the Governor-General should remain open, had already half expired,
certain articles, drawn up by the states-general, were at once laid
before Don John. Lord Cobham and Sir Francis Walsingham were then in the
Netherlands, having been sent by Elizabeth for the purpose of effecting a
pacification of the estates with the Governor, if possible. They had
also explained--so far as an explanation was possible--the assistance
which the English government had rendered to the rebels, upon the ground
that the French invasion could be prevented in no other way. This
somewhat lame apology had been passed over in silence rather than
accepted by Don John. In the same interview the envoys made an equally
unsuccessful effort to induce the acceptance by the Governor of the terms
offered by the states. A further proposition, on their part, for an
"Interim," upon the plan attempted by Charles the Fifth in Germany,
previously to the Peace of Passau, met with no more favor than it
merited, for certainly that name--which became so odious in Germany that
cats and dogs were called "Interim" by the common people, in derision--
was hardly a potent word to conjure with, at that moment, in the
Netherlands. They then expressed their intention of retiring to England,
much grieved at the result of their mission. The Governor replied that
they might do as they liked, but that he, at least, had done all in his
power to bring about a peace, and that the King had been equally pacific
in his intentions. He then asked the envoys what they themselves thought
of the terms proposed. "Indeed, they are too hard, your Highness,"
answered Walsingham, "but 'tis only by pure menace that we have extorted
them from the states, unfavorable though they, seem."
"Then you may tell them," replied the Governor, "to keep their offers to
themselves. Such terms will go but little way in any negotiation with
me."
The envoys shrugged their shoulders.
"What is your own opinion on the whole affair?" resumed Don John.
"Perhaps your advice may yet help me to a better conclusion."
The envoys continued silent and pensive.
"We can only answer," said Walsingham, at length, "by imitating the
physician, who would prescribe no medicine until he was quite sure that
the patient was ready to swallow it. 'Tis no use wasting counsel or
drugs."
The reply was not satisfactory, but the envoys had convinced themselves
that the sword was the only surgical instrument likely to find favor at
that juncture. Don John referred, in vague terms, to his peaceable
inclinations, but protested that there was no treating with so unbridled
a people as the Netherlanders. The ambassadors soon afterwards took
their leave. After this conference, which was on the 24th of August,
1578, Walsingham and Cobham addressed a letter to the states-general,
deploring the disingenuous and procrastinating conduct of the Governor,
and begging that the failure to effect a pacification might not be
imputed to them. They then returned to England.
The Imperial envoy, Count Schwartzburg, at whose urgent solicitation this
renewed attempt at a composition had been made, was most desirous that
the Governor should accept the articles. They formed, indeed, the basis
of a liberal, constitutional, representative government, in which the
Spanish monarch was to retain only a strictly limited sovereignty. The
proposed convention required Don John, with all his troops and adherents,
forthwith to leave the land after giving up all strongholds and cities in
his possession. It provided that the Archduke Matthias should remain as
Governor general, under the conditions according to which he had been
originally accepted. It left the question of religious worship to the
decision of the states-general. It provided for the release of all
prisoners, the return of all exiles, the restoration of all confiscated
property. It stipulated that upon the death or departure of Matthias,
his Majesty was not to appoint a governor-general without the consent of
the states-general.
When Count Schwartzburg waited upon the Governor with these astonishing
propositions--which Walsingham might well call somewhat hard--he found
him less disposed to explode with wrath than he had been in previous
conferences. Already the spirit of the impetuous young soldier was
broken, both by the ill health which was rapidly undermining his
constitution and by the helpless condition in which he had been left
while contending with the great rebellion. He had soldiers, but no money
to pay them withal; he had no means of upholding that supremacy of crown
and church which he was so vigorously instructed to maintain; and he was
heartily wearied of fulminating edicts which he had no power to enforce.
He had repeatedly solicited his recal, and was growing daily more
impatient that his dismissal did not arrive. Moreover, the horrible news
of Escovedo's assassination had sickened him to the soul. The deed had
flashed a sudden light into the abyss of dark duplicity in which his own
fate was suspended. His most intimate and confidential friend had been
murdered by royal command, while he was himself abandoned by Philip,
exposed to insult, left destitute of defence. No money was forthcoming,
in spite of constant importunities and perpetual promises. Plenty of
words were sent him; he complained, as if he possessed the art of
extracting gold from them, or as if war could be carried on with words
alone.
Being in so desponding a mood, he declined entering into any controversy
with regard to the new propositions, which, however, he characterized as
most iniquitous. He stated merely that his Majesty had determined to
refer the Netherland matters to the arbitration of the Emperor; that the
Duke de Terra Nova would soon be empowered to treat upon the subject at
the imperial court; and that, in the meantime, he was himself most
anxiously awaiting his recal.
A synod of the Reformed churches had been held, during the month of June,
at Dort. There they had laid down a platform of their principles of
church government in one hundred and one articles. In the same month,
the leading members of the Reformed Church had drawn up an ably reasoned
address to Matthias and the Council of State on the subject of a general
peace of religion for the provinces.
William of Orange did his utmost to improve the opportunity. He sketched
a system of provisional toleration, which he caused to be signed by the
Archduke Matthias, and which, at least for a season, was to establish
religious freedom. The brave; tranquil, solitary man still held his
track across the raging waves, shedding as much light as one clear human
soul could dispense; yet the dim lantern, so far in advance, was
swallowed in the mist, ere those who sailed in his wake could shape their
course by his example. No man understood him. Not even his nearest
friends comprehended his views, nor saw that he strove to establish not
freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience. Saint Aldegonde
complained that the Prince would not persecute the Anabaptists, Peter
Dathenus denounced him as an atheist, while even Count John; the only
one left of his valiant and generous brothers, opposed the religious
peace--except where the advantage was on the side of the new religion.
Where the Catholics had been effectually put down, as in Holland and
Zealand, honest John saw so reason for allowing them to lift themselves
up again. In the Popish provinces, on the other hand, he was for a
religious peace. In this bigoted spirit he was followed by too many of
the Reforming mass, while, on their part, the Walloons were already
banding themselves together in the more southern provinces, under the
name of Malcontents. Stigmatized by the Calvinists as "Paternoster
Jacks," they were daily drawing closer their alliance with Alencon; and
weakening the bands which united them with their Protestant brethren.
Count John had at length become a permanent functionary in the
Netherlands. Urgently solicited by the leaders and the great multitude
of the Reformers, he had long been unwilling to abandon his home, and to
neglect the private affairs which his devotion to the Netherland cause
had thrown into great confusion. The Landgrave, too, whose advice he had
asked, had strongly urged him not to "dip his fingers into the olla
podrida." The future of the provinces was, in his opinion, so big with
disaster, that the past, with all its horrors; under Alva and Requesens,
had only furnished the "preludia" of that which was to ensue. For these
desperate views his main reason, as usual, was the comet; that
mischievous luminary still continuing to cast a lurid glare across the
Landgrave's path. Notwithstanding these direful warnings from a prince
of the Reformation, notwithstanding the "olla podrida" and the "comet,"
Count John had nevertheless accepted the office of Governor of
Gelderland, to which he had been elected by the estates of that province
on the 11th of March. That important bulwark of Holland, Zealand, and
Utrecht on the one side, and of Groningen and Friesland on the other--the
main buttress, in short, of the nascent republic, was now in hands which
would defend it to the last.
As soon as the discussion came up in the states-general on the subject of
the Dort petitions, Orange requested that every member who had formed his
opinions should express them fully and frankly. All wished, however, to
be guided and governed by the sentiments of the Prince. Not a man spoke,
save to demand their leader's views, and to express adhesion in advance
to the course which his wisdom might suggest. The result was a projected
convention, a draft for a religious peace, which, if definitely
established, would have healed many wounds and averted much calamity.
It was not, however, destined to be accepted at that time by the states
of the different provinces where it was brought up for discussion; and
several changes were made, both of form and substance, before the system
was adopted at all. Meantime, for the important city of Antwerp, where
religious broils were again on the point of breaking out, the Prince
preferred a provisional arrangement, which he forthwith carried into
execution. A proclamation, in the name of the Archduke Matthias and of
the State Council, assigned five special places in the city where the
members of the "pretended Reformed religion" should have liberty to
exercise their religious worship, with preaching, singing, and the
sacraments. The churchyards of the parochial churches were to be opened
for the burial of their dead, but the funerals were to be unaccompanied
with exhortation, or any public demonstration which might excite
disturbance. The adherents of one religion were forbidden to disturb, to
insult, or in any way to interfere with the: solemnities of the other.
All were to abstain from mutual jeerings--by pictures, ballads, books, or
otherwise--and from all injuries to ecclesiastical property. Every man,
of whatever religion, was to be permitted entrance to the churches of
either religion, and when there, all were to conform to the regulations
of the church with modesty and respect. Those of the new religion were
to take oaths of obedience to the authorities, and to abstain from
meddling with the secular administration of affairs. Preachers of both
religions were forbidden to preach out of doors, or to make use of
language tending to sedition. All were to bind themselves to assist the
magistrates in quelling riots, and in sustaining the civil government.
This example of religious peace, together with the active correspondence
thus occasioned with the different state assemblies, excited the jealousy
of the Catholic leaders and of the Walloon population. Champagny, who
despite his admirable qualities and brilliant services, was still unable
to place himself on the same platform of toleration with Orange, now
undertook a decided movement against the policy of the Prince. Catholic
to the core, he drew up a petition, remonstrating most vigorously against
the draft for a religions peace, then in circulation through the
provinces. To this petition he procured many signatures among the more
ardent Catholic nobles. De Heze, De Glimes, and others of the same
stamp, were willing enough to follow the lead of so distinguished a
chieftain. The remonstrance was addressed to the Archduke, the Prince of
Orange, the State Council, and the States-general, and called upon them
all to abide by their solemn promises to permit no schism in the ancient
Church. Should the exercise of the new religion be allowed, the
petitioners insisted that the godless licentiousness of the Netherlands
would excite the contempt of all peoples and potentates. They suggested,
in conclusion, that all the principal cities of France--and in particular
the city of Paris--had kept themselves clear of the exercise of the new
religion, and that repose and prosperity had been the result.
This petition was carried with considerable solemnity by Champagny,
attended by many of his confederates, to the Hotel-de Ville, and
presented to the magistracy of Brussels. These functionaries were
requested to deliver it forthwith to the Archduke and Council. The
magistrates demurred. A discussion ensued, which grew warmer and warmer
as it proceeded. The younger nobles permitted themselves abusive
language, which the civic dignitaries would not brook. The session
was dissolved, and the magistrates, still followed by the petitioners,
came forth into the street. The confederates, more inflamed than ever,
continued to vociferate and to threaten. A crowd soon collected in the
square. The citizens were naturally curious to know why their senators
were thus browbeaten and insulted by a party of insolent young Catholic
nobles. The old politician at their head, who, in spite of many
services, was not considered a friend to the nation, inspired them with
distrust. Being informed of the presentation of the petition, the
multitude loudly demanded that the document should be read. This was
immediately done. The general drift of the remonstrance was anything but
acceptable, but the allusion to Paris, at the close, excited a tempest of
indignation. "Paris! Paris! Saint Bartholomew! Saint Bartholomew!
Are we to have Paris weddings in Brussels also?" howled the mob, as is
often the case, extracting but a single idea, and that a wrong one; from
the public lecture which had just been made. "Are we to have a Paris
massacre, a Paris blood-bath here in the Netherland capital? God forbid!
God forbid! Away with the conspirators! Down with the Papists!"
It was easily represented to the inflamed imaginations of the populace
that a Brussels Saint Bartholomew had been organized, and that Champagny,
who stood there before them, was its originator and manager. The
ungrateful Netherlanders forgot the heroism with which the old soldier
had arranged the defence of Antwerp against the "Spanish Fury" but two
years before. They heard only the instigations of his enemies; they
remembered only that he was the hated Granvelle's brother; they believed
only that there was a plot by which, in some utterly incomprehensible
manner, they were all to be immediately engaged in cutting each others
throats and throwing each other out of the windows, as had been done half
a dozen years before in Paris. Such was the mischievous intention
ascribed to a petition, which Champagny and his friends had as much
right to offer--however narrow and mistaken their, opinions might now
be considered--as had the, synod of Dort to present their remonstrances.
Never was a more malignant or more stupid perversion of a simple and not
very alarming phrase. No allusion had been made to Saint Bartholomew,
but all its horrors were supposed to be concealed in the sentence which
referred to Paris. The nobles were arrested on the spot and hurried to
prison, with the exception of Champagny, who made his escape at first,
and lay concealed for several days. He was, however, finally ferreted
out of his hiding-place and carried off to Ghent. There he was thrown
into strict confinement, being treated in all respects as the accomplice
of Aerschot and the other nobles who had been arrested in the time of
Ryhove's revolution. Certainly, this conduct towards a brave and
generous gentleman was ill calculated to increase general sympathy for
the cause, or to merit the approbation of Orange. There was, however,
a strong prejudice against Champagny. His brother Granvelle had never
been forgotten by the Netherlanders, and, was still regarded as their
most untiring foe, while Champagny was supposed to be in close league
with the Cardinal. In these views the people were entirely wrong.
While these events were taking place in Brussels and Antwerp, the two
armies of the states and of Don John were indolently watching each other.
The sinews of war had been cut upon both sides. Both parties were
cramped by the most abject poverty. The troops under Bossu and Casimir,
in the camp sear Mechlin, were already discontented, for want of pay.
The one hundred thousand pounds of Elizabeth had already been spent,
and it was not probable that the offended Queen would soon furnish
another subsidy. The states could with difficulty extort anything like
the assessed quotas from the different provinces. The Duke of Alencon
was still at Mons, from which place he had issued a violent proclamation
of war against Don John--a manifesto which had, however, not been
followed up by very vigorous demonstrations. Don John himself was in
his fortified camp at Bouge, within a league of Namur, but the here
was consuming with mental and with bodily fever. He was, as it were,
besieged. He was left entirely without funds, while his royal brother
obstinately refused compliance with his earnest demands to be recalled,
and coldly neglected his importunities for pecuniary assistance.
Compelled to carry on a war against an armed rebellion with such gold
only as could be extracted from loyal swords; stung to the heart by the
suspicion of which he felt himself the object at home, and by the hatred
with which he was regarded in the provinces; outraged in his inmost
feelings by the murder of Escovedo; foiled, outwitted, reduced to a
political nullity by the masterly tactics of the "odious heretic of
heretics" to whom he had originally offered his patronage and the royal
forgiveness, the high-spirited soldier was an object to excite the
tenderness even of religious and political opponents. Wearied with the
turmoil of camps without battle and of cabinets without counsel, he
sighed for repose, even if it could be found only in a cloister or the
grave. "I rejoice to see by your letter," he wrote, pathetically, to
John Andrew Doria, at Genoa, "that your life is flowing on with such
calmness, while the world around me is so tumultuously agitated. I
consider you most fortunate that you are passing the remainder of your
days for God and yourself; that you are not forced to put yourself
perpetually in the scales of the world's events, nor to venture yourself
daily on its hazardous games." He proceeded to inform his friend of his
own painful situation, surrounded by innumerable enemies, without means
of holding out more than three months, and cut off from all assistance by
a government which could not see that if the present chance were lost all
was lost. He declared it impossible for him to fight in the position to
which he was reduced, pressed as he was within half a mile of the point
which he had always considered as his last refuge. He stated also that
the French were strengthening themselves in Hainault, under Alencon, and
that the King of France was in readiness to break in through Burgundy,
should his brother obtain a firm foothold in the provinces. "I have
besought his Majesty over and over again," he continued, "to send to me
his orders; if they come they shall be executed, unless they arrive too
late. They have cut of our hands and we have now nothing for it but to
stretch forth our heads also to the axe. I grieve to trouble you with my
sorrows, but I trust to your sympathy as a man and a friend. I hope that
you will remember me in your prayers, for you can put your trust where,
in former days, I never could place my own."
The dying crusader wrote another letter, in the same mournful strain,
to another intimate friend, Don Pedro Mendoza, Spanish envoy in Genoa.
It was dated upon the same day from his camp near Namur, and repeated the
statement that the King of France was ready to invade the Netherlands, so
soon as Alencon should prepare an opening. "His Majesty," continued Don
John, "is resolved upon nothing; at least, I am kept in ignorance of his
intentions. Our life is doled out to us here by moments. I cry aloud,
but it profits me little. Matters will soon be disposed, through our
negligence, exactly as the Devil would best wish them. It is plain that
we are left here to pine away till our last breath. God direct us all as
He may see fit; in His hands are all things."
Four days later he wrote to the King, stating that he was confined to his
chamber with a fever, by which he was already as much reduced as if he
had been ill for a month. "I assure your Majesty," said he "that the
work here is enough to destroy any constitution and any life." He
reminded Philip how often he had been warned by him as to the insidious
practices of the French. Those prophecies had now become facts. The
French had entered the country, while some of the inhabitants were
frightened, others disaffected. Don John declared himself in a dilemma.
With his small force, hardly enough to make head against the enemy
immediately in front, and to protect the places which required guarding,
'twas impossible for him to leave his position to attack the enemy in
Burgundy. If he remained stationary, the communications were cut off
through which his money and supplies reached him. "Thus I remain," said
he, "perplexed and confused, desiring, more than life, some decision on
your Majesty's part, for which I have implored so many times." He urged
the King most vehemently to send him instructions as to the course to be
pursued, adding that it wounded him to the soul to find them so long
delayed. He begged to be informed whether he was to attack the enemy in
Burgundy, whether he should await where he then was the succor of his
Majesty, or whether he was to fight, and if so with which of his enemies:
in fine, what he was to do; because, losing or winning, he meant to
conform to his Majesty's will. He felt deeply pained, he said, at being
disgraced and abandoned by the King, having served him, both as a
brother, and a man, with love and faith and heartiness. "Our lives,"
said he, "are at stake upon this game, and all we wish is to lose them
honorably." He begged the King to send a special envoy to France, with
remonstrances on the subject of Alencon, and another to the Pope to ask
for the Duke's excommunication. He protested that he would give his
blood rather than occasion so much annoyance to the King, but that he
felt it his duty to tell the naked truth. The pest was ravaging his
little army. Twelve hundred were now in hospital, besides those nursed
in private houses, and he had no means or money to remedy the evil.
Moreover, the enemy, seeing that they were not opposed in the open field,
had cut off the passage into Liege by the Meuse, and had advanced to
Nivelles and Chimay for the sake of communications with France, by the
same river.
Ten days after these pathetic passages had been written, the writer was
dead. Since the assassination of Escovedo, a consuming melancholy had
settled upon his spirits, and a burning fever came, in the month of
September, to destroy his physical strength. The house where he lay was
a hovel, the only chamber of which had been long used as a pigeon-house.
This wretched garret was cleansed, as well as it could be of its filth,
and hung with tapestry emblazoned with armorial bearings. In that
dovecot the hero of Lepanto was destined to expire. During the last few,
days of his illness, he was delirious. Tossing upon his uneasy couch, he
again arranged in imagination, the combinations of great battles, again
shouted his orders to rushing squadrons, and listened with brightening
eye to the trumpet of victory. Reason returned, however, before the hour
of death, and permitted him, the opportunity to make the dispositions
rendered necessary by his condition. He appointed his nephew, Alexander
of Parma, who had been watching assiduously over his deathbed, to succeed
him, provisionally, in the command of the army and in his other
dignities, received the last sacraments with composure, and tranquilly
breathed his last upon the first day of October, the month which, since
the battle of Lepanto, he had always considered a festive and a fortunate
one.