CHAPTER IV.

Reception of the Dutch Envoys at the Louvre--Ignominious Result of

the Embassy--Secret Influences at work--Bargaining between the

French and Spanish Courts--Claims of Catharine de' Medici upon

Portugal--Letters of Henry and Catharine--Secret Proposal by France

to invade England--States' Mission to Henry of Navarre--Subsidies

of Philip to Guise--Treaty of Joinville--Philip's Share in the

League denied by Parma--Philip in reality its Chief--Manifesto of

the League--Attitude of Henry III. and of Navarre--The League

demands a Royal Decree--Designs of France and Spain against England

--Secret Interview of Mendoza and Villeroy--Complaints of English

Persecution--Edict of Nemours--Excommunication of Navarre and his

Reply.

The King, notwithstanding his apparent reluctance, had, in Sir Edward

Stafford's language, "nibbled at the bait." He had, however, not been

secured at the first attempt, and now a second effort was to be made,

under what were supposed to be most favourable circumstances. In

accordance with his own instructions, his envoy, Des Pruneaux, had been

busily employed in the States, arranging the terms of a treaty which

should be entirely satisfactory. It had been laid down as an

indispensable condition that Holland and Zeeland should unite in the

offer of sovereignty, and, after the expenditure of much eloquence,

diplomacy, and money, Holland and Zeeland had given their consent. The

court had been for some time anxious and impatient for the arrival of the

deputies. Early in December, Des Pruneaux wrote from Paris to Count

Maurice, urging with some asperity, the necessity of immediate action.

"When I left you," he said, "I thought that performance would follow

promises. I have been a little ashamed, as the time passed by, to hear

nothing of the deputies, nor of any excuse on the subject. It would seem

as though God had bandaged the eyes of those who have so much cause to

know their own adversity."

To the States his language was still more insolent. "Excuse me,

Gentlemen," he said, "if I tell you that I blush at hearing nothing from

you. I shall have the shame and you the damage. I regret much the capture

of De Teligny, and other losses which are occasioned by your delays and

want of resolution."

Thus did the French court, which a few months before had imprisoned, and

then almost ignominiously dismissed the envoys who came to offer the

sovereignty of the Provinces, now rebuke the governments which had ever

since been strenuously engaged in removing all obstacles to the entire

fulfillment of the King's demands. The States were just despatching a

solemn embassy to renew that offer, with hardly any limitation as to

terms.

The envoys arrived on January 3rd, 1585, at Boulogne, after a stormy

voyage from Brielle. Yet it seems incredible to relate, that, after all

the ignominy heaped upon the last, there was nothing but solemn trifling

in reserve for the present legation; although the object of both

embassies was to offer a crown. The deputies were, however, not kept in

prison, upon this occasion, nor treated like thieves or spies. They were

admirably lodged, with plenty of cooks and lacqueys to minister to them;

they fared sumptuously every day, at Henry's expense, and, after they had

been six weeks in the kingdom, they at last succeeded in obtaining their

first audience.

On the 13th February the King sent five "very splendid, richly-gilded,

court-coach-waggons" to bring the envoys to the palace. At one o'clock

they arrived at the Louvre, and were ushered through four magnificent

antechambers into the royal cabinet. The apartments through which they

passed swarmed with the foremost nobles, court-functionaries, and ladies

of France, in blazing gala costume, who all greeted the envoys with

demonstrations of extreme respect: The halls and corridors were lined

with archers, halbardiers, Swiss guards, and grooms "besmeared with

gold," and it was thought that all this rustle of fine feathers would be

somewhat startling to the barbarous republicans, fresh from the fens of

Holland.

Henry received them in his cabinet, where he was accompanied only by the

Duke of Joyeuse--his foremost and bravest "minion"--by the Count of

Bouscaige, M. de Valette, and the Count of Chateau Vieux.

The most Christian King was neatly dressed, in white satin doublet and

hose, and well-starched ruff, with a short cloak on his shoulders, a

little velvet cap on the side of his head, his long locks duly perfumed

and curled, his sword at his side, and a little basket, full of puppies,

suspended from his neck by a broad ribbon. He held himself stiff and

motionless, although his face smiled a good-humoured welcome to the

ambassadors; and he moved neither foot, hand, nor head, as they advanced.

Chancellor Leoninus, the most experienced, eloquent, and tedious of men,

now made an interminable oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in

facts; and the King made a short and benignant reply, according to the

hallowed formula in such cases provided. And then there was a

presentation to the Queen, and to the Queen-Mother, when Leoninus was

more prolix than before, and Catharine even more affectionate than her

son; and there were consultations with Chiverny and Villeroy, and Brulart

and Pruneaux, and great banquets at the royal expense, and bales of

protocols, and drafts of articles, and conditions and programmes and

apostilles by the hundred weight, and at last articles of annexation were

presented by the envoys, and Pruneaux looked at and pronounced them "too

raw and imperative," and the envoys took them home again, and dressed

them and cooked them till there was no substance left in them; for

whereas the envoys originally offered the crown of their country to

France, on condition that no religion but the reformed religion should be

tolerated there, no appointments made but by the States, and no security

offered for advances to be made by the Christian King, save the hearts

and oaths of his new subjects--so they now ended by proposing the

sovereignty unconditionally, almost abjectly; and, after the expiration

of nearly three months, even these terms were absolutely refused, and the

deputies were graciously permitted to go home as they came. The

annexation and sovereignty were definitely declined. Henry regretted and

sighed, Catharine de' Medici wept--for tears were ever at her

command--Chancellor Chiverny and Secretary Brulart wept likewise, and

Pruneaux was overcome with emotion at the parting interview of the

ambassadors with the court, in which they were allowed a last opportunity

for expressing what was called their gratitude.

And then, on the lath March, M. d'Oignon came to them, and presented, on

the part of the King, to each of the envoys a gold chain weighing

twenty-one ounces and two grains.

Des Pruneaux, too--Des Pruneaux who had spent the previous summer in the

Netherlands, who had travelled from province to province, from city to

city, at the King's command, offering boundless assistance, if they would

unanimously offer their sovereignty; who had vanquished by his

importunity the resistance of the stern Hollanders, the last of all the

Netherlanders to yield to the royal blandishments--Des Pruneaux, who had

"blushed"--Des Pruneaux who had wept--now thought proper to assume an

airy tone, half encouragement, half condolence.

"Man proposes, gentlemen," said he "but God disposes. We are frequently

called on to observe that things have a great variety of times and terms.

Many a man is refused by a woman twice, who succeeds the third time," and

so on, with which wholesome apothegms Des Pruneaux faded away then and

for ever from the page of Netherland history.

In a few days afterwards the envoys took shipping at Dieppe, and arrived

early in April at the Hague.

And thus terminated the negotiation of the States with France.

It had been a scene of elaborate trifling on the King's part from

beginning to end. Yet the few grains of wheat which have thus been

extracted from the mountains of diplomatic chaff so long mouldering in

national storehouses, contain, however dry and tasteless, still something

for human nourishment. It is something to comprehend the ineffable

meanness of the hands which then could hold the destiny of mighty

empires. Here had been offered a magnificent prize to France; a great

extent of frontier in the quarter where expansion was most desirable, a

protective network of towns and fortresses on the side most vulnerable,

flourishing, cities on the sea-coast where the marine traffic was most

lucrative, the sovereignty of a large population, the most bustling,

enterprising, and hardy in Europe--a nation destined in a few short years

to become the first naval and commercial power in the world--all this was

laid at the feet of Henry Valois and Catharine de' Medici, and rejected.

The envoys, with their predecessors, had wasted eight months of most

precious time; they had heard and made orations, they had read and

written protocols, they had witnessed banquets, masquerades, and revels

of stupendous frivolity, in honour of the English Garter, brought

solemnly to the Valois by Lord Derby, accompanied by one hundred

gentlemen "marvellously, sumptuously, and richly accoutred," during that

dreadful winter when the inhabitants of Brussels, Antwerp, Mechlin--to

save which splendid cities and to annex them to France, was a main object

of the solemn embassy from the Netherlands--were eating rats, and cats,

and dogs, and the weeds from the pavements, and the grass from the

churchyards; and were finding themselves more closely pressed than ever

by the relentless genius of Farnese; and in exchange for all these losses

and all this humiliation, the ambassadors now returned to their

constituents, bringing an account of Chiverny's magnificent banquets and

long orations, of the smiles of Henry III., the tears of Catharine de'

Medici, the regrets of M. des Pruneaux, besides sixteen gold chains, each

weighing twenty-one ounces and two grains.

It is worth while to go for a moment behind the scene; We have seen the

actors, with mask and cothurn and tinsel crown, playing their well-conned

parts upon the stage. Let us hear them threaten, and whimper, and chaffer

among themselves.

So soon as it was intimated that Henry III. was about to grant the

Netherland, envoys an audience, the wrath of ambassador Mendoza was

kindled. That magniloquent Spaniard instantly claimed an interview with

the King, before whom, according to the statement of his colleagues,

doing their best to pry into these secrets, he blustered and bounced, and

was more fantastical in his insolence than even Spanish envoy had ever

been before.

"He went presently to court," so Walsingham was informed by Stafford,

"and dealt very passionately with the King and Queen-Mother to deny them

audience, who being greatly offended with his presumptuous and malapert

manner of proceeding, the King did in choler and with some sharp

speeches, let him plainly understand that he was an absolute king, bound

to yield account of his doings to no man, and that it was lawful for him

to give access to any man within his own realm. The Queen-Mother answered

him likewise very roundly, whereupon he departed for the time, very much

discontented."

Brave words, on both sides, if they had ever been spoken, or if there had

been any action corresponding to their spirit.

But, in truth, from the beginning, Henry and his mother saw in the

Netherland embassy only the means of turning a dishonest penny. Since the

disastrous retreat of Anjou from the Provinces, the city of Cambray had

remained in the hands of the Seigneur de Balagny, placed there by the

duke. The citadel, garrisoned by French troops, it was not the intention

of Catharine de' Medici to restore to Philip, and a truce on the subject

had been arranged provisionally for a year. Philip, taking Parma's advice

to prevent the French court, if possible, from "fomenting the Netherland

rebellion," had authorized the Prince to conclude that truce, as if done

on his own responsibility, and not by royal order. Meantime, Balagny was

gradually swelling into a petty potentate, on his own account, making

himself very troublesome to the Prince of Parma, and requiring a great

deal of watching. Cambray was however apparently acquired for France.

But, besides this acquisition, there was another way of earning something

solid, by turning this Netherland matter handsomely to account. Philip

II. had recently conquered Portugal. Among the many pretensions to that

crown, those of Catherine de' Medici had been put forward, but had been

little heeded. The claim went back more than three hundred years, and to

establish its validity would have been to convert the peaceable

possession of a long line of sovereigns into usurpation. To ascend to

Alphonso III. was like fetching, as it was said, a claim from Evander's

grandmother. Nevertheless, ever since Philip had been upon the Portuguese

throne, Catherine had been watching the opportunity, not of unseating

that sovereign, but of converting her claim into money.

The Netherland embassy seemed to offer the coveted opportunity. There

was, therefore, quite as much warmth at the outset, on the part of

Mendoza, in that first interview after the arrival of the deputies, as

had been represented. There was however less dignity and more cunning on

the part of Henry and Catherine than was at all suspected. Even before

that conference the King had been impatiently expecting overtures from

the Spanish envoy, and had been disappointed. "He told me," said Henry,

"that he would make proposals so soon as Tassis should be gone, but he

has done nothing yet. He said to Gondi that all he meant was to get the

truce of Cambray accomplished. I hope, however, that my brother, the King

of Spain, will do what is right in regard to madam my mother's

pretensions. 'Tis likely that he will be now incited thereto, seeing that

the deputies of all the Netherland provinces are at present in my

kingdom, to offer me carte blanche. I shall hear what they have to say,

and do exactly what the good of my own affairs shall seem to require. The

Queen of England, too, has been very pressing and urgent with me for

several months on this subject. I shall hear, too, what she has to say,

and I presume, if the King of Spain will now disclose himself, and do

promptly what he ought, that we may set Christendom at rest."

Henry then instructed his ambassador in Spain to keep his eyes wide open,

in order to penetrate the schemes of Philip, and to this end ordered him

an increase of salary by a third, that he might follow that monarch on

his journey to Arragon.

Meanwhile Mendoza had audience of his Majesty. "He made a very pressing

remonstrance," said the King, "concerning the arrival of these deputies,

urging me to send them back at once; denouncing them as disobedient

rebels and heretics. I replied that my kingdom was free, and that I

should hear from them all that they had to say, because I could not

abandon madam my mother in her pretensions, not only for the filial

obedience which I owe her, but because I am her only heir. Mendoza

replied that he should go and make the same remonstrance to the

Queen-Mother, which he accordingly did, and she will herself write you

what passed between them. If they do not act up to their duty down there

I know how to take my revenge upon them."

This is the King's own statement--his veriest words--and he was surely

best aware of what occurred between himself and Mendoza, under their four

eyes only. The ambassador is not represented as extremely insolent, but

only pressing; and certainly there is little left of the fine periods on

Henry's part about listening to the cry of the oppressed, or preventing

the rays of his ancestors' diadem from growing pale, with which

contemporary chronicles are filled.

There was not one word of the advancement and glory of the French nation;

not a hint of the fame to be acquired by a magnificent expansion of

territory, still less of the duty to deal generously or even honestly

with an oppressed people, who in good faith were seeking an asylum in

exchange for offered sovereignty, not a syllable upon liberty of

conscience, of religious or civil rights; nothing but a petty and

exclusive care for the interests of his mother's pocket, and of his own

as his mother's heir. This farthing-candle was alone to guide the steps

of "the high and mighty King," whose reputation was perpetually

represented as so precious to him in all the conferences between his

ministers and the Netherland deputies. Was it possible for those envoys

to imagine the almost invisible meanness of such childish tricks?

The Queen-Mother was still more explicit and unblushing throughout the

whole affair.

"The ambassador of Spain," she said, "has made the most beautiful

remonstrances he could think of about these deputies from the

Netherlands. All his talk, however, cannot persuade me to anything else

save to increase my desire to have reparation for the wrong that has been

done me in regard to my claims upon Portugal, which I am determined to

pursue by every means within my power. Nevertheless I have told Don

Bernardino that I should always be ready to embrace any course likely to

bring about a peaceful conclusion. He then entered into a discussion of

my rights, which, he said, were not thought in Spain to be founded in

justice. But when I explained to him the principal points (of which I

possess all the pieces of evidence and justification), he hardly knew

what to say, save that he was astounded that I had remained so long

without speaking of my claims. In reply, I told him ingenuously the

truth."

The truth which the ingenuous Catharine thus revealed was, in brief, that

all her predecessors had been minors, women, and persons in situations

not to make their rights valid. Finding herself more highly placed, she

had advanced her claims, which had been so fully recognized in Portugal,

that she had been received as Infanta of the kingdom. All pretensions to

the throne being now through women only, hers were the best of any. At

all this Don Bernardino expressed profound astonishment, and promised to

send a full account to his master of "the infinite words" which had

passed between them at this interview!

"I desire," said Catharine, "that the Lord King of Spain should open his

mind frankly and promptly upon the recompense which he is willing to make

me for Portugal, in order that things may pass rather with gentleness

than otherwise."

It was expecting a great deal to look for frankness and promptness from

the Lord King of Spain, but the Queen-Mother considered that the

Netherland envoys had put a whip into her hand. She was also determined

to bring Philip up to the point, without showing her own game. "I will

never say," said Catharine--ingenuous no longer--"I will never say how

much I ask, but, on the contrary, I shall wait for him to make the offer.

I expect it to be reasonable, because he has seen fit to seize and occupy

that which I declare to be my property."

This is the explanation of all the languor and trifling of the French

court in the Netherland negotiation. A deep, constant, unseen current was

running counter to all the movement which appeared upon the surface. The

tergiversations of the Spanish cabinet in the Portugal matter were the

cause of the shufflings of the French ministers on the subject of the

Provinces.

"I know well," said Henry a few days later, "that the people down there,

and their ambassador here, are leading us on with words, as far as they

can, with regard to the recompense of madam my mother for her claims upon

Portugal. But they had better remember (and I think they will), that out

of the offers which these sixteen deputies of the Netherlands are

bringing me--and I believe it to be carte blanche--I shall be able to pay

myself. 'Twill be better to come promptly to a good bargain and a brief

conclusion, than to spin the matter out longer."

"Don Bernardino," said the Queen-Mother on the same day, "has been

keeping us up to this hour in hopes of a good offer, but 'tis to be

feared, for the good of Christendom, that 'twill be too late. The

deputies are come, bringing carte blanche. Nevertheless, if the King of

Spain is willing to be reasonable, and that instantly, it will be well,

and it would seem as if God had been pleased to place this means in our

hands."

After the conferences had been fairly got under way between the French

government and the envoys, the demands upon Philip for a good bargain and

a handsome offer became still more pressing.

"I have given audience to the deputies from the Provinces," wrote Henry,

"and the Queen-Mother has done the same. Chancellor Chiverny, Villequier,

Bellievre, and Brulart, will now confer with them from day today. I now

tell you that it will be well, before things go any farther, for the King

of Spain to come to reason about the pretensions of madam mother. This

will be a means of establishing the repose of Christendom. I shall be

very willing to concur in such an arrangement, if I saw any approximation

to it on the part of the King or his ministers. But I fear they will

delay too long, and so you had better tell them. Push them to the point

as much as possible, without letting them suspect that I have been

writing about it, for that would make them rather draw back than come

forward."

At the same time, during this alternate threatening and coaxing between

the French and the Spanish court, and in the midst of all the solemn and

tedious protocolling of the ministry and the Dutch envoys, there was a

most sincere and affectionate intercourse maintained between Henry III.

and the Prince of Parma. The Spanish Governor-General was assured that

nothing but the warmest regard was entertained for him and his master on

the part of the French court. Parma had replied, however, that so many

French troops had in times past crossed the frontier to assist the

rebels, that he hardly knew what to think. He expressed the hope, now

that the Duke of Anjou was dead, that his Christian Majesty would not

countenance the rebellion, but manifest his good-will.

"How can your Highness doubt it," said Malpierre, Henry's envoy, "for his

Majesty has given proof enough of his good will, having prevented all

enterprises in this regard, and preferred to have his own subjects cut

into pieces rather than that they should carry out their designs. Had his

Majesty been willing merely to connive at these undertakings, 'tis

probable that the affairs of your highness would not have succeeded so

well as they have done."

With regard to England, also, the conduct of Henry and his mother in

these negotiations was marked by the same unfathomable duplicity. There

was an appearance of cordiality on the surface; but there was deep

plotting, and bargaining, and even deadly hostility lurking below. We

have seen the efforts which Elizabeth's government had been making to

counteract the policy which offered the sovereignty of the provinces to

the French monarch. At the same time there was at least a loyal

disposition upon the Queen's part to assist the Netherlands, in

concurrence with Henry. The demeanour of Burghley and his colleagues was

frankness itself, compared with the secret schemings of the Valois; for

at least peace and good-will between the "triumvirate" of France, England

and the Netherlands, was intended, as the true means of resisting the

predominant influence of Spain.

Yet very soon after the solemn reception by Henry of the garter brought

by Lord Derby, and in the midst of the negotiations between the French

court and the United Provinces, the French king was not only attempting

to barter the sovereignty offered him by the Netherlanders against a

handsome recompense for the Portugal claim, but he was actually proposing

to the King of Spain to join with him in an invasion of England! Even

Philip himself must have admired and respected such a complication of

villany on the part of his most Christian brother. He was, however, not

disposed to put any confidence in his schemes.

"With regard to the attempt against England," wrote Philip to Mendoza,

"you must keep your eyes open--you must look at the danger of letting

them, before they have got rid of their rivals and reduced their

heretics, go out of their own house and kingdom, and thus of being made

fools of when they think of coming back again. Let them first exterminate

the heretics of France, and then we will look after those of England;

because 'tis more important to finish those who are near than those afar

off. Perhaps the Queen-Mother proposes this invasion in order to proceed

more feebly with matters in her own kingdom; and thus Mucio (Duke of

Guise) and his friends will not have so safe a game, and must take heed

lest they be deceived."

Thus it is obvious that Henry and Catharine intended, on the whole, to

deceive the English and the Netherlanders, and to get as good a bargain

and as safe a friendship from Philip as could be manufactured out of the

materials placed in the French King's hands by the United Provinces.

Elizabeth honestly wished well to the States, but allowed Burghley and

those who acted with him to flatter themselves with the chimera that

Henry could be induced to protect the Netherlands without assuming the

sovereignty of that commonwealth. The Provinces were fighting for their

existence, unconscious of their latent strength, and willing to trust to

France or to England, if they could only save themselves from being

swallowed by Spain. As for Spain itself, that country was more practised

in duplicity even than the government of the Medici-Valois, and was of

course more than a match at the game of deception for the franker

politicians of England and Holland.

The King of Navarre had meanwhile been looking on at a distance. Too keen

an observer, too subtle a reasoner to doubt the secret source of the

movements then agitating France to its centre, he was yet unable to

foresee the turn that all these intrigues were about to take. He could

hardly doubt that Spain was playing a dark and desperate game with the

unfortunate Henry III.; for, as we have seen, he had himself not long

before received a secret and liberal offer from Philip II., if he would

agree to make war upon the King. But the Bearnese was not the man to play

into the hands of Spain, nor could he imagine the possibility of the

Valois or even of his mother taking so suicidal a course.

After the Netherland deputies had received their final dismissal from the

King, they sent Calvart, who had been secretary to their embassy, on a

secret mission to Henry of Navarre, then resident at Chartres.

The envoy communicated to the Huguenot chief the meagre result of the

long negotiation with the French court. Henry bade him be of good cheer,

and assured him of his best wishes for their cause. He expressed the

opinion that the King of France would now either attempt to overcome the

Guise faction by gentle means, or at once make war upon them. The Bishop

of Acqs had strongly recommended the French monarch to send the King of

Navarre, with a strong force, to the assistance of the Netherlands,

urging the point with much fervid eloquence and solid argument. Henry for

a moment had seemed impressed, but such a vigorous proceeding was of

course entirely beyond his strength, and he had sunk back into his

effeminate languor so soon as the bold bishop's back was turned.

The Bearnese had naturally conceived but little hope that such a scheme

would be carried into effect; but he assured Calvart, that nothing could

give him greater delight than to mount and ride in such a cause.

"Notwithstanding," said the Bearnese, "that the villanous intentions of

the Guises are becoming plainer and plainer, and that they are obviously

supplied with Spanish dollars, I shall send a special envoy to the most

Christian King, and, although 'tis somewhat late, implore him to throw

his weight into the scale, in order to redeem your country from its

misery. Meantime be of good heart, and defend as you have done your

hearths, your liberty, and the honour of God."

He advised the States unhesitatingly to continue their confidence in the

French King, and to keep him informed of their plans and movements;

expressing the opinion that these very intrigues of the Guise party would

soon justify or even force Henry III. openly to assist the Netherlands.

So far, at that very moment, was so sharp a politician as the Bearnese

from suspecting the secret schemes of Henry of Valois. Calvart urged the

King of Navarre to assist the States at that moment with some slight

subsidy. Antwerp was in such imminent danger as to fill the hearts of all

true patriots with dismay; and a timely succour, even if a slender one,

might be of inestimable value.

Henry expressed profound regret that his own means were so limited, and

his own position so dangerous, as to make it difficult for him to

manifest in broad daylight the full affection which he bore the

Provinces.

"To my sorrow," said he, "your proposition is made in the midst of such

dark and stormy weather, that those who have clearest sight are unable to

see to what issue these troubles of France are tending."

Nevertheless, with much generosity and manliness, he promised Calvart to

send two thousand soldiers, at his own charges, to the Provinces without

delay; and authorised that envoy to consult with his agent at the court

of the French King, in order to obtain the royal permission for the

troops to cross the frontier.

The crownless and almost houseless King had thus, at a single interview,

and in exchange for nothing but good wishes, granted what the most

Christian monarch of France had refused, after months of negotiation, and

with sovereignty as the purchase-money. The envoy, well pleased, sped as

swiftly as possible to Paris; but, as may easily be imagined, Henry of

Valois forbade the movement contemplated by Henry of Navarre.

"His Majesty," said Villeroy, secretary of state, "sees no occasion, in

so weighty a business, thus suddenly to change his mind; the less so,

because he hopes to be able ere long to smooth over these troubles which

have begun in France. Should the King either openly or secretly assist

the Netherlands or allow them to be assisted, 'twould be a reason for all

the Catholics now sustaining his Majesty's party to go over to the Guise

faction. The Provinces must remain firm, and make no pacification with

the enemy. Meantime the Queen of England is the only one to whom God has

given means to afford you succour. One of these days, when the proper

time comes, his Majesty will assist her in affording you relief."

Calvart, after this conference with the King of Navarre, and subsequently

with the government, entertained a lingering hope that the French King

meant to assist the Provinces. "I know well who is the author of these

troubles," said the unhappy monarch, who never once mentioned the name of

Guise in all those conferences, "but, if God grant me life, I will give

him as good as he sends, and make him rue his conduct."

They were not aware after how many strange vacillations Henry was one day

to wreak this threatened vengeance. As for Navarre, he remained upon the

watch, good humoured as ever, more merry and hopeful as the tempest grew

blacker; manifesting the most frank and friendly sentiments towards the

Provinces, and writing to Queen Elizabeth in the chivalrous style so dear

to the heart of that sovereign, that he desired nothing better than to be

her "servant and captain-general against the common enemy."

But, indeed, the French King was not so well informed as he imagined

himself to be of the authorship of these troubles. Mucio, upon whose head

he thus threatened vengeance, was but the instrument. The concealed hand

that was directing all these odious intrigues, and lighting these flames

of civil war which were so long to make France a scene of desolation, was

that of the industrious letter-writer in the Escorial. That which Henry

of Navarre shrewdly suspected, when he talked of the Spanish dollars in

the Balafre's pocket, that which was dimly visible to the Bishop of Acqs

when he told Henry III. that the "Tagus had emptied itself into the Seine

and Loire, and that the gold of Mexico was flowing into the royal

cabinet," was much more certain than they supposed.

Philip, in truth, was neglecting his own most pressing interests that he

might direct all his energies towards entertaining civil war in France.

That France should remain internally at peace was contrary to all his

plans. He had therefore long kept Guise and his brother, the Cardinal de

Lorraine, in his pay, and he had been spending large sums of money to

bribe many of the most considerable functionaries in the kingdom.

The most important enterprises in the Netherlands were allowed to

languish, that these subterranean operations of the "prudent" monarch of

Spain should be pushed forward. The most brilliant and original genius

that Philip had the good fortune to have at his disposal, the genius of

Alexander Farnese, was cramped and irritated almost to madness, by the

fetters imposed upon it, by the sluggish yet obstinate nature of him it

was bound to obey. Farnese was at that moment engaged in a most arduous

military undertaking, that famous siege of Antwerp, the details of which

will be related in future chapters, yet he was never furnished with men

or money enough to ensure success to a much more ordinary operation. His

complaints, subdued but intense, fell almost unheeded on his master's

ear. He had not "ten dollars at his command," his cavalry horses were all

dead of hunger or had been eaten by their riders, who were starving to

death themselves, his army had dwindled to a "handful," yet he still held

on to his purpose, in spite of famine, the desperate efforts of

indefatigable enemies, and all the perils and privations of a deadly

winter. He, too, was kept for a long time in profound ignorance of

Philip's designs.

Meantime, while the Spanish soldiers were starving in Flanders, Philip's

dollars were employed by Mucio and his adherents in enlisting troops in

Switzerland and Germany, in order to carry on the civil war in France.

The French king was held systematically up to ridicule or detestation in

every village-pulpit in his own kingdom, while the sister of Mucio, the

Duchess of Montpensier, carried the scissors at her girdle, with which

she threatened to provide Henry with a third crown, in addition to those

of France and Poland, which he had disgraced--the coronal tonsure of a

monk. The convent should be, it was intimated, the eventual fate of the

modern Childeric, but meantime it was more important than ever to

supersede the ultimate pretensions of Henry of Navarre. To prevent that

heretic of heretics, who was not to be bought with Spanish gold, from

ever reigning, was the first object of Philip and Mucio.

Accordingly, on the last day of the year 1584, a secret treaty had been

signed at Joinville between Henry of Guise and his brother the Duc de

Mayenne, holding the proxies of their brother the Cardinal and those of

their uncles, Aumale and Elbeuf, on the one part, and John Baptist Tassis

and Commander Moreo, on the other, as representatives of Philip. This

transaction, sufficiently well known now to the most superficial student

of history, was a profound mystery then, so far as regarded the action of

the Spanish king. It was not a secret, however, that the papistical party

did not intend that the Bearnese prince should ever come to the throne,

and the matter of the succession was discussed, precisely as if the

throne had been vacant.

It was decided that Charles, paternal uncle to Henry of Navarre, commonly

called the Cardinal Bourbon, should be considered successor to the crown,

in place of Henry, whose claim was forfeited by heresy. Moreover, a great

deal of superfluous money and learning was expended in ordering some

elaborate legal arguments to be prepared by venal jurisconsults, proving

not only that the uncle ought to succeed before the nephew, but that

neither the one nor the other had any claim to succeed at all. The pea

having thus been employed to do the work which the sword alone could

accomplish, the poor old Cardinal was now formally established by the

Guise faction as presumptive heir to the crown.

A man of straw, a superannuated court-dangler, a credulous trifler, but

an earnest Papist as his brother Antony had been, sixty-six years old,

and feeble beyond his years, who, his life long, had never achieved one

manly action, and had now one foot in the grave; this was the puppet

placed in the saddle to run a tilt against the Bearnese, the man with

foot ever in the stirrup, with sword rarely in its sheath.

The contracting parties at Joinville agreed that the Cardinal should

succeed on the death of the reigning king, and that no heretic should

ever ascend the throne, or hold the meanest office in the kingdom. They

agreed further that all heretics should be "exterminated" without

distinction throughout France and the Netherlands. In order to procure

the necessary reforms among the clergy, the council of Trent was to be

fully carried into effect. Philip pledged himself to furnish at least

fifty thousand crowns monthly, for the advancement of this Holy League,

as it was denominated, and as much more as should prove necessary. The

sums advanced were to be repaid by the Cardinal on his succeeding to the

throne. All the great officers of the crown, lords and gentlemen, cities,

chapters, and universities, all Catholics, in short, in the kingdom, were

deemed to be included in the league. If any foreign Catholic prince

desired to enter the union, he should be admitted with the consent of

both parties. Neither his Catholic majesty nor the confederated princes

should treat with the most Christian King, either directly or indirectly.

The compact was to remain strictly secret--one copy of it being sent to

Philip, while the other was to be retained by Cardinal Bourbon and his

fellow leaguers.

And now--in accordance with this program--Philip proceeded stealthily and

industriously to further the schemes of Mucio, to the exclusion of more

urgent business. Noiseless and secret himself, and delighting in clothing

so much as to glide, as it were, throughout Europe, wrapped in the mantle

of invisibility, he was perpetually provoked by the noise, the bombast,

and the bustle, which his less prudent confederates permitted themselves.

While Philip for a long time hesitated to confide the secret of the

League to Parma, whom it most imported to understand these schemes of his

master, the confederates were openly boasting of the assistance which

they were to derive from Parma's cooperation. Even when the Prince had at

last been informed as to the state of affairs, he stoutly denied the

facts of which the leaguers made their vaunt; thus giving to Mucio and

his friends a lesson in dissimulation.

"Things have now arrived at a point," wrote Philip to Tassis, 15th March,

1585, "that this matter of the League cannot and ought not to be

concealed from those who have a right to know it. Therefore you must

speak clearly to the Prince of Parma, informing him of the whole scheme,

and enjoining the utmost secrecy. You must concert with him as to the

best means of rendering aid to this cause, after having apprised him of

the points which regarded him, and also that of the security of Cardinal

de Bourbon, in case of necessity."

The Prince was anything but pleased, in the midst of his anxiety and his

almost superhuman labour in the Antwerp siege, to be distracted,

impoverished, and weakened, in order to carry out these schemes against

France; but he kept the secret manfully.

To Malpierre, the French envoy in Brussels--for there was the closest

diplomatic communication between Henry III. and Philip, while each was

tampering with the rebellious subjects of the other--to Malpierre Parma

flatly contradicted all complicity on the part of the Spanish King or

himself with the Holy League, of which he knew Philip to be the

originator and the chief.

"If I complain to the Prince of Parma," said the envoy, "of the companies

going from Flanders to assist the League, he will make me no other reply

than that which the President has done--that there is nothing at all in

it--until they are fairly arrived in France. The President (Richardot)

said that if the Catholic King belonged to the League, as they insinuate,

his Majesty would declare the fact openly."

And a few days later, the Prince himself averred, as Malpierre had

anticipated, that "as to any intention on the part of himself or his

Catholic Majesty, to send succour to the League, according to the boast

of these gentlemen, he had never thought of such a thing, nor had

received any order on the subject from his master. If the King intended

to do anything of the kind, he would do it openly. He protested that he

had never seen anything, or known anything of the League."

Here was a man who knew how to keep a secret, and who had no scruples in

the matter of dissimulation, however enraged he might be at seeing men

and money diverted from his own masterly combinations in order to carry

out these schemes of his master.

Mucio, on the contrary, was imprudent and inclined to boast. His contempt

for Henry III, made him blind to the dangers to be apprehended from Henry

of Navarre. He did little, but talked a great deal.

Philip was very anxious that the work should be done both secretly and

thoroughly. "Let the business be finished before Saint John's day," said

he to Tassis, when sending fifty thousand dollars for the use of the

brothers Guise. "Tell Iniquez to warn them not to be sluggish. Let them

not begin in a lukewarm manner, but promise them plenty of assistance

from me, if they conduct themselves properly. Let them beware of

wavering, or of falling into plans of conciliation. If they do their

duty, I will do mine."

But the Guise faction moved slowly despite of Philip's secret promptings.

The truth is, that the means proposed by the Spanish monarch were

ludicrously inadequate to his plans, and it was idle to suppose that the

world was to be turned upside down for his benefit, at the very low price

which he was prepared to pay.

Nothing less than to exterminate all the heretics in Christendom, to

place himself on the thrones of France and of England, and to extinguish

the last spark of rebellion in the Netherlands, was his secret thought,

and yet it was very difficult to get fifty thousand dollars from him from

month to month. Procrastinating and indolent himself, he was for ever

rebuking the torpid movements of the Guises.

"Let Mucio set his game well at the outset," said he; "let him lay the

axe to the root of the tree, for to be wasting time fruitlessly is

sharpening the knife for himself."

This was almost prophetic. When after so much talking and tampering,

there began to be recrimination among the leaguers, Philip was very angry

with his subordinate.

"Here is Mucio," said he, "trying to throw the blame of all the

difficulties, which have arisen, upon us. Not hastening, not keeping his

secret, letting the execution of the enterprise grow cold, and lending an

ear to suggestions about peace, without being sure of its conclusion, he

has turned his followers into cowards, discredited his cause, and given

the King of France opportunity to strengthen his force and improve his

party. These are all very palpable things. I am willing to continue my

friendship for them, but not, if, while they accept it, they permit

themselves to complain, instead of manifesting gratitude."

On the whole, however, the affairs of the League seemed prosperous. There

was doubtless too much display among the confederates, but there was a

growing uneasiness among the royalists. Cardinal Bourbon, discarding his

ecclesiastical robes and scarlet stockings, paraded himself daily in

public, clothed in military costume, with all the airs of royalty. Many

persons thought him mad. On the other hand, Epergnon, the haughty

minion-in-chief, who governed Henry III., and insulted all the world, was

becoming almost polite.

"The progress of the League," said Busbecq, "is teaching the Duc d'

Epergnon manners. 'Tis a youth of such insolence, that without uncovering

he would talk with men of royal descent, while they were bareheaded. 'Tis

a common jest now that he has found out where his hat is."

Thus, for a long time, a network of secret political combinations had

been stretching itself over Christendom. There were great movements of

troops throughout Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, slowly

concentrating themselves upon France; yet, on the whole, the great mass

of the populations, the men and women who were to pay, to fight, to

starve, to be trampled upon, to be outraged, to be plundered, to be

burned out of houses and home, to bleed, and to die, were merely

ignorant, gaping spectators. That there was something very grave in

prospect was obvious, but exactly what was impending they knew no more

than the generation yet unborn. Very noiselessly had the patient manager

who sat in the Escorial been making preparations for that European

tragedy in which most of the actors had such fatal parts assigned them,

and of which few of the spectators of its opening scenes were doomed to

witness the conclusion. A shifting and glancing of lights, a vision of

vanishing feet, a trampling and bustling of unseen crowds, movements of

concealed machinery, a few incoherent words, much noise and confusion

vague and incomprehensible, till at last the tinkling of a small bell,

and a glimpse of the modest manager stealing away as the curtain was

rising--such was the spectacle presented at Midsummer 1585.

And in truth the opening picture was effective. Sixteen black-robed,

long-bearded Netherland envoys stalking away, discomfited and indignant

upon one side; Catharine de' Medici on the other, regarding them with a

sneer, painfully contorted into a pathetic smile; Henry the King, robed

in a sack of penitence, trembling and hesitating, leaning on the arm of

Epergnon, but quailing even under the protection of that mighty

swordsman; Mucio, careering, truncheon in hand, in full panoply, upon his

war-horse, waving forward a mingled mass of German lanzknechts, Swiss

musketeers, and Lorraine pikemen; the redoubtable Don Bernardino de

Mendoza, in front, frowning and ferocious, with his drawn sword in his

hand; Elizabeth of England, in the back ground, with the white-bearded

Burghley and the monastic Walsingham, all surveying the scene with eyes

of deepest meaning; and, somewhat aside, but in full view, silent, calm,

and imperturbably good-humoured, the bold Bearnese, standing with a

mischievous but prophetic smile glittering through his blue eyes and

curly beard--thus grouped were the personages of the drama in the

introductory scenes.

The course of public events which succeeded the departure of the

Netherland deputies is sufficiently well known. The secret negotiations

and intrigues, however, by which those external facts were preceded or

accompanied rest mainly in dusty archives, and it was therefore necessary

to dwell somewhat at length upon them in the preceding pages.

The treaty of Joinville was signed on the last day of the year 1584.

We have seen the real nature of the interview of Ambassador Mendoza with

Henry III. and his mother, which took place early in January, 1585.

Immediately after that conference, Don Bernardino betook himself to the

Duke of Guise, and lost no time in stimulating his confederate to prompt

but secret action.

The Netherland envoys had their last audience on the 18th March, and

their departure and disappointment was the signal for the general

exhibition and explosion. The great civil war began, and the man who

refused to annex the Netherlands to the French kingdom soon ceased to be

regarded as a king.

On the 31st March, the heir presumptive, just manufactured by the Guises,

sent forth his manifesto. Cardinal Bourbon, by this document, declared

that for twenty-four years past no proper measures had been taken to

extirpate the heresy by which France was infested. There was no natural

heir to the King. Those who claimed to succeed at his death had deprived

themselves, by heresy, of their rights. Should they gain their ends, the

ancient religion would be abolished throughout the kingdom, as it had

been in England, and Catholics be subjected to the same frightful

tortures which they were experiencing there. New men, admitted to the

confidence of the crown, clothed with the highest honours, and laden with

enormous emoluments, had excluded the ancient and honoured functionaries

of the state, who had been obliged to sell out their offices to these

upstart successors. These new favourites had seized the finances of the

kingdom, all of which were now collected into the private coffers of the

King, and shared by him with his courtiers. The people were groaning

under new taxes invented every day, yet they knew nothing of the

distribution of the public treasure, while the King himself was so

impoverished as to be unable to discharge his daily debts. Meantime these

new advisers of the crown had renewed to the Protestants of the kingdom

the religious privileges of which they had so justly been deprived, yet

the religious peace which had followed had not brought with it the

promised diminution of the popular burthens. Never had the nation been so

heavily taxed or reduced to such profound misery. For these reasons, he,

Cardinal Bourbon, with other princes of the blood, peers, gentlemen,

cities, and universities, had solemnly bound themselves by oath to

extirpate heresy down to the last root, and to save the people from the

dreadful load under which they were languishing. It was for this that

they had taken up arms, and till that purpose was accomplished they would

never lay them down.

The paper concluded with the hope that his Majesty would not take these

warlike demonstrations amiss; and a copy of the document was placed in

the royal hands.

It was very obvious to the most superficial observer, that the manifesto

was directed almost as much against the reigning sovereign as against

Henry of Navarre. The adherents of the Guise faction, and especially

certain theologians in their employ, had taken very bold grounds upon the

relations between king and subjects, and had made the public very

familiar with their doctrines. It was a duty, they said, "to depose a

prince who did not discharge his duty. Authority ill regulated was

robbery, and it was as absurd to call him a king who knew not how to

govern, as it was to take a blind man for a guide, or to believe that a

statue could influence the movements of living men."

Yet to the faction, inspired by such rebellious sentiments, and which was

thundering in his face such tremendous denunciations, the unhappy Henry

could not find a single royal or manly word of reply. He threw himself on

his knees, when, if ever, he should have assumed an attitude of command.

He answered the insolence of the men, who were parading their contempt

for his authority, by humble excuses, and supplications for pardon. He

threw his crown in the dust before their feet, as if such humility would

induce them to place it again upon his head. He abandoned the minions who

had been his pride, his joy, and his defence, and deprecated, with an

abject whimper, all responsibility for the unmeasured ambition and the

insatiable rapacity of a few private individuals. He conjured the

party-leaders, who had hurled defiance in his face, to lay down their

arms, and promised that they should find in his wisdom and bounty more

than all the advantages which they were seeking to obtain by war.

Henry of Navarre answered in a different strain. The gauntlet had at last

been thrown down to him, and he came forward to take it up; not

insolently nor carelessly, but with the cold courtesy of a Christian

knight and valiant gentleman. He denied the charge of heresy. He avowed

detestation of all doctrines contrary to the Word of God, to the decrees

of the Fathers of the Church, or condemned by the Councils.

The errors and abuses which had from time to time crept into the church,

had long demanded, in the opinion of all pious persons, some measures of

reform. After many bloody wars, no better remedy had been discovered to

arrest the cause of these dire religious troubles, whether in France or

Germany, than to permit all men to obey the dictates of their own

conscience. The Protestants had thus obtained in France many edicts by

which the peace of the kingdom had been secured. He could not himself be

denounced as a heretic, for he had always held himself ready to receive

instruction, and to be set right where he had erred. To call him

"relapsed" was an outrage. Were it true, he were indeed unworthy of the

crown, but the world knew that his change at the Massacre of St.

Bartholomew had been made under duresse, and that he had returned to the

reformed faith when he had recovered his liberty. Religious toleration

had been the object of his life. In what the tyranny of the popes and the

violence of the Spaniards had left him of his kingdom of Navarre,

Catholics and Protestants enjoyed a perfect religious liberty. No man had

the right, therefore, to denounce him as an enemy of the church, or a

disturber of the public repose, for he had ever been willing to accept

all propositions of peace which left the rights of conscience protected.

He was a Frenchman, a prince of France, a living member of the kingdom;

feeling with its pains, and bleeding with its wounds. They who denounced

him were alien to France, factitious portions of her body, feeling no

suffering, even should she be consuming with living fire. The Leaguers

were the friends and the servants of the Spaniards, while he had been

born the enemy, and with too good reason, of the whole Spanish race.

"Let the name of Papist and of Huguenot," he said, "be heard no more

among us. Those terms were buried in the edict of peace. Let us speak

only of Frenchmen and of Spaniards. It is the counter-league which we

must all unite to form, the natural union of the head with all its

members."

Finally, to save the shedding of so much innocent blood, to spare all the

countless miseries of civil war, he implored the royal permission to

terminate this quarrel in person, by single combat with the Duke of

Guise, one to one, two to two, or in as large a number as might be

desired, and upon any spot within or without the kingdom that should be

assigned. "The Duke of Guise," said Henry of Navarre, "cannot but accept

my challenge as an honour, coming as it does from a prince infinitely his

superior in rank; and thus, may God defend the right."

This paper, drawn up by the illustrious Duplessis-Mornay, who was to have

been the second of the King of Navarre in the proposed duel, was signed

10 June 1585.

The unfortunate Henry III., not so dull as to doubt that the true object

of the Guise party was to reduce him to insignificance, and to open their

own way to the throne, was too impotent of purpose to follow the dictates

which his wisest counsellors urged and his own reason approved. His

choice had lain between open hostility with his Spanish enemy and a more

terrible combat with that implacable foe wearing the mask of friendship.

He had refused to annex to his crown the rich and powerful Netherlands,

from dread of a foreign war; and he was now about to accept for himself

and kingdom all the horrors of a civil contest, in which his avowed

antagonist was the first captain of the age, and his nominal allies the

stipendiaries of Philip II.

Villeroy, his prime minister, and Catharine de' Medici, his mother, had

both devoted him to disgrace and ruin. The deputies from the Netherlands

had been dismissed, and now, notwithstanding the festivities and

exuberant demonstrations of friendship with which the Earl of Derby's

splendid embassy had been greeted, it became necessary to bind Henry hand

and foot to the conspirators, who had sworn the destruction of that

Queen, as well as his own, and the extirpation of heresy and heretics in

every realm of Christendom.

On the 9th June the league demanded a royal decree, forbidding the

practice of all religion but the Roman Catholic, on pain of death. In

vain had the clear-sighted Bishop of Acqs uttered his eloquent warnings.

Despite such timely counsels, which he was capable at once of

appreciating and of neglecting, Henry followed slavishly the advice of

those whom he knew in his heart to be his foes, and authorised the great

conspiracy against Elizabeth, against Protestantism, and against himself.

On the 5th June Villeroy had expressed a wish for a very secret interview

with Mendoza, on the subject of the invasion of England.

"It needed not this overture," said that magniloquent Spaniard, "to

engender in a person of my talents, and with the heart of a Mendoza,

venom enough for vengeance. I could not more desire than I did already to

assist in so holy a work; nor could I aspire to greater honour than would

be gained in uniting those crowns (of France and Spain) in strict

friendship, for the purpose of extirpating heresy throughout Europe, and

of chastising the Queen of England--whose abominations I am never likely

to forget, having had them so long before my eyes--and of satisfying my

just resentment for the injuries she has inflicted on myself. It was on

this subject," continued the ambassador, "that Monsieur de Villeroy

wished a secret interview with me, pledging himself--if your Majesty

would deign to unite yourself with this King, and to aid him with your

forces--to a successful result."

Mendoza accordingly expressed a willingness to meet the ingenuous

Secretary of State--who had so recently been assisting at the banquets

and rejoicings with Lord Derby and his companions, which had so much

enlivened the French capital--and assured him that his most Catholic

Majesty would be only too glad to draw closer the bonds of friendship

with the most Christian King, for the service of God and the glory of his

Church.

The next day the envoy and the Secretary of State met, very secretly, in

the house of the Signor Gondi. Villeroy commenced his harangue by an

allusion to the current opinion, that Mendoza had arrived in France with

a torch in his hand, to light the fires of civil war in that kingdom, as

he had recently done in England.

"I do not believe," replied Mendoza, "that discreet and prudent persons

in France attribute my actions to any such motives. As for the ignorant

people of the kingdom, they do not appal me, although they evidently

imagine that I have imbibed, during my residence in England, something of

the spirit of the enchanter Merlin, that, by signs and cabalistic words

alone, I am thought capable of producing such commotions."

After this preliminary flourish the envoy proceeded to complain bitterly

of the most Christian King and his mother, who, after the propositions

which they had made him, when on his way to Spain, had, since his return,

become so very cold and dry towards him. And on this theme he enlarged

for some time.

Villeroy replied, by complaining, in his turn, about the dealings of the

most Catholic King, with the leaguers and the rebels of France; and

Mendoza rejoined by an intimation that harping upon past grievances and

suspicions was hardly the way to bring about harmony in present matters.

Struck with the justice of this remark, the French Secretary of State

entered at once upon business. He made a very long speech upon the

tyranny which "that Englishwoman" was anew inflicting upon the Catholics

in her kingdom, upon the offences which she had committed against the

King of Spain, and against the King of France and his brothers, and upon

the aliment which she had been yielding to the civil war in the

Netherlands and in France for so many years. He then said that if Mendoza

would declare with sincerity, and "without any of the duplicity of a

minister"--that Philip would league himself with Henry for the purpose of

invading England, in order to reduce the three kingdoms to the Catholic

faith, and to place their crowns on the head of the Queen of Scotland, to

whom they of right belonged; then that the King, his master, was most

ready to join in so holy an enterprise. He begged Mendoza to say with

what number of troops the invasion could be made; whether Philip could

send any from Flanders or from Spain; how many it would be well to send

from France, and under what chieftain; in what manner it would be best to

communicate with his most Catholic Majesty; whether it were desirable to

despatch a secret envoy to him, and of what quality such agent ought to

be. He also observed that the most Christian King could not himself speak

to Mendoza on the subject before having communicated the matter to the

Queen-Mother, but expressed a wish that a special carrier might be

forthwith despatched to Spain; for he might be sure that, on an affair of

such weight, he would not have permitted himself to reveal the secret

wishes of his master, except by his commands.

Mendoza replied, by enlarging with much enthusiasm on the facility with

which England could be conquered by the combined power of France and

Spain. If it were not a very difficult matter before--even with the

jealousy between the two crowns--how much less so, now that they could

join their fleets and armies; now that the arming by the one prince would

not inspire the other with suspicion; now that they would be certain of

finding safe harbour in each other's kingdoms, in case of unfavourable

weather and head-winds, and that they could arrange from what ports to

sail, in what direction, and under what commanders. He disapproved,

however, of sending a special messenger to Spain, on the ground of

wishing to keep the matter entirely secret, but in reality--as he

informed Philip--because he chose to keep the management in his own

hands; because he could always let slip Mucio upon them, in case they

should play him false; because he feared that the leaking out of the

secret might discourage the Leaguers, and because he felt that the bolder

and more lively were the Cardinal of Bourbon and his confederates, the

stronger was the party of the King, his master, and the more intimidated

and dispirited would be the mind and the forces of the most Christian

King. "And this is precisely the point," said the diplomatist, "at which

a minister of your Majesty should aim at this season."

Thus the civil war in France--an indispensable part of Philip's

policy--was to be maintained at all hazards; and although the ambassador

was of opinion that the most Christian King was sincere in his

proposition to invade England, it would never do to allow any interval of

tranquillity to the wretched subjects of that Christian King.

"I cannot doubt," said Mendoza, "that the making of this proposal to me

with so much warmth was the especial persuasion of God, who, hearing the

groans of the Catholics of England, so cruelly afflicted, wished to force

the French King and his minister to feel, in the necessity which

surrounds them, that the offending Him, by impeding the grandeur of your

Majesty, would be their total ruin, and that their only salvation is to

unite in sincerity and truth with your Majesty for the destruction of the

heretics."

Therefore, although judging from the nature of the French--he might

imagine that they were attempting to put him to sleep, Mendoza, on the

whole, expressed a conviction that the King was in earnest, having

arrived at the conclusion that he could only get rid of the Guise faction

by sending them over to England. "Seeing that he cannot possibly

eradicate the war from his kingdom," said the envoy, "because of the

boldness with which the Leaguers maintain it, with the strong assistance

of your Majesty, he has determined to embrace with much fervour, and

without any deception at all, the enterprise against England, as the only

remedy to quiet his own dominions. The subjugation of those three

kingdoms, in order to restore them to their rightful owner, is a purpose

so holy, just, and worthy of your Majesty, and one which you have had so

constantly in view, that it is superfluous for me to enlarge upon the

subject. Your Majesty knows that its effects will be the tranquillity and

preservation of all your realms. The reasons for making the attempt, even

without the aid of France, become demonstrations now that she is

unanimously in favour of the scheme. The most Christian King is

resolutely bent--so far as I can comprehend the intrigues of Villeroy--to

carry out this project on the foundation of a treaty with the Guise

party. It will not take much time, therefore, to put down the heretics

here; nor will it consume much more to conquer England with the armies of

two such powerful Princes. The power of that island is of little moment,

there being no disciplined forces to oppose us, even if they were all

unanimous in its defence; how much less then, with so many Catholics to

assist the invaders, seeing them so powerful. If your Majesty, on account

of your Netherlands, is not afraid of putting arms into the hands of the

Guise family in France, there need be less objection to sending one of

that house into England, particularly as you will send forces of your own

into that kingdom, by the reduction of which the affairs of Flanders will

be secured. To effect the pacification of the Netherlands the sooner, it

would be desirable to conquer England as early as October."

Having thus sufficiently enlarged upon the sincerity of the French King

and his prime minister, in their dark projects against a friendly power,

and upon the ease with which that friendly power could be subjected, the

ambassador begged for a reply from his royal master without delay. He

would be careful, meantime, to keep the civil war alive in France--thus

verifying the poetical portrait of himself, the truth of which he had

just been so indignantly and rhetorically denying--but it was desirable

that the French should believe that this civil war was not Philip's sole

object. He concluded by drawing his master's attention to the sufferings

of the English Catholics. "I cannot refrain," he said, "from placing

before your eyes the terrible persecutions which the Catholics are

suffering in England; the blood of the martyrs flowing in so many kinds

of torments; the groans of the prisoners, of the widows and orphans; the

general oppression and servitude, which is the greatest ever endured by a

people of God, under any tyrant whatever. Your Majesty, into whose hands

God is now pleased to place the means, so long desired, of extirpating

and totally destroying the heresies of our time, can alone liberate them

from their bondage."

The picture of these kings, prime ministers, and ambassadors, thus

plotting treason, stratagem, and massacre, is a dark and dreary one. The

description of English sufferings for conscience' sake, under the

Protestant Elizabeth, is even more painful; for it had unfortunately too

much, of truth, although as wilfully darkened and exaggerated as could be

done by religious hatred and Spanish bombast. The Queen was surrounded by

legions of deadly enemies. Spain, the Pope, the League, were united in

one perpetual conspiracy against her; and they relied on the cooperation

of those subjects of hers whom her own cruelty was converting into

traitors.

We read with a shudder these gloomy secrets of conspiracy and wholesale

murder, which make up the diplomatic history of the sixteenth century,

and we cease to wonder that a woman, feeling herself so continually the

mark at which all the tyrants and assassins of Europe were

aiming--although not possessing perhaps the evidences of her peril so

completely as they have been revealed to us--should come to consider

every English Papist as a traitor and an assassin. It was unfortunate

that she was not able to rise beyond the vile instincts of the age, and

by a magnanimous and sublime toleration, to convert her secret enemies

into loyal subjects.

And now Henry of Valois was to choose between league and counter-league,

between Henry of Guise and Henry of Navarre, between France and Spain.

The whole chivalry of Gascony and Guienne, the vast swarm of industrious

and hardy Huguenot artisans, the Netherland rebels, the great English

Queen, stood ready to support the cause of French nationality, and of all

nationalities, against a threatening world-empire, of religious liberty

against sacerdotal absolutism, and the crown of a King, whose only merit

had hitherto been to acquiesce in a religious toleration dictated to him

by others, against those who derided his authority and insulted his

person. The bold knight-errant of Christendom, the champion to the

utterance against Spain, stood there with lance in rest, and the King

scarcely hesitated.

The League, gliding so long unheeded, now reared its crest in the very

palace of France, and full in the monarch's face. With a single shudder

the victim fell into its coils.

The choice was made. On the 18th of July (1585) the edict of Nemours was

published, revoking all previous edicts by which religious peace had been

secured. Death and confiscation of property were now proclaimed as the

penalty of practising any religious rites save those of the Roman

Catholic Church. Six months were allowed to the Nonconformists to put

their affairs in order, after which they were to make public profession

of the Catholic religion, with regular attendance upon its ceremonies, or

else go into perpetual exile. To remain in France without abjuring heresy

was thenceforth a mortal crime, to be expiated upon the gallows. As a

matter of course, all Huguenots were instantaneously incapacitated from

public office, the mixed chambers of justice were abolished, and the

cautionary towns were to be restored. On the other hand, the Guise

faction were to receive certain cities into their possession, as pledges

that this sanguinary edict should be fulfilled.

Thus did Henry III. abjectly kiss the hand which smote him. His mother,

having since the death of Anjou no further interest in affecting to

favour the Huguenots, had arranged the basis of this treaty with the

Spanish party. And now the unfortunate King had gone solemnly down to the

Parliament of Paris, to be present at the registration of the edict. The

counsellors and presidents were all assembled, and as they sat there in

their crimson robes, they seemed, to the excited imagination of those who

loved their country, like embodiments of the impending and most

sanguinary tragedy. As the monarch left the parliament-house a faint cry

of 'God save the King' was heard in the street. Henry hung his head, for

it was long since that cry had met his ears, and he knew that it was a

false and languid demonstration which had been paid for by the Leaguers.

And thus was the compact signed--an unequal compact. Madam League was on

horseback, armed in proof, said a contemporary; the King was on foot, and

dressed in a shirt of penitence. The alliance was not an auspicious one.

Not peace, but a firebrand--'facem, non pacem'--had the King held forth

to his subjects.

When the news came to Henry of Navarre that the King had really

promulgated this fatal edict, he remained for a time, with amazement and

sorrow, leaning heavily upon a table, with his face in his right hand.

When he raised his head again--so he afterwards asserted--one side of his

moustachio had turned white.

Meantime Gregory XIII., who had always refused to sanction the League,

was dead, and Cardinal Peretti, under the name of Sixtus V., now reigned

in his place. Born of an illustrious house, as he said--for it was a

house without a roof--this monk of humble origin was of inordinate

ambition. Feigning a humility which was but the cloak to his pride, he

was in reality as grasping, self-seeking, and revengeful, as he seemed

gentle and devout. It was inevitable that a pontiff of this character

should seize the opportunity offered him to mimic Hildebrand, and to

brandish on high the thunderbolts of the Church.

With a flaming prelude concerning the omnipotence delegated by Almighty

God to St. Peter and his successors--an authority infinitely superior to

all earthly powers--the decrees of which were irresistible alike by the

highest and the meanest, and which hurled misguided princes from their

thrones into the abyss, like children of Beelzebub, the Pope proceeded to

fulminate his sentence of excommunication against those children of

wrath, Henry of Navarre and Henry of Conde. They were denounced as

heretics, relapsed, and enemies of God (28th Aug.1585). The King was

declared dispossessed of his principality of Bearne, and of what remained

to him of Navarre. He was stripped of all dignities, privileges, and

property, and especially proclaimed incapable of ever ascending the

throne of France.

The Bearnese replied by a clever political squib. A terse and spirited

paper found its way to Rome, and was soon affixed, to the statutes of

Pasquin and Marforio, and in other public places of that city, and even

to the gates of the papal palace. Without going beyond his own doors, his

Holiness had the opportunity of reading, to his profound amazement, that

Mr. Sixtus, calling himself Pope, had foully and maliciously lied in

calling the King of Navarre a heretic. This Henry offered to prove before

any free council legitimately chosen. If the Pope refused to submit to

such decision, he was himself no better than excommunicate and

Antichrist, and the King of Navarre thereby declared mortal and perpetual

war upon him. The ancient kings of France had known how to chastise the

insolence of former popes, and he hoped, when he ascended the throne, to

take vengeance on Mr. Sixtus for the insult thus offered to all the kings

of Christendom--and so on, in a vein which showed the Bearnese to be a

man rather amused than blasted by these papal fireworks.

Sixtus V., though imperious, was far from being dull. He knew how to

appreciate a man when he found one, and he rather admired the cheerful

attitude maintained by Navarre, as he tossed back the thunderbolts. He

often spoke afterwards of Henry with genuine admiration, and declared

that in all the world he knew but two persons fit to wear a crown--Henry

of Navarre and Elizabeth of England. "'Twas pity," he said, "that both

should be heretics."

And thus the fires of civil war had been lighted throughout Christendom,

and the monarch of France had thrown himself head foremost into the

flames.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Hibernian mode of expressing himself

His inordinate arrogance

His insolence intolerable

Humility which was but the cloak to his pride

Longer they delay it, the less easy will they find it

Oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in facts

Round game of deception, in which nobody was deceived

Wasting time fruitlessly is sharpening the knife for himself

With something of feline and feminine duplicity

'Twas pity, he said, that both should be heretics

HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History of The United Netherlands, 1585

Alexander Farnese, The Duke of Parma

CHAPTER V., Part 1.

Position and Character of Farnese--Preparations for Antwerp Siege--

Its Characteristics--Foresight of William the Silent--Sainte

Aldegonde, the Burgomaster--Anarchy in Antwerp--Character of Sainte

Aldegonde--Admiral Treslong--Justinus de Nassau--Hohenlo--Opposition

to the Plan of Orange--Liefkenshoek--Head--Quarters of Parma at

Kalloo--Difficulty of supplying the City--Results of not piercing

the Dykes--Preliminaries of the Siege--Successes of the Spaniards--

Energy of Farnese with Sword and Pen--His Correspondence with the

Antwerpers--Progress of the Bridge--Impoverished Condition of Parma

--Patriots attempt Bois-le-Duc--Their Misconduct--Failure of the

Enterprise--The Scheldt Bridge completed--Description of the

Structure

The negotiations between France and the Netherlands have been massed, in

order to present a connected and distinct view of the relative attitude

of the different countries of Europe. The conferences and diplomatic

protocolling had resulted in nothing positive; but it is very necessary

for the reader to understand the negative effects of all this

dissimulation and palace-politics upon the destiny of the new

commonwealth, and upon Christendom at large. The League had now achieved

a great triumph; the King of France had virtually abdicated, and it was

now requisite for the King of Navarre, the Netherlands, and Queen

Elizabeth, to draw more closely together than before, if the last hope of

forming a counter-league were not to be abandoned. The next step in

political combination was therefore a solemn embassy of the

States-General to England. Before detailing those negotiations, however,

it is proper to direct attention to the external public events which had

been unrolling themselves in the Provinces, contemporaneously with the

secret history which has been detailed in the preceding chapters.

By presenting in their natural groupings various distinct occurrences,

rather than by detailing them in strict chronological order, a clearer

view of the whole picture will be furnished than could be done by

intermingling personages, transactions, and scenery, according to the

arbitrary command of Time alone.

The Netherlands, by the death of Orange, had been left without a head. On

the other hand, the Spanish party had never been so fortunate in their

chief at any period since the destiny of the two nations had been blended

with each other. Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, was a general and a

politician, whose character had been steadily ripening since he came into

the command of the country. He was now thirty-seven years of age--with

the experience of a sexagenarian. No longer the impetuous, arbitrary,

hot-headed youth, whose intelligence and courage hardly atoned for his

insolent manner and stormy career, he had become pensive, modest, almost

gentle. His genius was rapid in conception, patient in combination,

fertile in expedients, adamantine in the endurance or suffering; for

never did a heroic general and a noble army of veterans manifest more

military virtue in the support of an infamous cause than did Parma and

his handful of Italians and Spaniards. That which they considered to be

their duty they performed. The work before them they did with all their

might.

Alexander had vanquished the rebellion in the Celtic provinces, by the

masterly diplomacy and liberal bribery which have been related in a

former work. Artois, Hainault, Douay, Orchies, with the rich cities of

Lille, Tournay, Valenciennes, Arras, and other important places, were now

the property of Philip. These unhappy and misguided lands, however, were

already reaping the reward of their treason. Beggared, trampled upon,

plundered, despised, they were at once the prey of the Spaniards, and the

cause that their sister-states, which still held out, were placed in more

desperate condition than ever. They were also, even in their abject

plight, made still more forlorn by the forays of Balagny, who continued

in command of Cambray. Catharine de' Medici claimed that city as her

property, by will of the Duke of Anjou. A strange title--founded upon the

treason and cowardice of her favourite son--but one which, for a time,

was made good by the possession maintained by Balagny. That usurper

meantime, with a shrewd eye to his own interests, pronounced the truce of

Cambray, which was soon afterwards arranged, from year to year, by

permission of Philip, as a "most excellent milch-cow;" and he continued

to fill his pails at the expense of the "reconciled" provinces, till they

were thoroughly exhausted.

This large south-western section of the Netherlands being thus

permanently re-annexed to the Spanish crown, while Holland, Zeeland, and

the other provinces, already constituting the new Dutch republic, were

more obstinate in their hatred of Philip than ever, there remained the

rich and fertile territory of Flanders and Brabant as the great

debateable land. Here were the royal and political capital, Brussels, the

commercial capital, Antwerp, with Mechlin, Dendermonde, Vilvoorde, and

other places of inferior importance, all to be struggled for to the

death. With the subjection of this district the last bulwark between the

new commonwealth and the old empire would be overthrown, and Spain and

Holland would then meet face to face.

If there had ever been a time when every nerve in Protestant Christendom

should be strained to weld all those provinces together into one great

commonwealth, as a bulwark for European liberty, rather than to allow

them to be broken into stepping-stones, over which absolutism could

stride across France and Holland into England, that moment had arrived.

Every sacrifice should have been cheerfully made by all Netherlanders,

the uttermost possible subsidies and auxiliaries should have been

furnished by all the friends of civil and religious liberty in every land

to save Flanders and Brabant from their impending fate.

No man felt more keenly the importance of the business in which he was

engaged than Parma. He knew his work exactly, and he meant to execute it

thoroughly. Antwerp was the hinge on which the fate of the whole country,

perhaps of all Christendom, was to turn. "If we get Antwerp," said the

Spanish soldiers--so frequently that the expression passed into a

proverb--"you shall all go to mass with us; if you save Antwerp, we will

all go to conventicle with you."

Alexander rose with the difficulty and responsibility of his situation.

His vivid, almost poetic intellect formed its schemes with perfect

distinctness. Every episode in his great and, as he himself termed it,

his "heroic enterprise," was traced out beforehand with the tranquil

vision of creative genius; and he was prepared to convert his conceptions

into reality, with the aid of an iron nature that never knew fatigue or

fear.

But the obstacles were many. Alexander's master sat in his cabinet with

his head full of Mucio, Don Antonio, and Queen Elizabeth; while Alexander

himself was left neglected, almost forgotten. His army was shrinking to a

nullity. The demands upon him were enormous, his finances delusive,

almost exhausted. To drain an ocean dry he had nothing but a sieve. What

was his position? He could bring into the field perhaps eight or ten

thousand men over and above the necessary garrisons. He had before him

Brussels, Antwerp, Mechlin, Ghent, Dendermonde, and other powerful

places, which he was to subjugate. Here was a problem not easy of

solution. Given an army of eight thousand, more or less, to reduce

therewith in the least possible time, half-a-dozen cities; each

containing fifteen or twenty thousand men able to bear arms. To besiege

these places in form was obviously a mere chimera. Assault, battery, and

surprises--these were all out of the question.

Yet Alexander was never more truly heroic than in this position of vast

entanglement. Untiring, uncomplaining, thoughtful of others, prodigal of

himself, generous, modest, brave; with so much intellect and so much

devotion to what he considered his duty, he deserved to be a patriot and

a champion of the right, rather than an instrument of despotism.

And thus he paused for a moment--with much work already accomplished, but

his hardest life-task before him; still in the noon of manhood, a fine

martial figure, standing, spear in hand, full in the sunlight, though all

the scene around him was wrapped in gloom--a noble, commanding shape,

entitled to the admiration which the energetic display of great powers,

however unscrupulous, must always command. A dark, meridional

physiognomy, a quick; alert, imposing head; jet black, close-clipped

hair; a bold eagle's face, with full, bright, restless eye; a man rarely

reposing, always ready, never alarmed; living in the saddle, with harness

on his back--such was the Prince of Parma; matured and mellowed, but

still unharmed by time.

The cities of Flanders and Brabant he determined to reduce by gaining

command of the Scheldt. The five principal ones Ghent, Dendermonde,

Mechlin, Brussels Antwerp, lie narrow circle, at distances from each

other varying from five miles to thirty, and are all strung together by

the great Netherland river or its tributaries. His plan was immensely

furthered by the success of Balthasar Gerard, an ally whom Alexander had

despised and distrusted, even while he employed him. The assassination of

Orange was better to Parma than forty thousand men. A crowd of allies

instantly started up for him, in the shape of treason, faintheartedness,

envy, jealousy, insubordination, within the walls of every beleaguered

city. Alexander knew well how to deal with those auxiliaries. Letters,

artfully concocted, full of conciliation and of promise, were circulated

in every council-room, in almost every house.

The surrender of Ghent--brought about by the governor's eloquence, aided

by the golden arguments which he knew so well how to advance--had by the

middle of September (19th Sept. 1584), put him in possession of West

Flanders, with the important exception of the coast. Dendermonde

capitulated at a still earlier day; while the fall of Brussels, which

held out till many persons had been starved to death, was deferred till

the 10th March of the following year, and that of Mechlin till midsummer.

The details of the military or political operations, by which the

reduction of most of these places were effected, possess but little

interest. The siege of Antwerp, however, was one of the most striking

events of the age; and although the change in military tactics and the

progress of science may have rendered this leaguer of less technical

importance than it possessed in the sixteenth century, yet the

illustration that it affords of the splendid abilities of Parma, of the

most cultivated mode of warfare in use at that period, and of the

internal politics by which the country was then regulated, make it

necessary to dwell upon the details of an episode which must ever possess

enduring interest.

It is agreeable to reflect, too, that the fame of the general is not

polluted with the wholesale butchery, which has stained the reputation of

other Spanish commanders so indelibly. There was no killing for the mere

love of slaughter. With but few exceptions, there was no murder in cold

blood; and the many lives that were laid down upon those watery dykes

were sacrificed at least in bold, open combat; in a contest, the ruling

spirits of which were patriotism, or at least honour.

It is instructive, too, to observe the diligence and accuracy with which

the best lights of the age were brought to bear upon the great problem

which Parma had undertaken to solve. All the science then at command was

applied both by the Prince and by his burgher antagonists to the

advancement of their ends. Hydrostatics, hydraulics, engineering,

navigation, gunnery, pyrotechnics, mining, geometry, were summoned as

broadly, vigorously, and intelligently to the destruction or preservation

of a trembling city, as they have ever been, in more commercial days, to

advance a financial or manufacturing purpose. Land converted into water,

and water into land, castles built upon the breast of rapid streams,

rivers turned from their beds and taught new courses; the distant ocean

driven across ancient bulwarks, mines dug below the sea, and canals made

to percolate obscene morasses--which the red hand of war, by the very

act, converted into blooming gardens--a mighty stream bridged and

mastered in the very teeth of winter, floating ice-bergs, ocean-tides,

and an alert and desperate foe, ever ready with fleets and armies and

batteries--such were the materials of which the great spectacle was

composed; a spectacle which enchained the attention of Europe for seven

months, and on the result of which, it was thought, depended the fate of

all the Netherlands, and perhaps of all Christendom.

Antwerp, then the commercial centre of the Netherlands and of Europe,

stands upon the Scheldt. The river, flowing straight, broad, and full

along the verge of the city, subtends the arc into which the place

arranges itself as it falls back from the shore. Two thousand ships of

the largest capacity then known might easily find room in its ample

harbours. The stream, nearly half a mile in width, and sixty feet in

depth, with a tidal rise and fall of eleven feet, moves, for a few miles,

in a broad and steady current between the provinces of Brabant and

Flanders. Then, dividing itself into many ample estuaries, and gathering

up the level isles of Zeeland into its bosom, it seems to sweep out with

them into the northern ocean. Here, at the junction of the river and the

sea, lay the perpetual hope of Antwerp, for in all these creeks and

currents swarmed the fleets of the Zeelanders, that hardy and amphibious

race, with which few soldiers or mariners could successfully contend, on

land or water.

Even from the beginning of the year 1584 Parma had been from time to time

threatening Antwerp. The victim instinctively felt that its enemy was

poising and hovering over head, although he still delayed to strike.

Early in the summer Sainte Aldegonde, Recorder Martini, and other

official personages, were at Delft, upon the occasion of the christening

ceremonies of Frederic Henry, youngest child of Orange. The Prince, at

that moment, was aware of the plans of Parma, and held a long

conversation with his friends upon the measures which he desired to see

immediately undertaken. Unmindful of his usual hospitality, he insisted

that these gentlemen should immediately leave for Antwerp. Alexander

Farnese, he assured them, had taken the firm determination to possess

himself of that place, without further delay. He had privately signified

his purpose of laying the axe at once to the root of the tree, believing

that with the fall of the commercial capital the infant confederacy of

the United States would fall likewise. In order to accomplish this

object, he would forthwith attempt to make himself master of the banks of

the Scheldt, and would even throw a bridge across the stream, if his

plans were not instantly circumvented.

William of Orange then briefly indicated his plan; adding that he had no

fears for the result; and assuring his friends, who expressed much

anxiety on the subject, that if Parma really did attempt the siege of

Antwerp it should be his ruin. The plan was perfectly simple. The city

stood upon a river. It was practicable, although extremely hazardous, for

the enemy to bridge that river, and by so doing ultimately to reduce the

place. But the ocean could not be bridged; and it was quite possible to

convert Antwerp, for a season, into an ocean-port. Standing alone upon an

island, with the sea flowing around it, and with full and free marine

communication with Zeeland and Holland, it might safely bid defiance to

the land-forces, even of so great a commander as Parma. To the

furtherance of this great measure of defence, it was necessary to destroy

certain bulwarks, the chief of (10th June, 1584) which was called the

Blaw-garen Dyke; and Sainte Aldegonde was therefore requested to return

to the city, in order to cause this task to be executed without delay.

Nothing could be more judicious than this advice. The low lands along the

Scheldt were protected against marine encroachments, and the river itself

was confined to its bed, by a magnificent system of dykes, which extended

along its edge towards the ocean, in parallel lines. Other barriers of a

similar nature ran in oblique directions, through the wide open pasture

lands, which they maintained in green fertility, against the

ever-threatening sea. The Blaw-garen, to which the prince mainly alluded,

was connected with the great dyke upon the right bank of the Scheldt.

Between this and the city, another bulwark called the Kowenstyn Dyke,

crossed the country at right angles to the river, and joined the other

two at a point, not very far from Lillo, where the States had a strong

fortress.

The country in this neighbourhood was low, spongy, full of creeks, small

meres, and the old bed of the Scheldt. Orange, therefore, made it very

clear, that by piercing the great dyke just described, such a vast body

of water would be made to pour over the land as to submerge the Kowenstyn

also, the only other obstacle in the passage of fleets from Zeeland to

Antwerp. The city would then be connected with the sea and its islands,

by so vast an expanse of navigable water, that any attempt on Parma's

part to cut off supplies and succour would be hopeless. Antwerp would

laugh the idea of famine to scorn; and although this immunity would be

purchased by the sacrifice of a large amount of agricultural territory

the price so paid was but a slender one, when the existence of the

capital, and with it perhaps of the whole confederacy was at stake.

Sainte Aldegonde and Martini suggested, that, as there would be some

opposition to the measure proposed, it might be as well to make a similar

attempt on the Flemish side, in preference, by breaking through the dykes

in the neighbourhood of Saftingen. Orange replied, by demonstrating that

the land in the region which he had indicated was of a character to

ensure success, while in the other direction there were certain very

unfavourable circumstances which rendered the issue doubtful. The result

was destined to prove the sagacity of the Prince, for it will be shown in

the sequel, that the Saftingen plan, afterwards really carried out, was

rather advantageous than detrimental to the enemy's projects.

Sainte Aldegonde, accordingly, yielded to the arguments and entreaties of

his friend, and repaired without delay to Antwerp.

The advice of William the Silent--as will soon be related--was not acted

upon; and, within a few weeks after it had been given, he was in his

grave. Nowhere was his loss more severely felt than in Antwerp. It

seemed, said a contemporary, that with his death had died all authority.

The Prince was the only head which the many-membered body of that very

democratic city ever spontaneously obeyed. Antwerp was a small

republic--in time of peace intelligently and successfully

administered--which in the season of a great foreign war, amid plagues,

tumults, famine, and internal rebellion, required the firm hand and the

clear brain of a single chief. That brain and hand had been possessed by

Orange alone.

Before his death he had desired that Sainte Aldegonde should accept the

office of burgomaster of the city. Nominally, the position was not so

elevated as were many of the posts which that distinguished patriot had

filled. In reality, it was as responsible and arduous a place as could be

offered to any man's acceptance throughout the country. Sainte Aldegonde

consented, not without some reluctance. He felt that there was odium to

be incurred; he knew that much would be expected of him, and that his

means would be limited. His powers would be liable to a constant and

various restraint. His measures were sure to be the subject of perpetual

cavil. If the city were besieged, there were nearly one hundred thousand

mouths to feed, and nearly one hundred thousand tongues to dispute about

furnishing the food.

For the government of Antwerp had been degenerating from a well-organised

municipal republicanism into anarchy. The clashing of the various bodies

exercising power had become incessant and intolerable. The burgomaster

was charged with the chief executive authority, both for peace and war.

Nevertheless he had but a single vote in the board of magistrates, where

a majority decided. Moreover, he could not always attend the sessions,

because he was also member of the council of Brabant. Important measures

might therefore be decided by the magistracy, not only against his

judgment, but without his knowledge. Then there was a variety of boards

or colleges, all arrogating concurrent--which in truth was

conflicting-authority. There was the board of militia-colonels, which

claimed great powers. Here, too, the burgomaster was nominally the chief,

but he might be voted down by a majority, and of course was often absent.

Then there were sixteen captains who came into the colonels' sessions

whenever they liked, and had their word to say upon all subjects

broached. If they were refused a hearing, they were backed by eighty

other captains, who were ready at any moment to carry every disputed

point before the "broadcouncil."

There were a college of ward-masters, a college of select men, a college

of deacons, a college of ammunition, of fortification, of ship-building,

all claiming equal authority, and all wrangling among themselves; and

there was a college of "peace-makers," who wrangled more than all the

rest together.

Once a week there was a session of the board or general council. Dire was

the hissing and confusion, as the hydra heads of the multitudinous

government were laid together. Heads of colleges, presidents of chambers,

militia-chieftains; magistrates, ward-masters, deans of fishmongers, of

tailors, gardeners, butchers, all met together pell-mell; and there was

no predominant authority. This was not a convenient working machinery for

a city threatened with a siege by the first captain of the age. Moreover

there was a deficiency of regular troops: The burgher-militia were well

trained and courageous, but not distinguished for their docility. There

was also a regiment of English under Colonel Morgan, a soldier of great

experience, and much respected; but, as Stephen Le Sieur said, "this

force, unless seconded with more, was but a breakfast for the enemy."

Unfortunately, too, the insubordination, which was so ripe in the city,

seemed to affect these auxiliaries. A mutiny broke out among the English

troops. Many deserted to Parma, some escaped to England, and it was not

until Morgan had beheaded Captain Lee and Captain Powell, that discipline

could be restored.

And into this scene of wild and deafening confusion came Philip de

Marnix, Lord of Sainte Aldegonde.

There were few more brilliant characters than he in all Christendom. He

was a man, of a most rare and versatile genius. Educated in Geneva at the

very feet of Calvin, he had drunk, like mother's milk, the strong and

bitter waters of the stern reformer's, creed; but he had in after life

attempted, although hardly with success, to lift himself to the height of

a general religious toleration. He had also been trained in the severe

and thorough literary culture which characterised that rigid school. He

was a scholar, ripe and rare; no holiday trifler in the gardens of

learning. He spoke and wrote Latin like his native tongue. He could

compose poignant Greek epigrams. He was so familiar with Hebrew, that he

had rendered the Psalms of David out of the original into flowing Flemish

verse, for the use of the reformed churches. That he possessed the modern

tongues of civilized Europe, Spanish, Italian, French, and German, was a

matter of course. He was a profound jurisconsult, capable of holding

debate against all competitors upon any point of theory or practice of

law, civil, municipal, international. He was a learned theologian, and

had often proved himself a match for the doctors, bishops, or rabbin of

Europe, in highest argument of dogma, creed, or tradition. He was a

practised diplomatist, constantly employed in delicate and difficult

negotiations by William the Silent, who ever admired his genius,

cherished his friendship, and relied upon his character. He was an

eloquent orator, whose memorable harangue, beyond all his other efforts,

at the diet of Worms, had made the German princes hang their heads with

shame, when, taking a broad and philosophical view of the Netherland

matter, he had shown that it was the great question of Europe; that

Nether Germany was all Germany; that Protestantism could not be

unravelled into shreds; that there was but one cause in Christendom--that

of absolutism against national liberty, Papacy against the reform; and

that the seventeen Provinces were to be assisted in building themselves

into an eternal barrier against Spain, or that the "burning mark of shame

would be branded upon the forehead of Germany;" that the war, in short,

was to be met by her on the threshold; or else that it would come to seek

her at home--a prophecy which the horrible Thirty Years' War was in after

time most signally to verify.

He was a poet of vigour and originality, for he had accomplished what has

been achieved by few; he had composed a national hymn, whose strophes, as

soon as heard, struck a chord in every Netherland heart, and for three

centuries long have rung like a clarion wherever the Netherland tongue is

spoken. "Wilhelmus van Nassouwe," regarded simply as a literary

composition, has many of the qualities which an ode demands; an

electrical touch upon the sentiments, a throb of patriotism, sympathetic

tenderness, a dash of indignation, with rhythmical harmony and graceful

expression; and thus it has rung from millions of lips, from generation

to generation.

He was a soldier, courageous, untiring, prompt in action, useful in

council, and had distinguished himself in many a hard-fought field. Taken

prisoner in the sanguinary skirmish at Maaslandssluys, he had been

confined a year, and, for more than three months, had never laid his

head, as he declared, upon the pillow without commending his soul as for

the last time to his Maker, expecting daily the order for his immediate

execution, and escaping his doom only because William the Silent

proclaimed that the proudest head among the Spanish prisoners should fall

to avenge his death; so that he was ultimately exchanged against the

veteran Mondragon.

From the incipient stages of the revolt he had been foremost among the

patriots. He was supposed to be the author of the famous "Compromise of

the Nobles," that earliest and most conspicuous of the state-papers of

the republic, and of many other important political documents; and he had

contributed to general literature many works of European celebrity, of

which the 'Roman Bee-Hive' was the most universally known.

Scholar, theologian, diplomatist, swordsman, orator, poet, pamphleteer,

he had genius for all things, and was eminent in all. He was even famous

for his dancing, and had composed an intelligent and philosophical

treatise upon the value of that amusement, as an agent of civilisation,

and as a counteractor of the grosser pleasures of the table to which

Upper and Nether Germans were too much addicted.

Of ancient Savoyard extraction, and something of a southern nature, he

had been born in Brussels, and was national to the heart's core.

A man of interesting, sympathetic presence; of a physiognomy where many

of the attaching and attractive qualities of his nature revealed

themselves; with crisp curling hair, surmounting a tall, expansive

forehead--full of benevolence, idealism, and quick perceptions; broad,

brown, melancholy eyes, overflowing with tenderness; a lean and haggard

cheek, a rugged Flemish nose; a thin flexible mouth; a slender moustache,

and a peaked and meagre beard; so appeared Sainte Aldegonde in the

forty-seventh year of his age, when he came to command in Antwerp.

Yet after all--many-sided, accomplished, courageous, energetic, as he

was--it may be doubted whether he was the man for the hour or the post.

He was too impressionable; he had too much of the temperament of genius.

Without being fickle, he had, besides his versatility of intellect, a

character which had much facility in turning; not, indeed, in the breeze

of self-interest, but because he seemed placed in so high and clear an

atmosphere of thought that he was often acted upon and swayed by subtle

and invisible influences. At any rate his conduct was sometimes

inexplicable. He had been strangely fascinated by the ignoble Duke of

Anjou, and, in the sequel, it will be found that he was destined to

experience other magnetic or magical impulses, which were once thought

suspicious, and have remained mysterious even to the present day.

He was imaginative. He was capable of broad and boundless hopes. He was

sometimes prone to deep despair. His nature was exquisitely tempered; too

fine and polished a blade to be wielded among those hydra-heads by which

he was, now surrounded; and for which the stunning sledgehammer of

arbitrary force was sometimes necessary.

He was perhaps deficient in that gift, which no training and no culture

can bestow, and which comes from above alone by birth-right divine--that

which men willingly call master, authority; the effluence which came so

naturally from the tranquil eyes of William the Silent.

Nevertheless, Sainte Aldegonde was prepared to do his best, and all his

best was to be tasked to the utmost. His position was rendered still more

difficult by the unruly nature of some of his coordinates.

"From the first day to the last," said one who lived in Antwerp during

the siege, "the mistakes committed in the city were incredible." It had

long been obvious that a siege was contemplated by Parma. A liberal sum

of money had been voted by the States-General, of which Holland and

Zeeland contributed a very large proportion (two hundred thousand

florins); the city itself voted another large subsidy, and an order was

issued to purchase at once and import into the city at least a year's

supply of every kind of provisions of life and munitions of war.