Continued and excessive barbarity of the government--Execution of
Antony van Straalen, of "Red--Rod" Spelle--The Prince of Orange
advised by his German friends to remain quiet--Heroic sentiments of
Orange--His religious opinions--His efforts in favor of toleration--
His fervent piety--His public correspondence with the Emperor--His
"Justification," his "Warning," and other papers characterized--The
Prince, with a considerable army, crosses the Rhine--Passage of the
Meuse at Stochem--He offers battle to Alva--Determination of the
Duke to avoid an engagement--Comparison of his present situation
with his previous position in Friesland--Masterly tactics of the
Duke--Skirmish on the Geta--Defeat of the Orangists--Death of
Hoogstraaten--Junction with Genlis--Adherence of Alva to his
original plan--The Prince crosses the frontier of France--
Correspondence between Charles IX. and Orange--The patriot army
disbanded at Strasburg--Comments by Granvelle upon the position of
the Prince--Triumphant attitude of Alva--Festivities at Brussels--
Colossal statue of Alva erected by himself in Antwerp citadel--
Intercession of the Emperor with Philip--Memorial of six Electors to
the Emperor--Mission of the Archduke Charles to Spain--His
negotiations with Philip--Public and private correspondence between
the King and Emperor--Duplicity of Maximilian--Abrupt conclusion to
the intervention--Granvelle's suggestions to Philip concerning the
treaty of Passau.
The Duke having thus crushed the project of Count Bouts, and quelled the
insurrection in Friesland, returned in triumph to Brussels. Far from
softened by the success of his arms, he renewed with fresh energy the
butchery which, for a brief season, had been suspended during his
brilliant campaign in the north. The altars again smoked with victims;
the hanging, burning, drowning, beheading, seemed destined to be the
perpetual course of his administration, so long as human bodies remained
on which his fanatical vengeance could be wreaked. Four men of eminence
were executed soon after his return to the capital. They had previously
suffered such intense punishment on the rack, that it was necessary to
carry them to the scaffold and bind them upon chairs, that they might be
beheaded. These four sufferers were a Frisian nobleman, named Galena, the
secretaries of Egmont and Horn, Bakkerzeel and La Loo, and the
distinguished burgomaster of Antwerp, Antony Van Straalen. The arrest of
the three last-mentioned individuals, simultaneously with that of the two
Counts, has been related in a previous chapter. In the case of Van
Straalen, the services rendered by him to the provinces during his long
and honorable career, had been so remarkable, that even the
Blood-Council, in sending his case to Alva for his sentence, were
inspired by a humane feeling. They felt so much compunction at the
impending fate of a man who, among other meritorious acts, had furnished
nearly all the funds for the brilliant campaign in Picardy, by which the
opening years of Philip's reign had been illustrated, as to hint at the
propriety of a pardon. But the recommendation to mercy, though it came
from the lips of tigers, dripping with human blood, fell unheeded on the
tyrant's ear. It seemed meet that the man who had supplied the nerves of
war in that unforgiven series of triumphs, should share the fate of the
hero who had won the laurels.
[Bor, Cappella, Hoofd, ubi sup. The last words of the Burgomaster
as he bowed his neck to the executioner's stroke were, "Voor wel
gedaan, kwaclyk beloud,"--"For faithful service, evil recompense."
--Cappella, 232.]
Hundreds of obscure martyrs now followed in the same path to another
world, where surely they deserved to find their recompense, if steadfast
adherence to their faith, and a tranquil trust in God amid tortures and
death too horrible to be related, had ever found favor above. The
"Red-Rod," as the provost of Brabant was popularly designated, was never
idle. He flew from village to village throughout the province, executing
the bloody behests of his masters with congenial alacrity. Nevertheless
his career was soon destined to close upon the same scaffold where he had
so long officiated. Partly from caprice, partly from an uncompromising
and fantastic sense of justice, his master now hanged the executioner
whose industry had been so untiring. The sentence which was affixed to
his breast, as he suffered, stated that he had been guilty of much
malpractice; that he had executed many persons without a warrant, and had
suffered many guilty persons for a bribe, to escape their doom. The
reader can judge which of the two clauses constituted the most sufficient
reason.
During all these triumphs of Alva, the Prince of Orange had not lost his
self-possession. One after another, each of his bold, skilfully-conceived
and carefully-prepared plans had failed. Villers had been entirely
discomfited at Dalhena, Cocqueville had been cut to pieces in Picardy,
and now the valiant and experienced Louis had met with an entire
overthrow in Friesland. The brief success of the patriots at Heiliger Zee
had been washed out in the blood-torrents of Jemmingen. Tyranny was more
triumphant, the provinces more timidly crouching, than ever. The friends
on whom William of Orange relied in Germany, never enthusiastic in his
cause, although many of them true-hearted and liberal, now grew cold and
anxious. For months long, his most faithful and affectionate allies, such
men as the Elector of Hesse and the Duke of Wirtemberg, as well as the
less trustworthy Augustus of Saxony, had earnestly expressed their
opinion that, under the circumstances, his best course was to sit still
and watch the course of events.
It was known that the Emperor had written an urgent letter to Philip on
the subject of his policy in the Netherlands in general, and concerning
the position of Orange in particular. All persons, from the Emperor down
to the pettiest potentate, seemed now of opinion that the Prince had
better pause; that he was, indeed, bound to wait the issue of that
remonstrance. "Your highness must sit still," said Landgrave William.
"Your highness must sit still," said Augustus of Saxony. "You must move
neither hand nor foot in the cause of the perishing provinces," said the
Emperor. "Not a soldier-horse, foot, or dragoon-shall be levied within
the Empire. If you violate the peace of the realm, and embroil us with
our excellent brother and cousin Philip, it is at your own peril. You
have nothing to do but to keep quiet and await his answer to our letter."
But the Prince knew how much effect his sitting still would produce upon
the cause of liberty and religion. He knew how much effect the Emperor's
letter was like to have upon the heart of Philip. He knew that the more
impenetrable the darkness now gathering over that land of doom which he
had devoted his life to defend, the more urgently was he forbidden to
turn his face away from it in its affliction. He knew that thousands of
human souls, nigh to perishing, were daily turning towards him as their
only hope on earth, and he was resolved, so long as he could dispense a
single ray of light, that his countenance should never be averted. It is
difficult to contemplate his character, at this period, without being
infected with a perhaps dangerous enthusiasm. It is not an easy task
coldly to analyse a nature which contained so much of the
self-sacrificing and the heroic, as well as of the adroit and the subtle;
and it is almost impossible to give utterance to the emotions which
naturally swell the heart at the contemplation of so much active virtue,
without rendering oneself liable to the charge of excessive admiration.
Through the mists of adversity, a human form may dilate into proportions
which are colossal and deceptive. Our judgment may thus, perhaps, be led
captive, but at any rate the sentiment excited is more healthful than
that inspired by the mere shedder of blood, by the merely selfish
conqueror. When the cause of the champion is that of human right against
tyranny, of political ind religious freedom against an all-engrossing and
absolute bigotry, it is still more difficult to restrain veneration
within legitimate bounds. To liberate the souls and bodies of millions,
to maintain for a generous people, who had well-nigh lost their all,
those free institutions which their ancestors had bequeathed, was a noble
task for any man. But here stood a Prince of ancient race, vast
possessions, imperial blood, one of the great ones of the earth, whose
pathway along the beaten track would have been smooth and successful, but
who was ready to pour out his wealth like water, and to coin his heart's
blood, drop by drop, in this virtuous but almost desperate cause. He felt
that of a man to whom so much had been entrusted, much was to be asked.
God had endowed him with an incisive and comprehensive genius,
unfaltering fortitude, and with the rank and fortune which enable a man
to employ his faculties, to the injury or the happiness of his fellows,
on the widest scale. The Prince felt the responsibility, and the world
was to learn the result.
It was about this time that a deep change came over his mind. Hitherto,
although nominally attached to the communion of the ancient Church, his
course of life and habits of mind had not led him to deal very earnestly
with things beyond the world. The severe duties, the grave character of
the cause to which his days were henceforth to be devoted, had already
led him to a closer inspection of the essential attributes of
Christianity. He was now enrolled for life as a soldier of the
Reformation. The Reformation was henceforth his fatherland, the sphere,
of his duty and his affection. The religious Reformers became his
brethren, whether in France, Germany, the Netherlands, or England. Yet
his mind had taken a higher flight than that of the most eminent
Reformers. His goal was not a new doctrine, but religious liberty. In an
age when to think was a crime, and when bigotry and a persecuting spirit
characterized Romanists and Lutherans, Calvinists and Zwinglians, he had
dared to announce freedom of conscience as the great object for which
noble natures should strive. In an age when toleration was a vice, he had
the manhood to cultivate it as a virtue. His parting advice to the
Reformers of the Netherlands, when he left them for a season in the
spring of 1567, was to sink all lesser differences in religious union.
Those of the Augsburg Confession and those of the Calvinistic Church, in
their own opinion as incapable of commingling as oil and water, were, in
his judgment, capable of friendly amalgamation. He appealed eloquently to
the good and influential of all parties to unite in one common cause
against oppression. Even while favoring daily more and more the cause of
the purified Church, and becoming daily more alive to the corruption of
Rome, he was yet willing to tolerate all forms of worship, and to leave
reason to combat error.
Without a particle of cant or fanaticism, he had become a deeply
religious man. Hitherto he had been only a man of the world and a
statesman, but from this time forth he began calmly to rely upon God's
providence in all the emergencies of his eventful life. His letters
written to his most confidential friends, to be read only by themselves,
and which have been gazed upon by no other eyes until after the lapse of
nearly three centuries, abundantly prove his sincere and simple trust.
This sentiment was not assumed for effect to delude others, but cherished
as a secret support for himself. His religion was not a cloak to his
designs, but a consolation in his disasters. In his letter of instruction
to his most confidential agent, John Bazius, while he declared himself
frankly in favor of the Protestant principles, he expressed his extreme
repugnance to the persecution of Catholics. "Should we obtain power over
any city or cities," he wrote, "let the communities of papists be as much
respected and protected as possible. Let them be overcome, not by
violence, but with gentle-mindedness and virtuous treatment." After the
terrible disaster at Jemmingen, he had written to Louis, consoling him,
in the most affectionate language, for the unfortunate result of his
campaign. Not a word of reproach escaped from him, although his brother
had conducted the operations in Friesland, after the battle of Heiliger
Lee, in a manner quite contrary to his own advice. He had counselled
against a battle, and had foretold a defeat; but after the battle had
been fought and a crushing defeat sustained, his language breathed only
unwavering submission to the will of God, and continued confidence in his
own courage. "You may be well assured, my brother," he wrote, "that I
have never felt anything more keenly than the pitiable misfortune which
has happened to you, for many reasons which you can easily imagine.
Moreover, it hinders us much in the levy which we are making, and has
greatly chilled the hearts of those who otherwise would have been ready
to give us assistance. Nevertheless, since it has thus pleased God, it is
necessary to have patience and to lose not courage; conforming ourselves
to His divine will, as for my part I have determined to do in everything
which may happen, still proceeding onward in our work with his Almighty
aid. 'Soevis tranquillus in undis', he was never more placid than when
the storm was wildest and the night darkest. He drew his consolations and
refreshed his courage at the never-failing fountains of Divine mercy.
"I go to-morrow," he wrote to the unworthy Anne of Saxony; "but when I
shall return, or when I shall see you, I cannot, on my honor, tell you
with certainty. I have resolved to place myself in the hands of the
Almighty, that he may guide me whither it is His good pleasure that I
should go. I see well enough that I am destined to pass this life in
misery and labor, with which I am well content, since it thus pleases the
Omnipotent, for I know that I have merited still greater chastisement. I
only implore Him graciously to send me strength to endure with patience."
Such language, in letters the most private, never meant to be seen by
other eyes than those to which they were addressed, gives touching
testimony to the sincere piety of his character. No man was ever more
devoted to a high purpose, no man had ever more right to imagine himself,
or less inclination to pronounce himself, entrusted with a divine
mission. There was nothing of the charlatan in his character. His nature
was true and steadfast. No narrow-minded usurper was ever more loyal to
his own aggrandisement than this large-hearted man to the cause of
oppressed humanity. Yet it was inevitable that baser minds should fail to
recognise his purity. While he exhausted his life for the emancipation of
a people, it was easy to ascribe all his struggles to the hope of
founding a dynasty. It was natural for grovelling natures to search in
the gross soil of self-interest for the sustaining roots of the tree
beneath whose branches a nation found its shelter. What could they
comprehend of living fountains and of heavenly dews?
In May, 1568, the Emperor Maximilian had formally issued a requisition to
the Prince of Orange to lay down his arms, and to desist from all levies
and machinations against the King of Spain and the peace of the realm.
This summons he was commanded to obey on pain of forfeiting all rights,
fiefs, privileges and endowments bestowed by imperial hands on himself or
his predecessors, and of incurring the heaviest disgrace, punishment, and
penalties of the Empire.
To this document the Prince replied in August, having paid in the
meantime but little heed to its precepts. Now that the Emperor, who at
first was benignant, had begun to frown on his undertaking, he did not
slacken in his own endeavours to set his army on foot. One by one, those
among the princes of the empire who had been most stanch in his cause,
and were still most friendly to his person, grew colder as tyranny became
stronger; but the ardor of the Prince was not more chilled by their
despair than by the overthrow at Jemmingen, which had been its cause. In
August, he answered the letter of the Emperor, respectfully but warmly.
He still denounced the tyranny of Alva and the arts of Granvelle with
that vigorous eloquence which was always at his command, while, as usual,
he maintained a show of almost exaggerated respect for their monarch. It
was not to be presumed, he said, that his Majesty, "a king debonair and
bountiful," had ever intended such cruelties as those which had been
rapidly retraced in the letter, but it was certain that the Duke of Alva
had committed them all of his own authority. He trusted, moreover, that
the Emperor, after he had read the "Justification" which the Prince had
recently published, would appreciate the reason for his taking up arms.
He hoped that his Majesty would now consider the resistance just,
Christian, and conformable to the public peace. He expressed the belief
that rather than interpose any hindrance, his Majesty would thenceforth
rather render assistance "to the poor and desolate Christians," even as
it was his Majesty's office and authority to be the last refuge of the
injured.
The "Justification against the false blame of his calumniators by the
Prince of Orange," to which the Prince thus referred, has been mentioned
in a previous chapter. This remarkable paper had been drawn up at the
advice of his friends, Landgrave William and Elector Augustus, but it was
not the only document which the Prince caused to be published at this
important epoch. He issued a formal declaration of war against the Duke
of Alva; he addressed a solemn and eloquent warning or proclamation to
all the inhabitants of the Netherlands. These documents are all extremely
important and interesting. Their phraseology shows the intentions and the
spirit by which the Prince was actuated on first engaging in the
struggle. Without the Prince and his efforts--at this juncture, there
would probably have never been a free Netherland commonwealth. It is
certain, likewise, that without an enthusiastic passion for civil and
religious liberty throughout the masses of the Netherland people, there
would have been no successful effort on the part of the Prince. He knew
his countrymen; while they, from highest to humblest, recognised in him
their saviour. There was, however, no pretence of a revolutionary
movement. The Prince came to maintain, not to overthrow. The freedom
which had been enjoyed in the provinces until the accession of the
Burgundian dynasty, it was his purpose to restore. The attitude which he
now assumed was a peculiar one in history. This defender of a people's
cause set up no revolutionary standard. In all his documents he paid
apparent reverence to the authority of the King. By a fiction, which was
not unphilosophical, he assumed that the monarch was incapable of the
crimes which he charged upon the Viceroy. Thus he did not assume the
character of a rebel in arms against his prince, but in his own capacity
of sovereign he levied troops and waged war against a satrap whom he
chose to consider false to his master's orders. In the interest of
Philip, assumed to be identical with the welfare of his people, he took
up arms against the tyrant who was sacrificing both. This mask of loyalty
would never save his head from the block, as he well knew, but some
spirits lofty as his own, might perhaps be influenced by a noble
sophistry, which sought to strengthen the cause of the people by
attributing virtue to the King.
And thus did the sovereign of an insignificant little principality stand
boldly forth to do battle with the most powerful monarch in the world. At
his own expense, and by almost superhuman exertions, he had assembled
nearly thirty thousand men. He now boldly proclaimed to the world, and
especially to the inhabitants of the provinces, his motives, his
purposes, and his hopes.
"We, by God's grace Prince of Orange," said his declaration of 31st
August, 1568, "salute all faithful subjects of his Majesty. To few
people is it unknown that the Spaniards have for a long time sought
to govern the land according to their pleasure. Abusing his
Majesty's goodness, they have persuaded him to decree the
introduction of the inquisition into the Netherlands. They well
understood, that in case the Netherlanders could be made to tolerate
its exercise, they would lose all protection to their liberty; that
if they opposed its introduction, they would open those rich
provinces as a vast field of plunder. We had hoped that his
Majesty, taking the matter to heart, would have spared his
hereditary provinces from such utter ruin. We have found our hopes
futile. We are unable, by reason of our loyal service due to his
Majesty, and of our true compassion for the faithful lieges, to look
with tranquillity any longer at such murders, robberies, outrages,
and agony. We are, moreover, certain that his Majesty has been
badly informed upon Netherland matters. We take up arms, therefore,
to oppose the violent tyranny of the Spaniards, by the help of the
merciful God, who is the enemy of all bloodthirstiness. Cheerfully
inclined to wager our life and all our worldly wealth on the cause,
we have now, God be thanked, an excellent army of cavalry, infantry,
and artillery, raised all at our own expense. We summon all loyal
subjects of the Netherlands to come and help us. Let them take to
heart the uttermost need of the country, the danger of perpetual
slavery for themselves and their children, and of the entire
overthrow of the Evangelical religion. Only when Alva's blood-
thirstiness shall have been at last overpowered, can the provinces
hope to recover their pure administration of justice, and a
prosperous condition for their commonwealth."
In the "warning" or proclamation to all the inhabitants of the
Netherlands, the Prince expressed similar sentiments. He announced his
intention of expelling the Spaniards forever from the country. To
accomplish the mighty undertaking, money was necessary. He accordingly
called on his countrymen to contribute, the rich out of their abundance,
the poor even out of their poverty, to the furtherance of the cause. To
do this, while it was yet time, he solemnly warned them "before God, the
fatherland, and the world." After the title of this paper were cited the
28th, 29th, and 30th verses of the tenth chapter of Proverbs. The
favorite motto of the Prince, "pro lege, rege, grege," was also affixed
to the document.
These appeals had, however, but little effect. Of three hundred thousand
crowns, promised on behalf of leading nobles and merchants of the
Netherlands by Marcus Perez, but ten or twelve thousand came to hand. The
appeals to the gentlemen who had signed the Compromise, and to many
others who had, in times past, been favorable to the liberal party were
powerless. A poor Anabaptist preacher collected a small sum from a
refugee congregation on the outskirts of Holland, and brought it, at the
peril of his life, into the Prince's camp. It came from people, he said,
whose will was better than the gift. They never wished to be repaid, he
said, except by kindness, when the cause of reform should be triumphant
in the Netherlands. The Prince signed a receipt for the money, expressing
himself touched by this sympathy from these poor outcasts. In the course
of time, other contributions from similar sources, principally collected
by dissenting preachers, starving and persecuted church communities, were
received. The poverty-stricken exiles contributed far more, in
proportion, for the establishment of civil and religious liberty, than
the wealthy merchants or the haughty nobles.
Late in September, the Prince mustered his army in the province of
Treves, near the monastery of Romersdorf. His force amounted to nearly
thirty thousand men, of whom nine thousand were cavalry. Lumey, Count de
la Marek, now joined him at the head of a picked band of troopers; a
bold, ferocious partisan, descended from the celebrated Wild Boar of
Ardennes. Like Civilis, the ancient Batavian hero, he had sworn to leave
hair and beard unshorn till the liberation of the country was achieved,
or at least till the death of Egmont, whose blood relation he was, had
been avenged. It is probable that the fierce conduct of this chieftain,
and particularly the cruelties exercised upon monks and papists by his
troops, dishonored the cause more than their valor could advance it. But
in those stormy times such rude but incisive instruments were scarcely to
be neglected, and the name of Lumey was to be forever associated with
important triumphs of the liberal cause.
It was fated, however, that but few laurels should be won by the patriots
in this campaign. The Prince crossed the Rhine at Saint Feit, a village
belonging to himself. He descended along the banks as far as the
neighbourhood of Cologne. Then, after hovering in apparent uncertainty
about the territories of Juliers and Limburg, he suddenly, on a bright
moonlight night, crossed the Meuse with his whole army, in the
neighbourhood of Stochem. The operation was brilliantly effected. A
compact body of cavalry, according to the plan which had been more than
once adopted by Julius Caesar, was placed in the midst of the current,
under which shelter the whole army successfully forded the river. The
Meuse was more shallow than usual, but the water was as high as the
soldiers' necks. This feat was accomplished on the night and morning of
the 4th and 5th of October. It was considered so bold an achievement that
its fame spread far and wide. The Spaniards began to tremble at the
prowess of a Prince whom they had affected to despise. The very fact of
the passage was flatly contradicted. An unfortunate burgher at Amsterdam
was scourged at the whipping-post, because he mentioned it as matter of
common report. The Duke of Alva refused to credit the tale when it was
announced to him. "Is the army of the Prince of Orange a flock of wild
geese," he asked, "that it can fly over rivers like the Meuse?"
Nevertheless it was true. The outlawed, exiled Prince stood once more on
the borders of Brabant, with an army of disciplined troops at his back.
His banners bore patriotic inscriptions. "Pro Lege, Rege, Grege," was
emblazoned upon some. A pelican tearing her breast to nourish her young
with her life-blood was the pathetic emblem of others. It was his
determination to force or entice the Duke of Alva into a general
engagement. He was desirous to wipe out the disgrace of Jemmingen. Could
he plant his victorious standard thus in the very heart of the country,
he felt that thousands would rally around it. The country would rise
almost to a man, could he achieve a victory over the tyrant, flushed as
he was with victory, and sated with blood.
With banners flying, drums beating, trumpets sounding, with all the pomp
and defiance which an already victorious general could assume, Orange
marched into Brabant, and took up a position within six thousand paces of
Alva's encampment. His plan was at every hazard to dare or to decoy his
adversary into the chances of a stricken field. The Governor was
entrenched at a place called Keiserslager, which Julius Caesar had once
occupied. The city of Maestricht was in his immediate neighbourhood,
which was thus completely under his protection, while it furnished him
with supplies. The Prince sent to the Duke a herald, who was to propose
that all prisoners who might be taken in the coming campaign should be
exchanged instead of being executed. The herald, booted and spurred, even
as he had dismounted from his horse, was instantly hanged. This was the
significant answer to the mission of mercy. Alva held no parley with
rebels before a battle, nor gave quarter afterwards.
In the meantime, the Duke had carefully studied the whole position of
affairs, and had arrived at his conclusion. He was determined not to
fight. It was obvious that the Prince would offer battle eagerly,
ostentatiously, frequently, but the Governor was resolved never to accept
the combat. Once taken, his resolution was unalterable. He recognized the
important difference between his own attitude at present, and that in
which he had found himself during the past summer in Friesland. There a
battle had been necessary, now it was more expedient to overcome his
enemy by delay. In Friesland, the rebels had just achieved a victory over
the choice troops of Spain. Here they were suffering from the stigma of a
crushing defeat. Then, the army of Louis Nassau was swelling daily by
recruits, who poured in from all the country round. Now, neither peasant
nor noble dared lift a finger for the Prince. The army of Louis had been
sustained by the one which his brother was known to be preparing. If
their movements had not been checked, a junction would have been
effected. The armed revolt would then have assumed so formidable an
aspect, that rebellion would seem, even for the timid, a safer choice
than loyalty. The army of the Prince, on the contrary, was now the last
hope of the patriots: The three by which it had been preceded had been
successively and signally vanquished.
Friesland, again, was on the outskirts of the country. A defeat sustained
by the government there did not necessarily imperil the possession of the
provinces. Brabant, on the contrary, was the heart of the Netherlands.
Should the Prince achieve a decisive triumph then and there, he would be
master of the nation's fate. The Viceroy knew himself to be odious, and
he reigned by terror. The Prince was the object of the people's idolatry,
and they would rally round him if they dared. A victory gained by the
liberator over the tyrant, would destroy the terrible talisman of
invincibility by which Alva governed. The Duke had sufficiently
demonstrated his audacity in the tremendous chastisement which he had
inflicted upon the rebels under Louis. He could now afford to play that
scientific game of which he was so profound a master, without risking any
loss of respect or authority. He was no enthusiast. Although he doubtless
felt sufficiently confident of overcoming the Prince in a pitched battle,
he had not sufficient relish for the joys of contest to be willing to
risk even a remote possibility of defeat. His force, although composed of
veterans and of the best musketeers and pikemen in Europe, was still
somewhat inferior in numbers to that of his adversary. Against the twenty
thousand foot and eight thousand, horse of Orange, he could oppose only
fifteen or sixteen thousand foot and fifty-five hundred riders. Moreover,
the advantage which he had possessed in Friesland, a country only
favorable to infantry, in which he had been stronger than his opponent,
was now transferred to his new enemy. On the plains of Brabant, the
Prince's superiority in cavalry was sure to tell. The season of the year,
too, was an important element in the calculation. The winter alone would
soon disperse the bands of German mercenaries, whose expenses Orange was
not able to support, even while in active service. With unpaid wages and
disappointed hopes of plunder, the rebel army would disappear in a few
weeks as totally as if defeated in the open field. In brief, Orange by a
victory would gain new life and strength, while his defeat could no more
than anticipate, by a few weeks, the destruction of his army, already
inevitable. Alva, on the contrary, might lose the mastery of the
Netherlands if unfortunate, and would gain no solid advantage if
triumphant. The Prince had everything to hope, the Duke everything to
fear, from the result of a general action.
The plan, thus deliberately resolved upon, was accomplished with
faultless accuracy. As a work of art, the present campaign of Alva
against Orange was a more consummate masterpiece than the more brilliant
and dashing expedition into Friesland. The Duke had resolved to hang upon
his adversary's skirts, to follow him move by move, to check him at every
turn, to harass him in a hundred ways, to foil all his enterprises, to
parry all his strokes, and finally to drive him out of the country, after
a totally barren campaign, when, as he felt certain, his ill-paid
hirelings would vanish in all directions, and leave their patriot Prince
a helpless and penniless adventurer. The scheme thus sagaciously
conceived, his adversary, with all his efforts, was unable to circumvent.
The campaign lasted little more than a month. Twenty-nine times the
Prince changed his encampment, and at every remove the Duke was still
behind him, as close and seemingly as impalpable as his shadow. Thrice
they were within cannon-shot of each other; twice without a single trench
or rampart between them. The country people refused the Prince supplies,
for they trembled at the vengeance of the Governor. Alva had caused the
irons to be removed from all the mills, so that not a bushel of corn
could be ground in the whole province. The country thus afforded but
little forage for the thirty thousand soldiers of the Prince. The troops,
already discontented, were clamorous for pay and plunder. During one
mutinous demonstration, the Prince's sword was shot from his side, and it
was with difficulty that a general outbreak was suppressed. The soldiery
were maddened and tantalized by the tactics of Alva. They found
themselves constantly in the presence of an enemy, who seemed to court a
battle at one moment and to vanish like a phantom at the next They felt
the winter approaching, and became daily more dissatisfied with the
irritating hardships to which they were exposed. Upon the night of the
5th and 6th of October the Prince had crossed the Meuse at Stochem.
Thence he had proceeded to Tongres, followed closely by the enemy's
force, who encamped in the immediate neighbourhood. From Tongres he had
moved to Saint Trond, still pursued and still baffled in the same
cautious manner. The skirmishing at the outposts was incessant, but the
main body was withdrawn as soon as there seemed a chance of its becoming
involved.
From Saint Trond, in the neighbourhood of which he had remained several
days, he advanced in a southerly direction towards Jodoigne. Count de
Genlis, with a reinforcement of French Huguenots, for which the Prince
had been waiting, had penetrated through the Ardennes, crossed the Meuse
at Charlemont, and was now intending a junction with him at Waveron. The
river Geta flowed between them. The Prince stationed a considerable force
upon a hill near the stream to protect the passage, and then proceeded
leisurely to send his army across the river. Count Hoogstraaten, with the
rear-guard, consisting of about three thousand men, were alone left upon
the hither bank, in order to provoke or to tempt the enemy, who, as
usual, was encamped very near. Alva refused to attack the main army, but
Frederic with a force of four thousand men, were alone left on the hither
bank, in order to provoke or to tempt the enemy, who as usual, was
encamped very near. Alva refused to attack the main army but rapidly
detached his son, Don Fredrick, with a force of four thousand foot and
three thousand horse, to cut off the rear-guard. The movement was
effected in a masterly manner, the hill was taken, the three thousand
troops which had not passed the river were cut to pieces, and Vitelli
hastily despatched a gentleman named Barberini to implore the Duke to
advance with the main body, cross the river, and, once for all,
exterminate the rebels in a general combat. Alva, inflamed, not with
ardor for an impending triumph, but with rage, that his sagely-conceived
plans could not be comprehended even by his son and by his favorite
officers, answered the eager messenger with peremptory violence. "Go back
to Vitelli," he cried. "Is he, or am I, to command in this campaign? Tell
him not to suffer a single man to cross the river. Warn him against
sending any more envoys to advise a battle; for should you or any other
man dare to bring me another such message, I swear to you, by the head of
the King, that you go not hence alive."
With this decisive answer the messenger had nothing for it but to gallop
back with all haste, in order to participate in what might be left of the
butchery of Count Hoogstraaten's force, and to prevent Vitelli and Don
Frederic in their ill-timed ardor, from crossing the river. This was
properly effected, while in the meantime the whole rear-guard of the
patriots had been slaughtered. A hundred or two, the last who remained,
had made their escape from the field, and had taken refuge in a house in
the neighbourhood. The Spaniards set the buildings on fire, and standing
around with lifted lances, offered the fugitives the choice of being
consumed in the flames or of springing out upon their spears. Thus
entrapped some chose the one course, some the other. A few, to escape the
fury of the fire and the brutality of the Spaniards, stabbed themselves
with their own swords. Others embraced, and then killed each other, the
enemies from below looking on, as at a theatrical exhibition; now hissing
and now applauding, as the death struggles were more or less to their
taste. In a few minutes all the fugitives were dead. Nearly three
thousand of the patriots were slain in this combat, including those
burned or butchered after the battle was over. The Sieur de Louverwal was
taken prisoner, and soon afterwards beheaded in Brussels; but the
greatest misfortune sustained by the liberal party upon this occasion was
the death of Antony de Lalaing, Count of Hoogstraaten. This brave and
generous nobleman, the tried friend of the Prince of Orange, and his
colleague during the memorable scenes at Antwerp, was wounded in the foot
during the action, by an accidental discharge of his own pistol. The
injury, although apparently slight, caused his death in a few days. There
seemed a strange coincidence in his good and evil fortunes. A casual
wound in the hand from his own pistol while he was on his way to
Brussels, to greet Alva upon his first arrival, had saved him from the
scaffold. And now in his first pitched battle with the Duke, this
seemingly trifling injury in the foot was destined to terminate his
existence. Another peculiar circumstance had marked the event. At a gay
supper in the course of this campaign, Hoogstraaten had teased Count
Louis, in a rough, soldierly way, with his disaster at Jemmingen. He had
affected to believe that the retreat upon that occasion had been
unnecessary. "We have been now many days in the Netherlands;" said he,
"and we have seen nothing of the Spaniards but their backs."--"And when
the Duke does break loose," replied Louis, somewhat nettled, "I warrant
you will see their faces soon enough, and remember them for the rest of
your life." The half-jesting remark was thus destined to become a gloomy
prophecy.
This was the only important action daring the campaign. Its perfect
success did not warp Alva's purpose, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of
many of his officers, he remained firm in his resolution. After the
termination of the battle on the Geta, and the Duke's obstinate refusal
to pursue his advantage, the Baron de Chevreau dashed his pistol to the
ground, in his presence, exclaiming that the Duke would never fight. The
Governor smiled at the young man's chagrin, seemed even to approve his
enthusiasm, but reminded him that it was the business of an officer to
fight, of a general to conquer. If the victory were bloodless, so much
the better for all.
This action was fought on the 20th of October. A few days afterwards, the
Prince made his junction with Genlis at Waveren, a place about three
leagues from Louvain and from Brussels. This auxiliary force was,
however, insignificant. There were only five hundred cavalry and three
thousand foot, but so many women and children, that it seemed rather an
emigrating colony than an invading army. They arrived late. If they had
come earlier, it would have been of little consequence, for it had been
written that no laurels were to be gathered in that campaign. The
fraternal spirit which existed between the Reformers in all countries was
all which could be manifested upon the occasion. The Prince was
frustrated in his hopes of a general battle, still more bitterly
disappointed by the supineness of the country. Not a voice was raised to
welcome the deliverer. Not a single city opened its gates. All was
crouching, silent, abject. The rising, which perhaps would have been
universal had a brilliant victory been obtained, was, by the masterly
tactics of Alva, rendered an almost inconceivable idea. The mutinous
demonstrations in the Prince's camp became incessant; the soldiers were
discontented and weary. What the Duke had foretold was coming to pass,
for the Prince's army was already dissolving.
Genlis and the other French officers were desirous that the Prince should
abandon the Netherlands for the present, and come to the rescue of the
Huguenots, who had again renewed the religious war under Conde and
Coligny. The German soldiers, however would listen to no such proposal.
They had enlisted to fight the Duke of Alva in the Netherlands, and would
not hear of making war against Charles IX. in France. The Prince was
obliged to countermarch toward the Rhine. He recrossed the Geta, somewhat
to Alva's astonishment, and proceeded in the direction of the Meuse. The
autumn rains, however, had much swollen that river since his passage at
the beginning of the month, so that it could no longer be forded. He
approached the city of Liege, and summoned their Bishop, as he had done
on his entrance into the country, to grant a free passage to his troops.
The Bishop who stood in awe of Alva, and who had accepted his protection
again refused. The Prince had no time to parley. He was again obliged to
countermarch, and took his way along the high-road to France, still
watched and closely pursued by Alva, between whose troops and his own
daily skirmishes took place. At Le Quesnoy, the Prince gained a trifling
advantage over the Spaniards; at Cateau Cambresis he also obtained a
slight and easy-victory; but by the 17th of November the Duke of Alva had
entered Cateau Cambresis, and the Prince had crossed the frontier of
France.
The Marechal de Cosse, who was stationed on the boundary of France and
Flanders, now harassed the Prince by very similar tactics to those of
Alva. He was, however, too weak to inflict any serious damage, although
strong enough to create perpetual annoyance. He also sent a secretary to
the Prince, with a formal prohibition, in the name of Charles IX.,
against his entering the French territory with his troops.
Besides these negotiations, conducted by Secretary Favelles on the part
of Marechal de Cosse, the King, who was excessively alarmed, also
despatched the Marechal Gaspar de Schomberg on the same service. That
envoy accordingly addressed to the Prince a formal remonstrance in the
name of his sovereign. Charles IX., it was represented, found it very
strange that the Prince should thus enter the French territory. The King
was not aware that he had ever given him the least cause for hostile
proceedings, could not therefore take it in good part that the Prince
should thus enter France with a "large and puissant army;" because no
potentate, however humble, could tolerate such a proceeding, much less a
great and powerful monarch. Orange was therefore summoned to declare his
intentions, but was at the same, time informed, that if he merely desired
"to pass amiably through the country," and would give assurance, and
request permission to that, effect, under his hand and seal, his Majesty
would take all necessary measures to secure that amiable passage.
The Prince replied by a reference to the statements which he had already
made to Marechal de Cosse. He averred that he had not entered France with
evil intent, but rather with a desire to render very humble service to
his Majesty, so far as he could do so with a clear conscience.
Touching the King's inability to remember having given any occasion to
hostile proceedings on the part of the Prince, he replied that he would
pass that matter by. Although he could adduce many, various, and strong
reasons for violent measures, he was not so devoid of understanding as
not to recognize the futility of attempting anything, by his own personal
means, against so great and powerful a King, in comparison with whom he
was "but a petty companion."
"Since the true religion," continued Orange, "is a public and general
affair, which ought to be preferred to all private matters; since the
Prince, as a true Christian, is held by his honor and conscience to
procure, with all his strength, its advancement and establishment in
every place whatever; since, on the other hand, according to the edict
published in September last by his Majesty, attempts have been made to
force in their consciences all those who are of the Christian religion;
and since it has been determined to exterminate the pure word of God, and
the entire exercise thereof, and to permit no other religion than the
Roman Catholic, a thing very, prejudicial to the neighbouring nations
where there is a free exercise of the Christian religion, therefore the
Prince would put no faith in the assertions of his Majesty, that it was
not his Majesty's intentions to force the consciences of any one."
Having given this very deliberate and succinct contradiction to the
statements of the French King, the Prince proceeded to express his
sympathy for the oppressed Christians everywhere. He protested that he
would give them all the aid, comfort, counsel, and assistance that he was
able to give them. He asserted his conviction that the men who professed
the religion demanded nothing else than the glory of God and the
advancement of His word, while in all matters of civil polity they were
ready to render obedience to his Majesty. He added that all his doings
were governed by a Christian and affectionate regard for the King and his
subjects, whom his Majesty must be desirous of preserving from extreme
ruin. He averred, moreover, that if he should perceive any indication
that those of the religion were pursuing any other object than liberty of
conscience and security for life and property, he would not only withdraw
his assistance from them, but would use the whole strength of his army to
exterminate them. In conclusion, he begged the King to believe that the
work which the Prince had undertaken was a Christian work, and that his
intentions were good and friendly towards his Majesty.
[This very eloquently written letter was dated Ciasonne, December
3rd, 1568. It has never been published. It is in the Collection of
MSS, Pivoen concernant, etc., Hague archives.]
It was, however, in vain that the Prince endeavoured to induce his army
to try the fortunes of the civil war in France. They had enlisted for the
Netherlands, the campaign was over, and they insisted upon being led back
to Germany. Schomberg, secretly instructed by the King of France, was
active in fomenting the discontent, and the Prince was forced to yield.
He led his army through Champagne and Lorraine to Strasburg, where they
were disbanded. All the money which the Prince had been able to collect
was paid them. He pawned all his camp equipage, his plate, his furniture.
What he could not pay in money he made up in promises, sacredly to be
fulfilled, when he should be restored to his possessions. He even
solemnly engaged, should he return from France alive, and be still unable
to pay their arrears of wages, to surrender his person to them as a
hostage for his debt.
Thus triumphantly for Alva, thus miserably for Orange, ended the
campaign. Thus hopelessly vanished the army to which so many proud hopes
had attached themselves. Eight thousand teen had been slain in paltry
encounters, thirty thousand were dispersed, not easily to be again
collected. All the funds which the Prince could command had been wasted
without producing a result. For the present, nothing seemed to afford a
ground of hope for the Netherlands, but the war of freedom had been
renewed in France. A band of twelve hundred mounted men-at-arms were
willing to follow the fortunes of the Prince. The three brothers
accordingly; William, Louis, and Henry--a lad of eighteen, who had
abandoned his studies at the university to obey the chivalrous instincts
of his race--set forth early in the following spring to join the banner
of Conde.
Cardinal Granvelle, who had never taken his eyes or thoughts from the
provinces during his residence at Rome, now expressed himself with
exultation. He had predicted, with cold malice, the immediate results of
the campaign, and was sanguine enough to believe the contest over, and
the Prince for ever crushed. In his letters to Philip he had taken due
notice of the compliments paid to him by Orange in his Justification, in
his Declaration, and in his letter to the Emperor. He had declined to
make any answer to the charges, in order to enrage the Prince the more.
He had expressed the opinion, however, that this publication of writings
was not the business of brave soldiers, but of cowards. He made the same
reflection upon the alleged intrigues by Orange to procure an embassy on
his own behalf from the Emperor to Philip--a mission which was sure to
end in smoke, while it would cost the Prince all credit, not only in
Germany but the Netherlands. He felt sure, he said, of the results of the
impending campaign. The Duke of Alva was a man upon whose administrative
prudence and military skill his sovereign could implicitly rely, nor was
there a person in the ranks of the rebels capable of, conducting an
enterprise of such moment. Least of all had the Prince of Orange
sufficient brains for carrying on such weighty affairs, according to the
opinion which he had formed of him during their long intercourse in
former days.
When the campaign had been decided, and the Prince had again become an
exile, Granvelle observed that it was now proved how incompetent he and
all his companions were to contend in military skill with the Duke of
Alva. With a cold sneer at motives which he assumed, as a matter of
course, to be purely selfish, he said that the Prince had not taken the
proper road to recover his property, and that he would now be much
embarrassed to satisfy his creditors. Thus must those ever fall, he
moralized, who would fly higher than they ought; adding, that henceforth
the Prince would have enough to do in taking care of madam his wife, if
she did not change soon in humor and character.
Meantime the Duke of Alva, having despatched from Cateau Cambresis a
brief account of the victorious termination of the campaign, returned in
triumph to Brussels. He had certainly amply vindicated his claim to be
considered the first warrior of the age. By his lieutenants he had
summarily and rapidly destroyed two of the armies sent against him; he
had annihilated in person the third, by a brilliantly successful battle,
in which he had lost seven men, and his enemies seven thousand; and he
had now, by consummate strategy, foiled the fourth and last under the
idolized champion of the Netherlands, and this so decisively that,
without losing a man, he had destroyed eight thousand rebels, and
scattered to the four winds the remaining twenty thousand. Such signal
results might well make even a meeker nature proud. Such vast and
fortunate efforts to fix for ever an impregnable military tyranny upon a
constitutional country, might cause a more modest despot to exult. It was
not wonderful that the haughty, and now apparently omnipotent Alva,
should almost assume the god. On his return to Brussels he instituted a
succession of triumphant festivals. The people were called upon to
rejoice and to be exceeding glad, to strew flowers in his path, to sing
Hosannas in his praise who came to them covered with the blood of those
who had striven in their defence. The holiday was duly called forth;
houses, where funeral hatchments for murdered inmates had been
perpetually suspended, were decked with garlands; the bells, which had
hardly once omitted their daily knell for the victims of an incredible
cruelty, now rang their merriest peals; and in the very square where so
lately Egmont and Horn, besides many other less distinguished martyrs,
had suffered an ignominious death, a gay tournament was held, day after
day, with all the insolent pomp which could make the exhibition most
galling.
But even these demonstrations of hilarity were not sufficient. The
conqueror and tamer of the Netherlands felt that a more personal and
palpable deification was necessary for his pride. When Germanicus had
achieved his last triumph over the ancient freedom of those generous
races whose descendants, but lately in possession of a better organized
liberty, Alva had been sent by the second and the worse Tiberius to
insult and to crush, the valiant but modest Roman erected his trophy upon
the plains of Idistavisus. "The army of Tiberius Caesar having subdued
the nations between the Rhine and the Elbe, dedicate this monument to
Mars, to Jupiter, and to Augustus." So ran the inscription of Germanicus,
without a word of allusion to his own name. The Duke of Alva, on his
return from the battle-fields of Brabant and Friesland, reared a colossal
statue of himself, and upon its pedestal caused these lines to be
engraved: "To Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, Governor of the
Netherlands under Philip the Second, for having extinguished sedition,
chastised rebellion, restored religion, secured justice, established
peace; to the King's most faithful minister this monument is erected."
[Bor, iv. 257, 258. Meteren, 61. De Thou, v. 471-473, who saw it
after it was overthrown, and who was "as much struck by the beauty
of the work as by the insane pride of him who ordered it to be
made."]
So pompous a eulogy, even if truthful and merited, would be sufficiently
inflated upon a tombstone raised to a dead chieftain by his bereaved
admirers. What shall we say of such false and fulsome tribute, not to a
god, not to the memory of departed greatness, but to a living, mortal
man, and offered not by his adorers but by himself? Certainly,
self-worship never went farther than in this remarkable monument, erected
in Alva's honor, by Alva's hands. The statue was colossal, and was placed
in the citadel of Antwerp. Its bronze was furnished by the cannon
captured at Jemmingen. It represented the Duke trampling upon a prostrate
figure with two heads, four arms, and one body. The two heads were
interpreted by some to represent Egmont and Horn, by others, the two
Nassaus, William and Louis. Others saw in them an allegorical presentment
of the nobles and commons of the Netherlands, or perhaps an impersonation
of the Compromise and the Request. Besides the chief inscription on the
pedestal, were sculptured various bas-reliefs; and the spectator, whose
admiration for the Governor-general was not satiated with the colossal
statue itself, was at liberty to find a fresh, personification of the
hero, either in a torch-bearing angel or a gentle shepherd. The work,
which had considerable esthetic merit, was executed by an artist named
Jacob Jongeling. It remained to astonish and disgust the Netherlanders
until it was thrown down and demolished by Alva's successor, Requesens.
It has already been observed that many princes of the Empire had, at
first warmly and afterwards, as the storm darkened around him, with less
earnestness, encouraged the efforts of Orange. They had, both privately
and officially, urged the subject upon the attention of the Emperor, and
had solicited his intercession with Philip. It was not an interposition
to save the Prince from chastisement, however the artful pen of Granvelle
might distort the facts. It was an address in behalf of religious liberty
for the Netherlands, made by those who had achieved it in their own
persons, and who were at last enjoying immunity from persecution. It was
an appeal which they who made it were bound to make, for the Netherland
commissioners had assisted at the consultations by which the Peace of
Passau had been wrung from the reluctant hand of Charles.
These applications, however, to the Emperor, and through him to the King
of Spain, had been, as we have seen, accompanied by perpetual advice to
the Prince of Orange, that he should "sit still." The Emperor had
espoused his cause with apparent frankness, so far as friendly mediation
went, but in the meantime had peremptorily commanded him to refrain from
levying war upon Alva, an injunction which the Prince had as peremptorily
declined to obey. The Emperor had even sent especial envoys to the Duke
and to the Prince, to induce them to lay down their arms, but without
effect. Orange knew which course was the more generous to his oppressed
country; to take up arms, now that hope had been converted into despair
by the furious tyranny of Alva, or to "sit still" and await the result of
the protocols about to be exchanged between king and kaiser. His arms had
been unsuccessful indeed, but had he attended the issue of this sluggish
diplomacy, it would have been even worse for the cause of freedom. The
sympathy of his best friends, at first fervent then lukewarm, had, as
disasters thickened around him, grown at last stone-cold. From the grave,
too, of Queen Isabella arose the most importunate phantom in his path.
The King of Spain was a widower again, and the Emperor among his sixteen
children had more than one marriageable daughter. To the titles of
"beloved cousin and brother-in-law," with which Philip had always been
greeted in the Imperial proclamations, the nearer and dearer one of
son-in-law was prospectively added.
The ties of wedlock were sacred in the traditions of the Habsburg house,
but still the intervention was nominally made. As early as August, 1568,
the Emperor's minister at Madrid had addressed a memorial to the King. He
had spoken in warm and strong language of the fate of Egmont and Horn,
and had reminded Philip that the executions which were constantly taking
place in the provinces were steadily advancing the Prince of Orange's
cause. On the 22nd September, 1568, the six electors had addressed a
formal memorial to the Emperor. They thanked him for his previous
interposition in favor of the Netherlands, painted in lively colors the
cruelty of Alva, and denounced the unheard-of rigor with which he had
massacred, not only many illustrious seigniors, but people of every
degree. Notwithstanding the repeated assurances given by the King to the
contrary, they reminded the Emperor, that the inquisition, as well as the
Council of Trent, had now been established in the Netherlands in full
vigor. They maintained that the provinces had been excluded from the
Augsburg religious peace, to which their claim was perfect. Nether
Germany was entitled to the same privileges as Upper Germany. They begged
the Emperor to make manifest his sentiments and their own. It was fitting
that his Catholic Majesty should be aware that the princes of the Empire
were united for the conservation of fatherland and of tranquillity. To
this end they placed in the Emperor's hands their estates, their
fortunes, and their lives.
Such was the language of that important appeal to the Emperor in behalf
of oppressed millions in the Netherlands, an appeal which Granvelle had
coldly characterized as an intrigue contrived by Orange to bring about
his own restoration to favor!
The Emperor, in answer, assured the electoral envoys that he had taken
the affair to heart, and had resolved to despatch his own brother, the
Archduke Charles, on a special mission to Spain.
Accordingly, on the 21st October, 1568, the Emperor presented his brother
with an ample letter of instructions. He was to recal to Philip's memory
the frequent exhortations made by the Emperor concerning the policy
pursued in the Netherlands. He was to mention the urgent interpellations
made to him by the electors and princes of the Empire in their recent
embassy. He was to state that the Emperor had recently deputed
commissioners to the Prince of Orange and the Duke of Alva, in order to
bring about, if possible, a suspension of arms. He was to represent that
the great number of men raised by the Prince of Orange in Germany, showed
the powerful support which he had found in the country. Under such
circumstances he was to show that it had been impossible for the Emperor
to decree the ban against him, as the Duke of Alva had demanded. The
Archduke was to request the King's consent to the reconciliation of
Orange, on honorable conditions. He was to demand the substitution of
clemency in for severity, and to insist on the recall of the foreign
soldiery from the Netherlands.
Furnished with this very warm and stringent letter, the Archduke arrived
in Madrid on the 10th December, 1568. A few days later he presented the
King with a copy of the instructions; those brave words upon which the
Prince of Orange was expected to rely instead of his own brave heart and
the stout arms of his followers. Philip having examined the letter,
expressed his astonishment that such propositions should be made to him,
and by the agency, too, of such a personage as the Archduke. He had
already addressed a letter to the Emperor, expressing his dissatisfaction
at the step now taken. He had been disturbed at the honor thus done to
the Prince of Orange, and at this interference with his own rights. It
was, in his opinion, an unheard-of proceeding thus to address a monarch
of his quality upon matters in which he could accept the law from no man.
He promised, however, that a written answer should be given to the letter
of instructions.
On the 20th of January, 1569, that answer was placed in the hands of the
Archduke. It was intimated that the paper was a public one, fit to be
laid by the Emperor, before the electors; but that the King had also
caused a confidential one to be prepared, in which his motives and
private griefs were indicated to Maximilian.
In the more public document, Philip observed that he had never considered
himself obliged to justify his conduct, in his own affairs, to others. He
thought, however, that his example of severity would have been received
with approbation by princes whose subjects he had thus taught obedience.
He could not admit that, on account of the treaties which constituted the
Netherlands a circle of the Empire, he was obliged to observe within
their limits the ordinances of the imperial diet. As to the matter of
religion, his principal solicitude, since his accession to the crown, had
been to maintain the Catholic faith throughout all his states. In things
sacred he could admit no compromise. The Church alone had the right to
prescribe rules to the faithful. As to the chastisement inflicted by him
upon the Netherland rebels, it would be found that he had not used rigor,
as had been charged against him, but, on the contrary, great clemency
and gentleness. He had made no change in the government of the provinces,
certainly none in the edicts, the only statutes binding upon princes. He
had appointed the Duke of Alva to the regency, because it was his royal
will and pleasure so to appoint him. The Spanish soldiery were necessary
for the thorough chastisement of the rebels, and could not be at present
removed. As to the Prince of Orange, whose case seemed the principal
motive for this embassy, and in whose interest so much had been urged,
his crimes were so notorious that it was impossible even to attempt to
justify them. He had been, in effect, the author of all the conspiracies,
tumults, and seditious which had taken place in the Netherlands. All the
thefts, sacrileges, violations of temples, and other misdeeds of which
these provinces had been the theatre, were, with justice, to be imputed
to him. He had moreover, levied an army and invaded his Majesty's
territories. Crimes so enormous had closed the gate to all clemency.
Notwithstanding his respect for the intercession made by the Emperor and
the princes of the Empire, the King could not condescend to grant what
was now asked of him in regard to the Prince of Orange. As to a truce
between him and the Duke of Alva, his Imperial Majesty ought to reflect
upon the difference between a sovereign and his rebellious vassal, and
consider how indecent and how prejudicial to the King's honor such a
treaty must be esteemed.
So far the public letter, of which the Archduke was furnished with a
copy, both in Spanish and in Latin. The private memorandum was intended
for the Emperor's eyes alone and those of his envoy. In this paper the
King expressed himself with more warmth and in more decided language. He
was astonished, he said, that the Prince of Orange, in levying an army
for the purpose of invading the states of his natural sovereign, should
have received so much aid and comfort in Germany. It seemed incredible
that this could not have been prevented by imperial authority. He had
been pained that commissioners had been sent to the Prince. He regretted
such a demonstration in his favor as had now been made by the mission of
the Archduke to Madrid. That which, however, had caused the King the
deepest sorrow was, that his Imperial Majesty should wish to persuade him
in religious matters to proceed with mildness. The Emperor ought to be
aware that no human consideration, no regard for his realms, nothing in
the world which could be represented or risked, would cause him to swerve
by a single hair's breadth from his path in the matter of religion. This
path was the same throughout all his kingdoms. He had ever trod in it
faithfully, and he meant to keep in it perpetually. He would admit
neither counsel nor persuasion to the contrary, and should take it ill if
counsel or persuasion should be offered. He could not but consider the
terms of the instructions given to the Archduke as exceeding the limits
of amicable suggestion. They in effect amounted to a menace, and he was
astonished that a menace should be employed, because, with princes
constituted like himself, such means could have but little success.
On the 23rd of January, 1569, the Archduke presented the King with a
spirited reply to the public letter. It was couched in the spirit of the
instructions, and therefore need not be analysed at length. He did not
believe that his Imperial Majesty would admit any justification of the
course pursued in the Netherlands. The estates of the Empire would never
allow Philip's reasoning concerning the connexion of those countries with
the Empire, nor that they were independent, except in the particular
articles expressed in the treaty of Augsburg. In 1555, when Charles the
Fifth and King Ferdinand had settled the religious peace, they had been
assisted by envoys from the Netherlands. The princes of the Empire held
the ground, therefore, that the religious peace, which alone had saved a
vestige of Romanism in Germany, should of right extend to the provinces.
As to the Prince of Orange, the Archduke would have preferred to say
nothing more, but the orders of the Emperor did not allow him to be
silent. It was now necessary to put an end to this state of things in
Lower Germany. The princes of the Empire were becoming exasperated. He
recalled the dangers of the Smalcaldian war--the imminent peril in which
the Emperor had been placed by the act of a single elector. They who
believed that Flanders could be governed in the same manner as Italy and
Spain were greatly mistaken, and Charles the Fifth had always recognised
that error.
This was the sum and substance of the Archduke's mission to Madrid, so
far as its immediate objects were concerned. In the course, however, of
the interview between this personage and Philip, the King took occasion
to administer a rebuke to his Imperial Majesty for his general negligence
in religious matters. It was a matter which lay at his heart, he said,
that the Emperor, although, as he doubted not, a Christian and Catholic
prince, was from policy unaccustomed to make those exterior
demonstrations which matters of faith required. He therefore begged the
Archduke to urge this matter upon the attention of his Imperial Majesty.
The Emperor, despite this solemn mission, had become more than
indifferent before his envoy had reached Madrid. For this indifference
there were more reasons than one. When the instructions had been drawn
up, the death of the Queen of Spain had not been known in Vienna. The
Archduke had even been charged to inform Philip of the approaching
marriages of the two Archduchesses, that of Anne with the King of France,
and that of Isabella with the King of Portugal. A few days later,
however, the envoy received letters from the Emperor, authorizing him to
offer to the bereaved Philip the hand of the Archduchess Anne.
[Herrera (lib. xv. 707) erroneously states that the Archduke was,
at the outset, charged with these two commissions by the Emperor;
namely, to negotiate the marriage of the Archduchess Anne with
Philip, and to arrange the affairs of the Netherlands. On the
contrary, he was empowered to offer Anne to the King of France,
and had already imparted his instructions to that effect to Philip,
before he received letters from Vienna, written after the death of
Isabella had become known. At another interview, he presented this
new matrimonial proposition to Philip. These facts are important,
for they indicate how completely the objects of the embassy, the
commencement of which was so pretentious, were cast aside, that a
more advantageous marriage for one of the seven Austrian
Archduchesses might be secured.--Compare Correspondance de Philippe]
The King replied to the Archduke, when this proposition was made, that if
he had regard only to his personal satisfaction, he should remain as he
was. As however he had now no son, he was glad that the proposition had
been made, and would see how the affair could be arranged with France.
Thus the ill success of Orange in Brabant, so disheartening to the German
princes most inclined to his cause, and still more the widowhood of
Philip, had brought a change over the views of Maximilian. On the 17th of
January, 1569, three days before his ambassador had entered upon his
negotiations, he had accordingly addressed an autograph letter to his
Catholic Majesty. In this epistle, by a few, cold lines, he entirely
annihilated any possible effect which might have been produced by the
apparent earnestness of his interposition in favor of the Netherlands. He
informed the King that the Archduke had been sent, not to vex him, but to
convince him of his friendship. He assured Philip that he should be
satisfied with his response, whatever it might be. He entreated only that
it might be drawn up in such terms that the princes and electors to whom
it must be shown, might not be inspired with suspicion.
The Archduke left Madrid on the 4th of March, 1569. He retired, well
pleased with the results of his mission, not because its ostensible
objects had been accomplished, for those had signally failed, but because
the King had made him a present of one hundred thousand ducats, and had
promised to espouse the Archduchess Anne. On the 26th of May, 1569, the
Emperor addressed a final reply to Philip, in which he expressly approved
the King's justification of his conduct. It was founded, he thought, in
reason and equity. Nevertheless, it could hardly be shown, as it was, to
the princes and electors, and he had therefore modified many points which
he thought might prove offensive.
Thus ended "in smoke," as Granvelle had foretold, the famous mission of
Archduke Charles. The Holy Roman Emperor withdrew from his pompous
intervention, abashed by a rebuke, but consoled by a promise. If it were
good to be guardian of religious freedom in Upper and Nether Germany, it
was better to be father-in-law to the King of Spain and both the Indies.
Hence the lame and abrupt conclusion.
Cardinal Granvelle had been very serviceable in this juncture. He had
written to Philip to assure him that, in his, opinion, the Netherlands
had no claim, under the transaction of Augsburg, to require the
observance within their territory of the decrees of the Empire. He added,
that Charles the Fifth had only agreed to the treaty of Passau to save
his brother Ferdinand from ruin; that he had only consented to it as
Emperor, and had neither directly nor indirectly included the Netherlands
within its provisions. He stated, moreover, that the Emperor had revoked
the treaty by an act which was never published, in consequence of the
earnest solicitations of Ferdinand.
It has been seen that the King had used this opinion of Granvelle in the
response presented to the Archduke. Although he did not condescend to an
argument, he had laid down the fact as if it were indisputable. He was
still more delighted to find that Charles had revoked the treaty of
Passau, and eagerly wrote to Granvelle to inquire where the secret
instrument was to be found. The Cardinal replied that it was probably
among his papers at Brussels, but that he doubted whether it would be
possible to find it in his absence. Whether such a document ever existed,
it is difficult to say. To perpetrate such a fraud would have been worthy
of Charles; to fable its perpetration not unworthy of the Cardinal. In
either case, the transaction was sufficiently high-handed and exceedingly
disgraceful.