instruments to the institution. They asked magistrates and sheriffs
how far they would go in their defence before God's tribunal for the
slaughter of his creatures, if they could only answer the divine
arraignment by appealing to the edict of 1550. On the other hand, the
inquisitors were clamorous in abuse of the languor and the cowardice of
the secular authorities. They wearied the ear of the Duchess with
complaints of the difficulties which they encountered in the execution
of their functions--of the slight alacrity on the part of the various
officials to assist them in the discharge of their duties.
Notwithstanding the express command of his Majesty to that effect,
they experienced, they said, a constant deficiency of that cheerful
co-operation which they had the right to claim, and there was perpetual
discord in consequence. They had been empowered by papal and by royal
decree to make use of the gaols, the constables, the whole penal
machinery of each province; yet the officers often refused to act, and
had even dared to close the prisons. Nevertheless, it had been intended,
as fully appeared by the imperial and royal instructions to the
inquisitors, that their action through the medium of the provincial
authorities should be unrestrained. Not satisfied with these
representations to the Regent, the inquisitors had also made a direct
appeal to the King. Judocus Tiletanus and Michael de Bay addressed to
Philip a letter from Louvain. They represented to him that they were the
only two left of the five inquisitors-general appointed by the Pope for
all the Netherlands, the other three having been recently converted into
bishops. Daily complaints, they said, were reaching them of the
prodigious advance of heresy, but their own office was becoming so
odious, so calumniated, and exposed to so much resistance, that they
could not perform its duties without personal danger. They urgently
demanded from his Majesty, therefore, additional support and assistance.
Thus the Duchess, exposed at once to the rising wrath of a whole people
and to the shrill blasts of inquisitorial anger, was tossed to and fro,
as upon a stormy sea. The commands of the King, too explicit to be
tampered with, were obeyed. The theological assembly had met and given
advice. The Council of Trent was here and there enforced. The edicts
were republished and the inquisitors encouraged. Moreover, in accordance
with Philip's suggestion, orders were now given that the heretics should
be executed at midnight in their dungeons, by binding their heads between
their knees, and then slowly suffocating them in tubs of water. Secret
drowning was substituted for public burning, in order that the heretic's
crown of vainglory, which was thought to console him in his agony, might
never be placed upon his head.
In the course of the summer, Magaret wrote to her brother that the
popular frenzy was becoming more and more intense. The people were
crying aloud, she said, that the Spanish inquisition, or a worse than
Spanish inquisition, had been established among them by means of bishops
and ecclesiastics. She urged Philip to cause the instructions for the
inquisitors to be revised. Egmont, she said, was vehement in expressing
his dissatisfaction at the discrepancy between Philip's language to him
by word of mouth and that of the royal despatches on the religious
question. The other seigniors were even more indignant.
While the popular commotion in the Netherlands was thus fearfully
increasing, another circumstance came to add to the prevailing
discontent. The celebrated interview between Catharine de Medici and
her daughter, the Queen of Spain, occurred in the middle of the month of
June, at Bayonne. The darkest suspicions as to the results to humanity
of the plots to be engendered in this famous conference between the
representatives of France and Spain were universally entertained. These
suspicions were most reasonable, but they were nevertheless mistaken.
The plan for a concerted action to exterminate the heretics in both
kingdoms had, as it was perfectly well known, been formed long before
this epoch. It was also no secret that the Queen Regent of France had
been desirous of meeting her son-in-law in order to confer with him upon
important matters, face to face. Philip, however, had latterly been
disinclined for the personal interview with Catharine. As his wife was
most anxious to meet her mother, it was nevertheless finally arranged
that Queen Isabella should make the journey; but he excused himself, on
account of the multiplicity of his affairs, from accompanying her in the
expedition. The Duke of Alva was, accordingly, appointed to attend the
Queen to Bayonne. Both were secretly instructed by Philip to leave
nothing undone in the approaching interview toward obtaining the hearty
co-operation of Catharine de Medici in a general and formally-arranged
scheme for the simultaneous extermination of all heretics in the French
and Spanish dominions. Alva's conduct in this diplomatic commission was
stealthy in the extreme. His letters reveal a subtlety of contrivance
and delicacy of handling such as the world has not generally reckoned
among his characteristics. All his adroitness, as well as the tact of
Queen Isabella, by whose ability Alva declared himself to have been
astounded, proved quite powerless before the steady fencing of the wily
Catharine. The Queen Regent, whose skill the Duke, even while defeated,
acknowledged to his master, continued firm in her design to maintain her
own power by holding the balance between Guise and Montmorency, between
Leaguer and Huguenot. So long as her enemies could be employed in
exterminating each other, she was willing to defer the extermination of
the Huguenots. The great massacre of St. Bartholomew was to sleep for
seven years longer. Alva was, to be sure, much encouraged at first by
the language of the French princes and nobles who were present at
Bayonne. Monluc protested that "they might saw the Queen Dowager in two
before she would become Huguenot." Montpensier exclaimed that "he would
be cut in pieces for Philip's service--that the Spanish monarch was the
only hope for France," and, embracing Alva with fervor, he affirmed that
"if his body were to be opened at that moment, the name of Philip would
be found imprinted upon his heart." The Duke, having no power to proceed
to an autopsy, physical or moral, of Montpensier's interior, was left
somewhat in the dark, notwithstanding these ejaculations. His first
conversation with the youthful King, however, soon dispelled his hopes.
He found immediately, in his own words, that Charles the Ninth "had been
doctored." To take up arms, for religious reasons, against his own
subjects, the monarch declared to be ruinous and improper. It was
obvious to Alva that the royal pupil had learned his lesson for that
occasion. It was a pity for humanity that the wisdom thus hypocritically
taught him could not have sunk into his heart. The Duke did his best to
bring forward the plans and wishes of his royal master, but without
success. The Queen Regent proposed a league of the two Kings and the
Emperor against the Turk, and wished to arrange various matrimonial
alliances between the sons and daughters of the three houses. Alva
expressed the opinion that the alliances were already close enough,
while, on the contrary, a secret league against the Protestants would
make all three families the safer. Catherine, however, was not to be
turned from her position. She refused even to admit that the Chancellor
de l'Hospital was a Huguenot, to which the Duke replied that she was the
only person in her kingdom who held that opinion. She expressed an
intention of convoking an assembly of doctors, and Alva ridiculed in his
letters to Philip the affectation of such a proceeding. In short, she
made it sufficiently evident that the hour for the united action of the
French and Spanish sovereigns against their subjects had not struck,
so that the famous Bayonne conference was terminated without a result.
It seemed not the less certain, however, in the general opinion of
mankind, that all the particulars of a regular plot had been definitely
arranged upon this occasion, for the extermination of the Protestants,
and the error has been propagated by historians of great celebrity of
all parties, down to our own days. The secret letters of Alva, however,
leave no doubt as to the facts.
In the course of November, fresh letters from Philip arrived in the
Netherlands, confirming every thing which he had previously written.
He wrote personally to the inquisitors-general, Tiletanus and De Bay,
encouraging them, commending them, promising them his support, and urging
them not to be deterred by any consideration from thoroughly fulfilling
their duties. He wrote Peter Titelmann a letter, in which he applauded
the pains taken by that functionary to remedy the ills which religion was
suffering, assured him of his gratitude, exhorted him to continue in his
virtuous course, and avowed his determination to spare neither pains,
expense, nor even his own life, to sustain the Catholic Faith. To the
Duchess he wrote at great length, and in most unequivocal language. He
denied that what he had written from Valladolid was of different meaning
from the sense of the despatches by Egmont. With regard to certain
Anabaptist prisoners, concerning whose fate Margaret had requested his
opinion, he commanded their execution, adding that such was his will in
the case of all, whatever their quality, who could be caught.
That which the people said in the Netherlands touching the inquisition,
he pronounced extremely distasteful to him. That institution, which had
existed under his predecessors, he declared more necessary than ever;
nor would he suffer it to be discredited. He desired his sister to put
no faith in idle talk, as to the inconveniences likely to flow from the
rigor of the inquisition. Much greater inconveniences would be the
result if the inquisitors did not proceed with their labors, and the
Duchess was commanded to write to the secular judges, enjoining upon them
to place no obstacles in the path, but to afford all the assistance which
might be required.
To Egmont, the King wrote with his own hand, applauding much that was
contained in the recent decisions of the assembly of bishops and doctors
of divinity, and commanding the Count to assist in the execution of the
royal determination. In affairs of religion, Philip expressed the
opinion that dissimulation and weakness were entirely out of place.
When these decisive letters came before the state council, the
consternation was extreme. The Duchess had counted, in spite of her
inmost convictions, upon less peremptory instructions. The Prince of
Orange, the Count of Egmont, and the Admiral, were loud in their
denunciations of the royal policy. There was a violent and protracted
debate. The excitement spread at once to the, people. Inflammatory
hand-bills were circulated. Placards were posted every night upon the
doors of Orange, Egmont, and Horn, calling upon them to come forth boldly
as champions of the people and of liberty in religious matters. Banquets
were held daily at the houses of the nobility, in which the more ardent
and youthful of their order, with brains excited by wine and anger,
indulged in flaming invectives against the government, and interchanged
vows to protect each other and the cause of the oppressed provinces.
Meanwhile the privy council, to which body the Duchess had referred the
recent despatches from Madrid, made a report upon the whole subject to
the state council, during the month of November, sustaining the royal
views, and insisting upon the necessity of carrying them into effect.
The edicts and inquisition having been so vigorously insisted upon by the
King, nothing was to be done but to issue new proclamations throughout
the country, together with orders to bishops, councils, governors and
judges, that every care should be taken to enforce them to the full.
This report came before the state council, and was sustained by some of
its members. The Prince of Orange expressed the same uncompromising
hostility to the inquisition which he had always manifested, but observed
that the commands of the King were so precise and absolute, as to leave
no possibility of discussing that point. There was nothing to be done,
he said, but to obey, but he washed his hands of the fatal consequences
which he foresaw. There was no longer any middle course between
obedience and rebellion. This opinion, the soundness of which could
scarcely be disputed, was also sustained by Egmont and Horn.
Viglius, on the contrary, nervous, agitated, appalled, was now disposed
to temporize. He observed that if the seigniors feared such evil
results, it would be better to prevent, rather than to accelerate the
danger which would follow the proposed notification to the governors and
municipal authorities throughout the country, on the subject of the
inquisition. To make haste, was neither to fulfil the intentions nor to
serve the interests of the King, and it was desirable "to avoid emotion
and scandal." Upon these heads the President made a very long speech,
avowing, in conclusion, that if his Majesty should not find the course
proposed agreeable, he was ready to receive all the indignation upon his
own head.
Certainly, this position of the President was somewhat inconsistent with
his previous course. He had been most violent in his denunciations of
all who should interfere with the execution of the great edict of which
he had been the original draughtsman. He had recently been ferocious in
combating the opinion of those civilians in the assembly of doctors who
had advocated the abolition of the death penalty against heresy. He had
expressed with great energy his private opinion that the ancient religion
would perish if the machinery of persecution were taken away; yet he now
for the first time seemed to hear or to heed the outcry of a whole
nation, and to tremble at the sound. Now that the die had been cast,
in accordance with the counsels of his whole life, now that the royal
commands, often enigmatical and hesitating; were at last too distinct to
be misconstrued, and too peremptory to be tampered with--the president
imagined the possibility of delay. The health of the ancient Frisian had
but recently permitted him to resume his seat at the council board. His
presence there was but temporary, for he had received from Madrid the
acceptance of his resignation, accompanied with orders to discharge the
duties of President until the arrival of his successor, Charles de
Tisnacq. Thus, in his own language, the Duchess was still obliged to
rely for a season "upon her ancient Palinurus," a necessity far from
agreeable to her, for she had lost confidence in the pilot. It may be
supposed that he was anxious to smooth the troubled waters during the
brief period in which he was still to be exposed to their fury; but he
poured out the oil of his eloquence in vain. Nobody sustained his
propositions. The Duchess, although terrified at the probable
consequences, felt the impossibility of disobeying the deliberate decree
of her brother. A proclamation was accordingly prepared, by which it was
ordered that the Council of Trent, the edicts and the inquisition, should
be published in every town and village in the provinces, immediately, and
once in six months forever afterwards. The deed was done, and the Prince
of Orange, stooping to the ear of his next neighbor, as they sat at the
council-board, whispered that they were now about to witness the
commencement of the most extraordinary tragedy which had ever been
enacted.
The prophecy was indeed a proof that the Prince could read the future,
but the sarcasm of the President, that the remark had been made in a tone
of exultation, was belied by every action of the prophet's life.
The fiat went forth. In the market-place of every town and village of
the Netherlands, the inquisition was again formally proclaimed. Every
doubt which had hitherto existed as to the intention of the government
was swept away. No argument was thenceforward to be permissible as to
the constitutionality of the edicts as to the compatibility of their
provisions with the privileges of the land. The cry of a people in its
agony ascended to Heaven. The decree was answered with a howl of
execration. The flames of popular frenzy arose lurid and threatening
above the house-tops of every town and village. The impending conflict
could no longer be mistaken. The awful tragedy which the great watchman
in the land had so long unceasingly predicted, was seen sweeping solemnly
and steadily onward. The superstitious eyes of the age saw supernatural
and ominous indications in the sky. Contending armies trampled the
clouds; blood dropped from heaven; the exterminating angel rode upon the
wind.
There was almost a cessation of the ordinary business of mankind.
Commerce was paralyzed. Antwerp shook as with an earthquake. A chasm
seemed to open, in which her prosperity and her very existence were to be
forever engulfed. The foreign merchants, manufacturers, and artisans
fled from her gates as if the plague were raging within them. Thriving
cities were likely soon to be depopulated. The metropolitan heart of the
whole country was almost motionless.
Men high in authority sympathized with the general indignation.
The Marquis Berghen, the younger Mansfeld, the Baron Montigny, openly
refused to enforce the edicts within their governments. Men of eminence
inveighed boldly and bitterly against the tyranny of the government, and
counselled disobedience. The Netherlanders, it was stoutly maintained,
were not such senseless brutes as to be ignorant of the mutual relation
of prince and people. They knew that the obligation of a king to his
vassals was as sacred as the duties of the subjects to the sovereign.
The four principal cities of Brabant first came forward in formal
denunciation of the outrage. An elaborate and conclusive document was
drawn up in their name, and presented to the Regent. It set forth that
the recent proclamation violated many articles in the "joyous entry."
That ancient constitution had circumscribed the power of the clergy,
and the jealousy had been felt in old times as much by the sovereign as
the people. No ecclesiastical tribunal had therefore been allowed,
excepting that of the Bishop of Cambray, whose jurisdiction was expressly
confined to three classes of cases--those growing out of marriages,
testaments, and mortmains.
It would be superfluous to discuss the point at the present day, whether
the directions to the inquisitors and the publication of the edicts
conflicted with the "joyous entrance." To take a man from his house and
burn him, after a brief preliminary examination, was clearly not to
follow the, letter and spirit of the Brabantine habeas corpus, by which
inviolability of domicile and regular trials were secured and sworn to
by the monarch; yet such had been the uniform practice of inquisitors
throughout the country. The petition of the four cities was referred by
the Regent to the council of Brabant. The chancellor, or president judge
of that tribunal was notoriously corrupt--a creature of the Spanish.
His efforts to sustain the policy of the administration however vain.
The Duchess ordered the archives of the province to be searched for
precedents, and the council to report upon the petition. The case was
too plain for argument or dogmatism, but the attempt was made to take
refuge in obscurity. The answer of the council was hesitating and
equivocal. The Duchess insisted upon a distinct and categorical answer
to the four cities. Thus pressed, the council of Brabant declared
roundly that no inquisition of any kind had ever existed, in the
provinces. It was impossible that any other answer could be given, but
Viglius, with his associates in the privy council, were extremely angry
at the conclusion. The concession was, however, made, notwithstanding
the bad example which, according to some persons, the victory thus
obtained by so important a province would afford to the people in the
other parts of the country. Brabant was declared free of the
inquisition. Meanwhile the pamphlets, handbills, pasquils, and other
popular productions were multiplied. To use a Flemish expression, they
"snowed in the streets." They were nailed nightly on all the great
houses in Brussels. Patriots were called upon to strike, speak, redress.
Pungent lampoons, impassioned invectives, and earnest remonstrances, were
thrust into the hands of the Duchess. The publications, as they
appeared; were greedily devoured by the people. "We are willing," it was
said, in a remarkable letter to the King, "to die for the Gospel, but we
read therein 'Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, and unto God
that which is God's.' We thank God that our enemies themselves are
compelled to bear witness to our piety and patience; so that it is a
common saying--'He swears not; he is a Protestant; he is neither a
fornicator nor a drunkard; he is of the new sect.' Yet, notwithstanding
these testimonials to our character, no manner of punishment has been
forgotten by which we can possibly be Chastised." This statement of the
morality of the Puritans of the Netherlands was the justification of
martyrs--not the self-glorification of Pharisees. The fact was
incontrovertible. Their tenets were rigid, but their lives were pure.
They belonged generally to the middling and lower classes. They were
industrious artisans, who desired to live in the fear of God and in honor
of their King. They were protected by nobles and gentlemen of high
position, very many of whom came afterwards warmly to espouse the creed
which at first they had only generously defended. Their whole character
and position resembled, in many features, those of the English Puritans,
who, three quarters of a century afterwards, fled for refuge to the Dutch
Republic, and thence departed to establish the American Republic. The
difference was that the Netherlanders were exposed to a longer
persecution and a far more intense martyrdom.
Towards the end of the year (1565) which was closing in such universal
gloom; the contemporary chronicles are enlivened with a fitful gleam of
sunshine. The light enlivens only the more elevated regions of the
Flemish world, but it is pathetic to catch a glimpse of those nobles,
many of whose lives were to be so heroic, and whose destinies so tragic,
as amid the shadows projected by coming evil, they still found time for
the chivalrous festivals of their land and epoch. A splendid tournament
was held at the Chateau d'Antoing to celebrate the nuptials of Baron
Montigny with the daughter of Prince d'Espinoy. Orange, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten were the challengers, and maintained themselves victoriously
against all comers, Egmont and other distinguished knights being, among
the number.
Thus brilliantly and gaily moved the first hours of that marriage which
before six months had fled was to be so darkly terminated. The doom
which awaited the chivalrous bridegroom in the dungeon of Simancas was
ere long to be recorded in one of the foulest chapters of Philip's
tyranny.
A still more elaborate marriage-festival, of which the hero was, at a
later day, to exercise a most decisive influence over the fortunes of the
land, was celebrated at Brussels before the close of the year. It will
be remembered that Alexander, Prince of Parma, had accompanied Egmont on
his return from Spain in the month of April. The Duchess had been
delighted with the appearance of her son, then twenty years of age, but
already an accomplished cavalier. She had expressed her especial
pleasure in finding him so thoroughly a Spaniard "in manner, costume, and
conversation," that it could not be supposed he had ever visited any
other land, or spoken any other tongue than that of Spain.