew to be so
false and deceitful a man that it might be well to have it within
their power at some future day to reproach him therewith.--Ibid.
It will be seen in the sequel that Noircarmes more than justified
the opinion of Mansfeld, but that the subsequent career of Mansfeld
himself did not entitle him to reproach any of Philip's noble
hangmen.]
Wherever Brederode was, there, it was probable, would be much severe
carousing. Before the conclusion, accordingly, of the visit to Cambray,
that ancient city rang with the scandal created by a most uproarious
scene. A banquet was given to Egmont and his friends in the citadel.
Brederode, his cousin Lumey, and the other nobles from Brussels, were all
present. The Archbishop of Cambray, a man very odious to the liberal
party in the provinces, was also bidden to the feast. During the dinner,
this prelate, although treated with marked respect by Egmont, was the
object of much banter and coarse pleasantry by the ruder portion of the
guests. Especially these convivial gentlemen took infinite pains to
overload him with challenges to huge bumpers of wine; it being thought
very desirable, if possible; to place the Archbishop under the table.
This pleasantry was alternated with much rude sarcasm concerning the new
bishoprics. The conversation then fell upon other topics, among others,
naturally upon the mission of Count Egmont. Brederede observed that it
was a very hazardous matter to allow so eminent a personage to leave the
land at such a critical period. Should any thing happen to the Count,
the Netherlands would sustain an immense loss. The Archbishop, irritated
by the previous conversation, ironically requested the speaker to be
comforted, "because," said he, "it will always be easy to find a new
Egmont." Upon this, Brederode, beside himself with rage, cried out
vehemently, "Are we to tolerate such language from this priest?"
Gulemburg, too, turning upon the offender, observed, "Your observation
would be much more applicable to your own case. If you were to die,
't would be easy to find five hundred of your merit, to replace you in
the see of Cambray." The conversation was, to say the least, becoming
personal. The Bishop, desirous of terminating this keen encounter of
wits, lifted a goblet full of wine and challenged Brederode to drink.
That gentleman declined the invitation. After the cloth had been
removed, the cup circulated more freely than ever. The revelry became
fast and furious. One of the younger gentlemen who was seated near the
Bishop snatched the bonnet of that dignitary from his head and placed it
upon his own. He then drained a bumper to his health, and passed the
goblet and the cap to his next neighbor. Both circulated till they
reached the Viscount of Ghent, who arose from his seat and respectfully
restored the cap to its owner. Brederode then took a large "cup of
silver and gold," filled it to the brim, and drained it to the confusion
of Cardinal Granvelle; stigmatizing that departed minister, as he
finished, by an epithet of more vigor than decency. He then called upon
all the company to pledge him to the same toast, and denounced as
cardinalists all those who should refuse. The Archbishop, not having
digested the affronts which had been put upon him already, imprudently
ventured himself once more into the confusion, and tried to appeal to
the reason of the company. He might as well have addressed the crew of
Comus. He gained nothing but additional insult. Brederode advanced upon
him with threatening gestures. Egmont implored the prelate to retire, or
at least not to take notice of a nobleman so obviously beyond the control
of his reason. The Bishop, however, insisted--mingling reproof, menace;
and somewhat imperious demands--that the indecent Saturnalia should
cease. It would have been wiser for him to retire. Count Hoogstraaten,
a young man and small of stature, seized the gilt laver, in which the
company had dipped their fingers before seating themselves at table:
"Be quiet, be quiet, little man," said Egmont, soothingly, doing his best
to restrain the tumult. "Little man, indeed," responded the Count,
wrathfully; "I would have you to know that never did little man spring
from my race." With those words he hurled the basin, water, and all, at
the head of the Archbishop. Hoogstraaten had no doubt manifested his
bravery before that day; he was to display, on future occasions, a very
remarkable degree of heroism; but it must be confessed that the chivalry
of the noble house of Lalaing was not illustrated by this attack upon a
priest. The Bishop was sprinkled by the water, but not struck by the
vessel. Young Mansfeld, ashamed of the outrage, stepped forward to
apologize for the conduct of his companions and to soothe the insulted
prelate. That personage, however, exasperated, very naturally, to the
highest point, pushed him rudely away, crying, "Begone, begone! who is
this boy that is preaching to me?" Whereupon, Mansfeld, much irritated,
lifted his hand towards the ecclesiastic, and snapped his fingers
contemptuously in his face. Some even said that he pulled the
archiepiscopal nose, others that he threatened his life with a drawn
dagger. Nothing could well have been more indecent or more cowardly than
the conduct of these nobles upon this occasion. Their intoxication,
together with the character of the victim, explained, but certainly could
not palliate the vulgarity of the exhibition. It was natural enough that
men like Brederode should find sport in this remarkable badgering of a
bishop, but we see with regret the part played by Hoogstraaten in the
disgraceful scene.
The prelate, at last, exclaiming that it appeared that he had been
invited only to be insulted, left the apartment, accompanied by
Noircarmes and the Viscount of Ghent, and threatening that all his
friends and relations should be charged with his vengeance. The next
day a reconciliation was effected, as well as such an arrangement was
possible, by the efforts of Egmont, who dined alone with the prelate.
In the evening, Hoogstraaten, Culemburg, and Brederode called upon the
Bishop, with whom they were closeted for, an hour, and the party
separated on nominal terms of friendship.
This scandalous scene; which had been enacted not only before many
guests, but in presence of a host of servants, made necessarily a great
sensation throughout the country. There could hardly be much difference
of opinion among respectable people as to the conduct of the noblemen who
had thus disgraced themselves. Even Brederode himself, who appeared to
have retained, as was natural, but a confused impression of the
transaction, seemed in the days which succeeded the celebrated banquet,
to be in doubt whether he and his friends had merited any great amount of
applause. He was, however, somewhat self-contradictory, although always
vehement in his assertions on the subject. At one time he maintained--
after dinner, of course--that he would have killed the Archbishop if they
had not been forcibly separated; at other moments he denounced as liars
all persons who should insinuate that be had committed or contemplated
any injury to that prelate; offering freely to fight any man who disputed
either of his two positions.