CHAPTER V. 1564-1565

Return of the three seigniors to the state council--Policy of

Orange--Corrupt character of the government--Efforts of the Prince

in favor of reform--Influence of Armenteros--Painful situation of

Viglius--His anxiety to retire--Secret charges against him

transmitted by the Duchess to Philip--Ominous signs of the times--

Attention of Philip to the details of persecution--Execution of

Fabricius, and tumult at Antwerp--Horrible cruelty towards the

Protestants--Remonstrance of the Magistracy of Bruges and of the

four Flemish estates against Titelmann--Obduracy of Philip--Council

of Trent--Quarrel for precedence between the French and Spanish

envoys--Order for the publication of the Trent decrees in the

Netherlands--Opposition to the measure--Reluctance of the Duchess--

Egmont accepts a mission to Spain--Violent debate in the council

concerning his instructions--Remarkable speech of Orange--Apoplexy

of Viglius--Temporary appointment of Hopper--Departure of Egmont--

Disgraceful scene at Cambray--Character of the Archbishop--Egmont in

Spain--Flattery and bribery--Council of Doctors--Vehement

declarations of Philip--His instructions to Egmont at his departure

--Proceedings of Orange in regard to his principality--Egmont's

report to the state council concerning his mission--His vainglory--

Renewed orders from Philip to continue the persecution--Indignation

of Egmont--Habitual dissimulation of the King--Reproof of Egmont by

Orange--Assembly of doctors in Brussels--Result of their

deliberations transmitted to Philip--Universal excitement in the

Netherlands--New punishment for heretics--Interview at Bayonne

between Catharine de Medici and her daughter, the Queen of Spain--

Mistaken views upon this subject--Diplomacy of Alva--Artful conduct

of Catharine--Stringent letters from Philip to the Duchess with

regard to the inquisition--Consternation of Margaret and of Viglius

--New proclamation of the Edicts, the Inquisition, and the Council

of Trent--Fury of the people--Resistance of the leading seigniors

and of the Brabant Council--Brabant declared free of the

inquisition--Prince Alexander of Parma betrothed to Donna Maria of

Portugal--Her portrait--Expensive preparations for the nuptials--

Assembly of the Golden Fleece--Oration of Viglius--Wedding of Prince

Alexander.

The remainder of the year, in the spring of which the Cardinal had left

the Netherlands, was one of anarchy, confusion, and corruption. At first

there had been a sensation of relief.

Philip had exchanged letters of exceeding amity with Orange, Egmont, and

Horn. These three seigniors had written, immediately upon Granvelle's

retreat, to assure the King of their willingness to obey the royal

commands, and to resume their duties at the state council. They had,

however, assured the Duchess that the reappearance of the Cardinal in the

country would be the signal for their instantaneous withdrawal. They

appeared at the council daily, working with the utmost assiduity often

till late into the night. Orange had three great objects in view, by

attaining which the country, in his opinion, might yet be saved, and the

threatened convulsions averted. These were to convoke the states-general,

to moderate or abolish the edicts, and to suppress the council of finance

and the privy council, leaving only the council of state. The two first

of these points, if gained, would, of course, subvert the whole absolute

policy which Philip and Granvelle had enforced; it was, therefore, hardly

probable that any impression would be made upon the secret determination

of the government in these respects. As to the council of state, the

limited powers of that body, under the administration of the Cardinal,

had formed one of the principal complaints against that minister. The

justice and finance councils were sinks of iniquity. The most barefaced

depravity reigned supreme. A gangrene had spread through the whole

government. The public functionaries were notoriously and outrageously

venal. The administration of justice had been poisoned at the fountain,

and the people were unable to slake their daily thirst at the polluted

stream. There was no law but the law of the longest purse. The highest

dignitaries of Philip's appointment had become the most mercenary

hucksters who ever converted the divine temple of justice into a den of

thieves. Law was an article of merchandise, sold by judges to the highest

bidder. A poor customer could obtain nothing but stripes and

imprisonment, or, if tainted with suspicion of heresy, the fagot or the

sword, but for the rich every thing was attainable. Pardons for the most

atrocious crimes, passports, safe conducts, offices of trust and honor,

were disposed of at auction to the highest bidder. Against all this sea

of corruption did the brave William of Orange set his breast, undaunted

and unflinching. Of all the conspicuous men in the land, he was the only

one whose worst enemy had never hinted through the whole course of his

public career, that his hands had known contamination. His honor was ever

untarnished by even a breath of suspicion. The Cardinal could accuse him

of pecuniary embarrassment, by which a large proportion of his revenues

were necessarily diverted to the liquidation of his debts, but he could

not suggest that the Prince had ever freed himself from difficulties by

plunging his hands into the public treasury, when it might easily have

been opened to him.

It was soon, however, sufficiently obvious that as desperate a struggle

was to be made with the many-headed monster of general corruption as with

the Cardinal by whom it had been so long fed and governed. The Prince was

accused of ambition and intrigue. It was said that he was determined to

concentrate all the powers of government in the state council, which was

thus to become an omnipotent and irresponsible senate, while the King

would be reduced to the condition of a Venetian Doge. It was, of course,

suggested that it was the aim of Orange to govern the new Tribunal of

Ten. No doubt the Prince was ambitious. Birth, wealth, genius, and virtue

could not have been bestowed in such eminent degree on any man without

carrying with them the determination to assert their value. It was not

his wish so much as it was the necessary law of his being to impress

himself upon his age and to rule his fellow-men. But he practised no arts

to arrive at the supremacy which he felt must always belong to him, what

ever might be his nominal position in the political hierarchy. He was

already, although but just turned of thirty years, vastly changed from

the brilliant and careless grandee, as he stood at the hour of the

imperial abdication. He was becoming careworn in face, thin of figure,

sleepless of habit. The wrongs of which he was the daily witness, the

absolutism, the cruelty, the rottenness of the government, had marked his

face with premature furrows. "They say that the Prince is very sad,"

wrote Morillon to Granvelle; "and 'tis easy to read as much in his face.

They say he can not sleep." Truly might the monarch have taken warning

that here was a man who was dangerous, and who thought too much.

"Sleekheaded men, and such as slept o' nights," would have been more

eligible functionaries, no doubt, in the royal estimation, but, for a

brief period, the King was content to use, to watch, and to suspect the

man who was one day to be his great and invincible antagonist. He

continued assiduous at the council, and he did his best, by entertaining

nobles and citizens at his hospitable mansion, to cultivate good

relations with large numbers of his countrymen. He soon, however, had

become disgusted with the court. Egmont was more lenient to the foul

practices which prevailed there, and took almost a childish pleasure in

dining at the table of the Duchess, dressed, as were many of the younger

nobles, in short camlet doublet with the wheat-sheaf buttons.

The Prince felt more unwilling to compromise his personal dignity by

countenancing the flagitious proceedings and the contemptible supremacy

of Armenteros, and it was soon very obvious, therefore, that Egmont was a

greater favorite at court than Orange. At the same time the Count was

also diligently cultivating the good graces of the middle and lower

classes in Brussels, shooting with the burghers at the popinjay, calling

every man by his name, and assisting at jovial banquets in town-house or

guild-hall. The Prince, although at times a necessary partaker also in

these popular amusements, could find small cause for rejoicing in the

aspect of affairs. When his business led him to the palace, he was

sometimes forced to wait in the ante-chamber for an hour, while Secretary

Armenteros was engaged in private consultation with Margaret upon the

most important matters of administration. It could not be otherwise than

galling to the pride and offensive to the patriotism of the Prince, to

find great public transactions entrusted to such hands. Thomas de

Armenteros was a mere private secretary--a simple clerk. He had no right

to have cognizance of important affairs, which could only come before his

Majesty's sworn advisers. He was moreover an infamous peculator. He was

rolling up a fortune with great rapidity by his shameless traffic in

benefices, charges, offices, whether of church or state. His name of

Armenteros was popularly converted into Argenteros, in order to symbolize

the man who was made of public money. His confidential intimacy with the

Duchess procured for him also the name of "Madam's barber," in allusion

to the famous ornaments of Margaret's upper lip, and to the celebrated

influence enjoyed by the barbers of the Duke of Savoy, and of Louis the

Eleventh. This man sold dignities and places of high responsibility at

public auction. The Regent not only connived at these proceedings, which

would have been base enough, but she was full partner in the disgraceful

commerce. Through the agency of the Secretary, she, too, was amassing a

large private fortune. "The Duchess has gone into the business of vending

places to the highest bidders," said Morillon, "with the bit between her

teeth." The spectacle presented at the council-board was often

sufficiently repulsive not only to the cardinalists, who were treated

with elaborate insolence, but to all men who loved honor and justice, or

who felt an interest in the prosperity of government. There was nothing

majestic in the appearance of the Duchess, as she sat conversing apart

with Armenteros, whispering, pinching, giggling, or disputing, while

important affairs of state were debated, concerning which the Secretary

had no right to be informed. It was inevitable that Orange should be

offended to the utmost by such proceedings, although he was himself

treated with comparative respect. As for the ancient adherents of

Granvelle, the Bordeys, Baves, and Morillons, they were forbidden by the

favorite even to salute him in the streets. Berlaymont was treated by the

Duchess with studied insult. "What is the man talking about?" she would

ask with languid superciliousness, if he attempted to express his opinion

in the state-council. Viglius, whom Berlaymont accused of doing his best,

without success, to make his peace with the seigniors, was in even still

greater disgrace than his fellow-cardinalists. He longed, he said, to be

in Burgundy, drinking Granvelle's good wine. His patience under the daily

insults which he received from the government made him despicable in the

eyes of his own party. He was described by his friends as pusillanimous

to an incredible extent, timid from excess of riches, afraid of his own

shadow. He was becoming exceedingly pathetic, expressing frequently a

desire to depart and end his days in peace. His faithful Hopper sustained

and consoled him, but even Joachim could not soothe his sorrows when he

reflected that after all the work performed by himself and colleagues,

"they had only been beating the bush for others," while their own share

in the spoils had been withheld. Nothing could well be more contumelious

than Margaret's treatment of the learned Frisian. When other councillors

were summoned to a session at three o'clock, the President was invited at

four. It was quite impossible for him to have an audience of the Duchess

except in the presence of the inevitable Armenteras. He was not allowed

to open his mouth, even when he occasionally plucked up heart enough to

attempt the utterance of his opinions. His authority was completely dead.

Even if he essayed to combat the convocation of the states-general by the

arguments which the Duchess, at his suggestion, had often used for the

purpose, he was treated with the same indifference. "The poor President,"

wrote Granvelle to the King's chief secretary, Gonzalo Perez, "is afraid,

as I hear, to speak a word, and is made to write exactly what they tell

him." At the same time the poor President, thus maltreated and mortified,

had the vanity occasionally to imagine himself a bold and formidable

personage. The man whom his most intimate friends described as afraid of

his own shadow, described himself to Granvelle as one who went his own

gait, speaking his mind frankly upon every opportunity, and compelling

people to fear him a little, even if they did not love him. But the

Cardinal knew better than to believe in this magnanimous picture of the

doctor's fancy.

Viglius was anxious to retire, but unwilling to have the appearance of

being disgraced. He felt instinctively, although deceived as to the

actual facts, that his great patron had been defeated and banished. He

did not wish to be placed in the same position. He was desirous, as he

piously expressed himself, of withdrawing from the world, "that he might

balance his accounts with the Lord, before leaving the lodgings of life."

He was, however, disposed to please "the master" as well as the Lord. He

wished to have the royal permission to depart in peace. In his own lofty

language, he wished to be sprinkled on taking his leave "with the holy

water of the court." Moreover, he was fond of his salary, although he

disliked the sarcasms of the Duchess. Egmont and others had advised him

to abandon the office of President to Hopper, in order, as he was getting

feeble, to reserve his whole strength for the state-council. Viglius did

not at all relish the proposition. He said that by giving up the seals,

and with them the rank and salary which they conferred, he should become

a deposed saint. He had no inclination, as long as he remained on the

ground at all, to part with those emoluments and honors, and to be

converted merely into the "ass of the state-council." He had, however,

with the sagacity of an old navigator, already thrown out his anchor into

the best holding-ground during the storms which he foresaw were soon to

sweep the state. Before the close of the year which now occupies, the

learned doctor of laws had become a doctor of divinity also; and had

already secured, by so doing, the wealthy prebend of Saint Bavon of

Ghent. This would be a consolation in the loss of secular dignities, and

a recompence for the cold looks of the Duchess. He did not scruple to

ascribe the pointed dislike which Margaret manifested towards him to the

awe in which she stood of his stern integrity of character. The true

reason why Armenteros and the Duchess disliked him was because, in his

own words, "he was not of their mind with regard to lotteries, the sale

of offices, advancement to abbeys, and many other things of the kind, by

which they were in such a hurry to make their fortune." Upon another

occasion he observed, in a letter to Granvelle, that "all offices were

sold to the highest bidder, and that the cause of Margaret's resentment

against both the Cardinal and himself was, that they had so long

prevented her from making the profit which she was now doing from the

sale of benefices, offices, and other favors."

The Duchess, on her part, characterized the proceedings and policy, both

past and present, of the cardinalists as factious, corrupt, and selfish

in the last degree. She assured her brother that the simony, rapine, and

dishonesty of Granvelle, Viglius, and all their followers, had brought

affairs into the ruinous condition which was then but too apparent. They

were doing their best, she said, since the Cardinal's departure, to show,

by their sloth and opposition, that they were determined to allow nothing

to prosper in his absence. To quote her own vigorous expression to

Philip--"Viglius made her suffer the pains of hell." She described him as

perpetually resisting the course of the administration, and she threw out

dark suspicions, not only as to his honesty but his orthodoxy. Philip

lent a greedy ear to these scandalous hints concerning the late

omnipotent minister and his friends. It is an instructive lesson in human

history to look through the cloud of dissimulation in which the actors of

this remarkable epoch were ever enveloped, and to watch them all stabbing

fiercely at each other in the dark, with no regard to previous

friendship, or even present professions. It is edifying to see the

Cardinal, with all his genius and all his grimace, corresponding on

familiar terms with Armenteros, who was holding him up to obloquy upon

all occasions; to see Philip inclining his ear in pleased astonishment to

Margaret's disclosures concerning the Cardinal, whom he was at the very

instant assuring of his undiminished confidence; and to see Viglius, the

author of the edict of 1550, and the uniform opponent of any mitigation

in its horrors, silently becoming involved without the least suspicion of

the fact in the meshes of inquisitor Titelmann.

Upon Philip's eager solicitations for further disclosures, Margaret

accordingly informed her brother of additional facts communicated to her,

after oaths of secrecy had been exchanged, by Titelmann and his colleague

del Canto. They had assured her, she said, that there were grave doubts

touching the orthodoxy of Viglius. He had consorted with heretics during

a large portion of his life, and had put many suspicious persons into

office. As to his nepotism, simony, and fraud, there was no doubt at all.

He had richly provided all his friends and relations in Friesland with

benefices. He had become in his old age a priest and churchman, in order

to snatch the provostship of Saint Bavon, although his infirmities did

not allow him to say mass, or even to stand erect at the altar. The

inquisitors had further accused him of having stolen rings, jewels,

plate, linen, beds, tapestry, and other furniture, from the

establishment, all which property he had sent to Friesland, and of having

seized one hundred thousand florins in ready money which had belonged to

the last abbe--an act consequently of pure embezzlement. The Duchess

afterwards transmitted to Philip an inventory of the plundered property,

including the furniture of nine houses, and begged him to command Viglius

to make instant restitution. If there be truth in the homely proverb,

that in case of certain quarrels honest men recover their rights, it is

perhaps equally certain that when distinguished public personages attack

each other, historians may arrive at the truth. Here certainly are

edifying pictures of the corruption of the Spanish regency in the

Netherlands, painted by the President of the state-council, and of the

dishonesty of the President painted by the Regent.

A remarkable tumult occurred in October of this year, at Antwerp. A

Carmelite monk, Christopher Smith, commonly called Fabricius, had left a

monastery in Bruges, adopted the principles of the Reformation, and taken

to himself a wife. He had resided for a time in England; but, invited by

his friends, he had afterwards undertaken the dangerous charge of

gospel-teacher in the commercial metropolis of the Netherlands. He was,

however, soon betrayed to the authorities by a certain bonnet dealer,

popularly called Long Margaret, who had pretended, for the sake of

securing the informer's fee, to be a convert to his doctrines. He was

seized, and immediately put to the torture. He manfully refused to betray

any members of his congregation, as manfully avowed and maintained his

religious creed. He was condemned to the flames, and during the interval

which preceded his execution, he comforted his friends by letters of

advice, religious consolation and encouragement, which he wrote from his

dungeon. He sent a message to the woman who had betrayed him, assuring

her of his forgiveness, and exhorting her to repentance. His calmness,

wisdom, and gentleness excited the admiration of all. When; therefore,

this humble imitator of Christ was led through the streets of Antwerp to

the stake, the popular emotion was at once visible. To the multitude who

thronged about the executioners with threatening aspect, he addressed an

urgent remonstrance that they would not compromise their own safety by a

tumult in his cause. He invited all, however, to remain steadfast to the

great truth for which he was about to lay down his life. The crowd, as

they followed the procession of hangmen, halberdsmen, and magistrates,

sang the hundred and thirtieth psalm in full chorus. As the victim

arrived upon the market-place, he knelt upon the ground to pray, for the

last time. He was, however, rudely forced to rise by the executioner, who

immediately chained him to the stake, and fastened a leathern strap

around his throat. At this moment the popular indignation became

uncontrollable; stones were showered upon the magistrates and soldiers,

who, after a slight resistance, fled for their lives. The foremost of the

insurgents dashed into the enclosed arena, to rescue the prisoner. It was

too late. The executioner, even as he fled, had crushed the victim's head

with a sledge hammer, and pierced him through and through with a poniard.

Some of the bystanders maintained afterwards that his fingers and lips

were seen to move, as if in feeble prayer, for a little time longer,

until, as the fire mounted, he fell into the flames. For the remainder of

the day, after the fire had entirely smouldered to ashes, the charred and

half-consumed body of the victim remained on the market-place, a ghastly

spectacle to friend and foe. It was afterwards bound to a stone and cast

into the Scheld. Such was the doom of Christopher Fabricius, for having

preached Christianity in Antwerp. During the night an anonymous placard,

written with blood, was posted upon the wall of the town-house, stating

that there were men in the city who would signally avenge his murder.

Nothing was done, however, towards the accomplishment of the threat. The

King, when he received the intelligence of the transaction, was furious

with indignation, and wrote savage letters to his sister, commanding

instant vengeance to be taken upon all concerned in so foul a riot. As

one of the persons engaged had, however, been arrested and immediately

hanged, and as the rest had effected their escape, the affair was

suffered to drop.

The scenes of outrage, the frantic persecutions, were fast becoming too

horrible to be looked upon by Catholic or Calvinist. The prisons swarmed

with victims, the streets were thronged with processions to the stake.

The population of thriving cities, particularly in Flanders, were

maddened by the spectacle of so much barbarity inflicted, not upon

criminals, but usually upon men remarkable for propriety of conduct and

blameless lives. It was precisely at this epoch that the burgomasters,

senators, and council of the city of Bruges (all Catholics) humbly

represented to the Duchess Regent, that Peter Titelmann, inquisitor of

the Faith, against all forms of law, was daily exercising inquisition

among the inhabitants, not only against those suspected or accused of

heresy, but against all, however untainted their characters; that he was

daily citing before him whatever persons he liked, men or women,

compelling them by force to say whatever it pleased him; that he was

dragging people from their houses, and even from the sacred precincts of

the church; often in revenge for verbal injuries to himself, always under

pretext of heresy, and without form or legal warrant of any kind. They

therefore begged that he might be compelled to make use of preparatory

examinations with the co-operation of the senators of the city, to suffer

that witnesses should make their depositions without being intimidated by

menace, and to conduct all his subsequent proceedings according to legal

forms, which he had uniformly violated; publicly declaring that he would

conduct himself according to his own pleasure.

The four estates of Flanders having, in a solemn address to the King,

represented the same facts, concluded their brief but vigorous

description of Titelmann's enormities by calling upon Philip to suppress

these horrible practices, so manifestly in violation of the ancient

charters which he had sworn to support. It may be supposed that the

appeal to Philip would be more likely to call down a royal benediction

than the reproof solicited upon the inquisitor's head. In the privy

council, the petitions and remonstrances were read, and, in the words of

the President, "found to be in extremely bad taste." In the debate which

followed, Viglius and his friends recalled to the Duchess, in earnest

language, the decided will of the King, which had been so often

expressed. A faint representation was made, on the other hand, of the

dangerous consequences, in case the people were driven to a still deeper

despair. The result of the movement was but meagre. The Duchess announced

that she could do nothing in the matter of the request until further

information, but that meantime she had charged Titelmann to conduct

himself in his office "with discretion and modesty." The discretion and

modesty, however, never appeared in any modification of the inquisitor's

proceedings, and he continued unchecked in his infamous career until

death, which did not occur till several years afterwards. In truth,

Margaret was herself in mortal fear of this horrible personage. He

besieged her chamber door almost daily, before she had risen, insisting

upon audiences which, notwithstanding her repugnance to the man, she did

not dare to refuse. "May I perish," said Morillon, "if she does not stand

in exceeding awe of Titelmann." Under such circumstances, sustained by

the King in Spain, the Duchess in Brussels, the privy council, and by a

leading member of what had been thought the liberal party, it was not

difficult for the inquisition to maintain its ground, notwithstanding the

solemn protestations of the estates and the suppressed curses of the

people.

Philip, so far from having the least disposition to yield in the matter

of the great religious persecution, was more determined as to his course

than ever. He had already, as easy as August of this year, despatched

orders to the Duchess that the decrees of the Council of Trent should be

published and enforced throughout the Netherlands. The memorable quarrel

as to precedency between the French and Spanish delegates had given some

hopes of a different determination. Nevertheless, those persons who

imagined that, in consequence of this quarrel of etiquette, Philip would

slacken in his allegiance to the Church, were destined to be bitterly

mistaken. He informed his sister that, in the common cause of

Christianity, he should not be swayed by personal resentments.

How, indeed, could a different decision be expected? His envoy at Rome,

as well as his representatives at the council, had universally repudiated

all doubts as to the sanctity of its decrees. "To doubt the infallibility

of the council, as some have dared to do," said Francis de Vargas, "and

to think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all."

Nothing could so much disturb and scandalize the world as such a

sentiment. Therefore the Archbishop of Granada told, very properly, the

Bishop of Tortosa, that if he should express such an opinion in Spain,

they would burn him. These strenuous notions were shared by the King.

Therefore, although all Europe was on tip-toe with expectation to see how

Philip would avenge himself for the slight put upon his ambassador,

Philip disappointed all Europe.

In August, 1564, he wrote to the Duchess Regent, that the decrees were to

be proclaimed and enforced without delay. They related to three subjects,

the doctrines to be inculcated by the Church, the reformation of

ecclesiastical moral, and the education of the people. General police

regulations were issued at the same time, by which heretics were to be

excluded from all share in the usual conveniences of society, and were in

fact to be strictly excommunicated. Inns were to receive no guests,

schools no children, alms-houses no paupers, grave-yards no dead bodies,

unless guests, children, paupers, and dead bodies were furnished with the

most satisfactory proofs of orthodoxy. Midwives of unsuspected Romanism

were alone to exercise their functions, and were bound to give notice

within twenty-four hours of every birth which occurred; the parish clerks

were as regularly to record every such addition to the population, and

the authorities to see that Catholic baptism was administered in each

case with the least possible delay. Births, deaths, and marriages could

only occur with validity under the shadow of the Church. No human being

could consider himself born or defunct unless provided with a priest's

certificate. The heretic was excluded, so far as ecclesiastical dogma

could exclude him, from the pale of humanity, from consecrated earth, and

from eternal salvation.

The decrees contained many provisions which not only conflicted with the

privileges of the provinces, but with the prerogatives of the sovereign.

For this reason many of the lords in council thought that at least the

proper exceptions should be made upon their promulgation. This was also

the opinion of the Duchess, but the King, by his letters of October, and

November (1564), expressly prohibited any alteration in the ordinances,

and transmitted a copy of the form according to which the canons had been

published in Spain, together with the expression of his desire that a

similar course should be followed in the Netherlands. Margaret of Parma

was in great embarrassment. It was evident that the publication could no

longer be deferred. Philip had issued his commands, but grave senators

and learned doctors of the university had advised strongly in favor of

the necessary exceptions. The extreme party, headed by Viglius, were in

favor of carrying out the royal decisions. They were overruled, and the

Duchess was induced to attempt a modification, if her brother's

permission could be obtained. The President expressed the opinion that

the decrees, even with the restrictions proposed, would "give no

contentment to the people, who, moreover, had no right to meddle with

theology." The excellent Viglius forgot, however, that theology had been

meddling altogether too much with the people to make it possible that the

public attention should be entirely averted from the subject. Men and

women who might be daily summoned to rack, stake, and scaffold, in the

course of these ecclesiastical arrangements, and whose births, deaths,

marriages, and position in the next world, were now to be formally

decided upon, could hardly be taxed with extreme indiscretion, if they

did meddle with the subject.

In the dilemma to which the Duchess was reduced, she again bethought

herself of a special mission to Spain. At the end of the year (1564), it

was determined that Egmont should be the envoy. Montigny excused himself

on account of private affairs; Marquis Berghen "because of his

indisposition and corpulence." There was a stormy debate in council after

Egmont had accepted the mission and immediately before his departure.

Viglius had been ordered to prepare the Count's instructions. Having

finished the rough draught, he laid it before the board. The paper was

conceived in general terms and might mean any thing or nothing. No

criticism upon its language was, however, offered until it came to the

turn of Orange to vote upon the document. Then, however, William the

Silent opened his lips, and poured forth a long and vehement discourse,

such as he rarely pronounced, but such as few except himself could utter.

There was no shuffling, no disguise, no timidity in his language. He took

the ground boldly that the time had arrived for speaking out. The object

of sending an envoy of high rank and European reputation like the Count

of Egmont, was to tell the King the truth. Let Philip know it now. Let

him be unequivocally informed that this whole machinery of placards and

scaffolds, of new bishops and old hangmen, of decrees, inquisitors, and

informers, must once and forever be abolished. Their day was over. The

Netherlands were free provinces, they were surrounded by free countries,

they were determined to vindicate their ancient privileges. Moreover, his

Majesty was to be plainly informed of the frightful corruption which made

the whole judicial and administrative system loathsome. The venality

which notoriously existed every where, on the bench, in the council

chamber, in all public offices, where purity was most essential, was

denounced by the Prince in scathing terms. He tore the mask from

individual faces, and openly charged the Chancellor of Brabant, Engelbert

Maas, with knavery and corruption. He insisted that the King should be

informed of the necessity of abolishing the two inferior councils, and of

enlarging the council of state by the admission of ten or twelve new

members selected for their patriotism, purity, and capacity. Above all,

it was necessary plainly to inform his Majesty that the canons of Trent,

spurned by the whole world, even by the Catholic princes of Germany,

could never be enforced in the Netherlands, and that it would be ruinous

to make the attempt. He proposed and insisted that the Count of Egmont

should be instructed accordingly. He avowed in conclusion that he was a

Catholic himself and intended to remain in the Faith, but that he could

not look on with pleasure when princes strove to govern the souls of men,

and to take away their liberty in matters of conscience and religion.

Here certainly was no daintiness of phraseology, and upon these leading

points, thus slightly indicated, William of Orange poured out his

eloquence, bearing conviction upon the tide of his rapid invective. His

speech lasted till seven in the evening, when the Duchess adjourned the

meeting. The council broke up, the Regent went to supper, but the effect

of the discourse upon nearly all the members was not to be mistaken.

Viglius was in a state of consternation, perplexity, and despair. He felt

satisfied that, with perhaps the exception of Berlaymont, all who had

listened or should afterwards listen to the powerful arguments of Orange,

would be inevitably seduced or bewildered. The President lay awake,

tossing and tumbling in his bed, recalling the Prince's oration, point by

point, and endeavoring, to answer it in order. It was important, he felt,

to obliterate the impression produced. Moreover, as we have often seen,

the learned Doctor valued himself upon his logic.

It was absolutely necessary, therefore, that in his reply, next day, his

eloquence should outshine that of his antagonist. The President thus

passed a feverish and uncomfortable night, pronouncing and listening to

imaginary harangues. With the dawn of day he arose and proceeded to dress

himself. The excitement of the previous evening and the subsequent

sleeplessness of his night had, however, been too much for his feeble and

slightly superannuated frame. Before he had finished his toilet, a stroke

of apoplexy stretched him senseless upon the floor. His servants, when

they soon afterwards entered the apartment, found him rigid, and to all

appearance dead. After a few days, however, he recovered his physical

senses in part, but his reason remained for a longer time shattered, and

was never perhaps fully restored to its original vigor.

This event made it necessary that his place in the council should be

supplied. Viglius had frequently expressed intentions of retiring, a

measure to which he could yet never fully make up his mind. His place was

now temporarily supplied by his friend and countryman, Joachim Hopper,

like himself a Frisian doctor of ancient blood and extensive

acquirements, well versed in philosophy and jurisprudence; a professor of

Louvain and a member of the Mechlin council. He was likewise the original

founder and projector of Douay University, an institution which at

Philip's desire he had successfully organized in 1556, in order that a

French university might be furnished for Walloon youths, as a substitute

for the seductive and poisonous Paris. For the rest, Hopper was a mere

man of routine. He was often employed in private affairs by Philip,

without being entrusted with the secret at the bottom of them. His mind

was a confused one, and his style inexpressibly involved and tedious.

"Poor master Hopper," said Granvelle, "did not write the best French in

the world; may the Lord forgive him. He was learned in letters, but knew

very little of great affairs." His manners were as cringing as his

intellect was narrow. He never opposed the Duchess, so that his

colleagues always called him Councillor "Yes, Madam," and he did his best

to be friends with all the world.

In deference to the arguments of Orange, the instructions for Egmont were

accordingly considerably modified from the original draughts of Viglius.

As drawn up by the new President, they contained at least a few hints to

his Majesty as to the propriety of mitigating the edicts and extending

some mercy to his suffering people. The document was, however, not very

satisfactory to the Prince, nor did he perhaps rely very implicitly upon

the character of the envoy.

Egmont set forth upon his journey early in January (1565). He travelled

in great state. He was escorted as far as Cambray by several nobles of

his acquaintance, who improved the occasion by a series of tremendous

banquets during the Count's sojourn, which was protracted till the end of

January. The most noted of these gentlemen were Hoogstraaten, Brederode,

the younger Mansfeld, Culemburg, and Noircarmes. Before they parted with

the envoy, they drew up a paper which they signed with their blood, and

afterwards placed in the hands of his Countess. In this document they

promised, on account of their "inexpressible and very singular affection"

for Egmont, that if, during his mission to Spain, any evil should befal

him, they would, on their faith as gentlemen and cavaliers of honor, take

vengeance, therefore, upon the Cardinal Granvelle, or upon all who should

be the instigators thereof.

[Green v. P., Archives, etc., i. 345, from Arnoldi, Hist. Denkwurd,

p. 282., It is remarkable that after the return of the Count from.

Spain, Hoogstraaten received this singular bond from the Countess,

and gave it to Mansfeld, to be burned in his presence. Mansfeld,

however, advised keeping it, on account of Noircarmes, whose

signature was attached to the document, and whom he knew to be so

false and deceitful a man that it might be well to have it within

their power at some future day to reproach him therewith.--Ibid.

It will be seen in the sequel that Noircarmes more than justified

the opinion of Mansfeld, but that the subsequent career of Mansfeld

himself did not entitle him to reproach any of Philip's noble

hangmen.]

Wherever Brederode was, there, it was probable, would be much severe

carousing. Before the conclusion, accordingly, of the visit to Cambray,

that ancient city rang with the scandal created by a most uproarious

scene. A banquet was given to Egmont and his friends in the citadel.

Brederode, his cousin Lumey, and the other nobles from Brussels, were all

present. The Archbishop of Cambray, a man very odious to the liberal

party in the provinces, was also bidden to the feast. During the dinner,

this prelate, although treated with marked respect by Egmont, was the

object of much banter and coarse pleasantry by the ruder portion of the

guests. Especially these convivial gentlemen took infinite pains to

overload him with challenges to huge bumpers of wine; it being thought

very desirable, if possible; to place the Archbishop under the table.

This pleasantry was alternated with much rude sarcasm concerning the new

bishoprics. The conversation then fell upon other topics, among others,

naturally upon the mission of Count Egmont. Brederede observed that it

was a very hazardous matter to allow so eminent a personage to leave the

land at such a critical period. Should any thing happen to the Count, the

Netherlands would sustain an immense loss. The Archbishop, irritated by

the previous conversation, ironically requested the speaker to be

comforted, "because," said he, "it will always be easy to find a new

Egmont." Upon this, Brederode, beside himself with rage, cried out

vehemently, "Are we to tolerate such language from this priest?"

Gulemburg, too, turning upon the offender, observed, "Your observation

would be much more applicable to your own case. If you were to die, 't

would be easy to find five hundred of your merit, to replace you in the

see of Cambray." The conversation was, to say the least, becoming

personal. The Bishop, desirous of terminating this keen encounter of

wits, lifted a goblet full of wine and challenged Brederode to drink.

That gentleman declined the invitation. After the cloth had been removed,

the cup circulated more freely than ever. The revelry became fast and

furious. One of the younger gentlemen who was seated near the Bishop

snatched the bonnet of that dignitary from his head and placed it upon

his own. He then drained a bumper to his health, and passed the goblet

and the cap to his next neighbor. Both circulated till they reached the

Viscount of Ghent, who arose from his seat and respectfully restored the

cap to its owner. Brederode then took a large "cup of silver and gold,"

filled it to the brim, and drained it to the confusion of Cardinal

Granvelle; stigmatizing that departed minister, as he finished, by an

epithet of more vigor than decency. He then called upon all the company

to pledge him to the same toast, and denounced as cardinalists all those

who should refuse. The Archbishop, not having digested the affronts which

had been put upon him already, imprudently ventured himself once more

into the confusion, and tried to appeal to the reason of the company. He

might as well have addressed the crew of Comus. He gained nothing but

additional insult. Brederode advanced upon him with threatening gestures.

Egmont implored the prelate to retire, or at least not to take notice of

a nobleman so obviously beyond the control of his reason. The Bishop,

however, insisted--mingling reproof, menace; and somewhat imperious

demands--that the indecent Saturnalia should cease. It would have been

wiser for him to retire. Count Hoogstraaten, a young man and small of

stature, seized the gilt laver, in which the company had dipped their

fingers before seating themselves at table: "Be quiet, be quiet, little

man," said Egmont, soothingly, doing his best to restrain the tumult.

"Little man, indeed," responded the Count, wrathfully; "I would have you

to know that never did little man spring from my race." With those words

he hurled the basin, water, and all, at the head of the Archbishop.

Hoogstraaten had no doubt manifested his bravery before that day; he was

to display, on future occasions, a very remarkable degree of heroism; but

it must be confessed that the chivalry of the noble house of Lalaing was

not illustrated by this attack upon a priest. The Bishop was sprinkled by

the water, but not struck by the vessel. Young Mansfeld, ashamed of the

outrage, stepped forward to apologize for the conduct of his companions

and to soothe the insulted prelate. That personage, however, exasperated,

very naturally, to the highest point, pushed him rudely away, crying,

"Begone, begone! who is this boy that is preaching to me?" Whereupon,

Mansfeld, much irritated, lifted his hand towards the ecclesiastic, and

snapped his fingers contemptuously in his face. Some even said that he

pulled the archiepiscopal nose, others that he threatened his life with a

drawn dagger. Nothing could well have been more indecent or more cowardly

than the conduct of these nobles upon this occasion. Their intoxication,

together with the character of the victim, explained, but certainly could

not palliate the vulgarity of the exhibition. It was natural enough that

men like Brederode should find sport in this remarkable badgering of a

bishop, but we see with regret the part played by Hoogstraaten in the

disgraceful scene.

The prelate, at last, exclaiming that it appeared that he had been

invited only to be insulted, left the apartment, accompanied by

Noircarmes and the Viscount of Ghent, and threatening that all his

friends and relations should be charged with his vengeance. The next day

a reconciliation was effected, as well as such an arrangement was

possible, by the efforts of Egmont, who dined alone with the prelate. In

the evening, Hoogstraaten, Culemburg, and Brederode called upon the

Bishop, with whom they were closeted for, an hour, and the party

separated on nominal terms of friendship.

This scandalous scene; which had been enacted not only before many

guests, but in presence of a host of servants, made necessarily a great

sensation throughout the country. There could hardly be much difference

of opinion among respectable people as to the conduct of the noblemen who

had thus disgraced themselves. Even Brederode himself, who appeared to

have retained, as was natural, but a confused impression of the

transaction, seemed in the days which succeeded the celebrated banquet,

to be in doubt whether he and his friends had merited any great amount of

applause. He was, however, somewhat self-contradictory, although always

vehement in his assertions on the subject. At one time he

maintained--after dinner, of course--that he would have killed the

Archbishop if they had not been forcibly separated; at other moments he

denounced as liars all persons who should insinuate that he had committed

or contemplated any injury to that prelate; offering freely to fight any

man who disputed either of his two positions.

The whole scene was dramatized and represented in masquerade at a wedding

festival given by Councillor d'Assonleville, on the marriage of

Councillor Hopper's daughter, one of the principal parts being enacted by

a son of the President-judge of Artois. It may be supposed that if such

eminent personages, in close connexion with the government, took part in

such proceedings, the riot must have been considered of a very pardonable

nature. The truth was, that the Bishop was a cardinalist, and therefore

entirely out of favor with the administration. He was also a man of

treacherous, sanguinary character, and consequently detested by the

people. He had done his best to destroy heresy in Valenciennes by fire

and sword. "I will say one thing," said he in a letter to Granvelle,

which had been intercepted, "since the pot is uncovered, and the whole

cookery known, we had best push forward and make an end of all the

principal heretics, whether rich or poor, without regarding whether the

city will be entirely ruined by such a course. Such an opinion I should

declare openly were it not that we of the ecclesiastical profession are

accused of always crying out for blood." Such was the prelate's theory.

His practice may be inferred from a specimen of his proceedings which

occurred at a little later day. A citizen of Cambray, having been

converted to the Lutheran Confession, went to the Archbishop, and

requested permission to move out of the country, taking his property with

him. The petitioner having made his appearance in the forenoon, was

requested to call again after dinner, to receive his answer. The burgher

did so, and was received, not by the prelate, but by the executioner, who

immediately carried the Lutheran to the market-place, and cut off his

head. It is sufficiently evident that a minister of Christ, with such

propensities, could not excite any great sympathy, however deeply

affronted he might have been at a drinking party, so long as any

Christians remained in the land.

Egmont departed from Cambray upon the 30th January, his friends taking a

most affectionate farewell of him; and Brederode assuring him, with a

thousand oaths, that he would forsake God for his service. His reception

at Madrid was most brilliant. When he made his first appearance at the

palace, Philip rushed from his cabinet into the grand hall of reception,

and fell upon his neck, embracing him heartily before the Count had time

to drop upon his knee and kiss the royal hand. During the whole period of

his visit he dined frequently at the King's private table, an honor

rarely accorded by Philip, and was feasted and flattered by all the great

dignitaries of the court as never a subject of the Spanish crown had been

before. All vied with each other in heaping honors upon the man whom the

King was determined to honor.

Philip took him out to drive daily in his own coach, sent him to see the

wonders of the new Escorial, which he was building to commemorate the

battle of St. Quentin, and, although it was still winter, insisted upon

showing him the beauties of his retreat in the Segovian forest.

Granvelle's counsels as to the method by which the "friend of smoke" was

so easily to be gained, had not fallen unheeded in his royal pupil's

ears. The Count was lodged in the house of Ruy Gomez, who soon felt

himself able, according to previous assurances to that effect, contained

in a private letter of Armenteros, to persuade the envoy to any course

which Philip might command. Flattery without stint was administered. More

solid arguments to convince the Count that Philip was the most generous

and clement of princes were also employed with great effect. The royal

dues upon the estate of Gaasbecque, lately purchased by Egmont, were

remitted. A mortgage upon his Seigneurie of Ninove was discharged, and a

considerable sum of money presented to him in addition. Altogether, the

gifts which the ambassador received from the royal bounty amounted to one

hundred thousand crowns. Thus feasted, flattered, and laden with

presents, it must be admitted that the Count more than justified the

opinions expressed in the letter of Armenteros, that he was a man easily

governed by those who had credit with him. Egmont hardly broached the

public matters which had brought him to Madrid. Upon the subject of the

edicts, Philip certainly did not dissemble, however loudly the envoy may

have afterwards complained at Brussels. In truth, Egmont, intoxicated by

the incense offered to him at the Spanish court, was a different man from

Egmont in the Netherlands, subject to the calm but piercing glance and

the irresistible control of Orange. Philip gave him no reason to suppose

that he intended any change in the religious system of the provinces, at

least in any sense contemplated by the liberal party. On the contrary, a

council of doctors and ecclesiastics was summoned, at whose deliberations

the Count was invited to assist; on which occasion the King excited

general admiration by the fervor of his piety and the vehemence of his

ejaculations. Falling upon his knees before a crucifix, in the midst of

the assembly, he prayed that God would keep him perpetually in the same

mind, and protested that he would never call himself master of those who

denied the Lord God. Such an exhibition could leave but little doubt in

the minds of those who witnessed it as to the royal sentiments, nor did

Egmont make any effort to obtain any relaxation of those religious

edicts, which he had himself declared worthy of approbation, and fit to

be maintained. As to the question of enlarging the state-council, Philip

dismissed the subject with a few vague observations, which Egmont, not

very zealous on the subject at the moment, perhaps misunderstood. The

punishment of heretics by some new method, so as to secure the pains but

to take away the glories of martyrdom, was also slightly discussed, and

here again Egmont was so unfortunate as to misconceive the royal meaning,

and to interpret an additional refinement of cruelty into an expression

of clemency. On the whole, however, there was not much negotiation

between the monarch and the ambassador. When the Count spoke of business,

the King would speak to him of his daughters, and of his desire to see

them provided with brilliant marriages. As Egmont had eight girls,

besides two sons, it was natural that he should be pleased to find Philip

taking so much interest in looking out husbands for them. The King spoke

to him, as hardly could be avoided, of the famous fool's-cap livery. The

Count laughed the matter off as a jest, protesting that it was a mere

foolish freak, originating at the wine-table, and asseverating, with

warmth, that nothing disrespectful or disloyal to his Majesty had been

contemplated upon that or upon any other occasion. Had a single gentleman

uttered an undutiful word against the King, Egmont vowed he would have

stabbed him through and through upon the spot, had he been his own

brother. These warm protestations were answered by a gentle reprimand as

to the past by Philip, and with a firm caution as to the future. "Let it

be discontinued entirely, Count," said the King, as the two were driving

together in the royal carriage. Egmont expressed himself in handsome

terms concerning the Cardinal, in return for the wholesale approbation

quoted to him in regard to his own character, from the private letters of

that sagacious personage to his Majesty. Certainly, after all this, the

Count might suppose the affair of the livery forgiven. Thus amicably

passed the hours of that mission, the preliminaries for which had called

forth so much eloquence from the Prince of Orange and so nearly carried

off with apoplexy the President Viglius. On his departure Egmont received

a letter of instructions from Philip as to the report which he was to

make upon his arrival in Brussels, to the Duchess. After many things

personally flattering to himself, the envoy was directed to represent the

King as overwhelmed with incredible grief at hearing the progress made by

the heretics, but as immutably determined to permit no change of religion

within his dominions, even were he to die a thousand deaths in

consequence. The King, he was to state, requested the Duchess forthwith

to assemble an extraordinary session of the council, at which certain

bishops, theological doctors, and very orthodox lawyers, were to assist,

in which, under pretence of discussing the Council of Trent matter, it

was to be considered whether there could not be some new way devised for

executing heretics; not indeed one by which any deduction should be made

from their sufferings (which certainly was not the royal wish, nor likely

to be grateful to God or salutary to religion), but by which all hopes of

glory--that powerful incentive to their impiety--might be precluded. With

regard to any suggested alterations in the council of state, or in the

other two councils, the King was to be represented as unwilling to form

any decision until he should hear, at length, from the Duchess Regent

upon the subject.

Certainly here was a sufficient amount of plain speaking upon one great

subject, and very little encouragement with regard to the other. Yet

Egmont, who immediately after receiving these instructions set forth upon

his return to the Netherlands, manifested nothing but satisfaction.

Philip presented to him, as his travelling companion, the young Prince

Alexander of Parma, then about to make a visit to his mother in Brussels,

and recommended the youth, afterwards destined to play so prominent a

part in Flemish history, to his peculiar caret Egmont addressed a letter

to the King from Valladolid, in which he indulged in ecstasies concerning

the Escorial and the wood of Segovia, and declared that he was returning

to the Netherlands "the most contented man in the world."

He reached Brussels at the end of April. Upon the fifth of May he

appeared before the council, and proceeded to give an account of his

interview with the King, together with a statement of the royal

intentions and opinions. These were already sufficiently well known.

Letters, written after the envoy's departure, had arrived before him, in

which, while in the main presenting the same views as those contained in

the instructions to Egmont, Philip had expressed his decided prohibition

of the project to enlarge the state council and to suppress the authority

of the other two. Nevertheless, the Count made his report according to

the brief received at Madrid, and assured his hearers that the King was

all benignity, having nothing so much at heart as the temporal and

eternal welfare of the provinces. The siege of Malta, he stated, would

prevent the royal visit to the Netherlands for the moment, but it was

deferred only for a brief period. To remedy the deficiency in the

provincial exchequer, large remittances would be made immediately from

Spain. To provide for the increasing difficulties of the religious

question, a convocation of nine learned and saintly personages was

recommended, who should devise some new scheme by which the objections to

the present system of chastising heretics might be obviated.

It is hardly necessary to state that so meagre a result to the mission of

Egmont was not likely to inspire the hearts of Orange and his adherents

with much confidence. No immediate explosion of resentment, however,

occurred. The general aspect for a few days was peaceful. Egmont

manifested much contentment with the reception which he met with in

Spain, and described the King's friendly dispositions towards the leading

nobles in lively colors. He went to his government immediately after his

return, assembled the states of Artois, in the city of Arras, and

delivered the letters sent to that body by the King. He made a speech on

this occasion, informing the estates that his Majesty had given orders

that the edicts of the Emperor were to be enforced to the letter; adding

that he had told the King, freely, his own opinion upon the subject; in

order to dissuade him from that which others were warmly urging. He

described Philip as the most liberal and debonair of princes; his council

in Spain as cruel and sanguinary. Time was to show whether the epithets

thus applied to the advisers were not more applicable to the monarch than

the eulogies thus lavished by the blind and predestined victim. It will

also be perceived that this language, used before the estates of Artois,

varied materially from his observation to the Dowager Duchess of

Aerschot, denouncing as enemies the men who accused him of having

requested a moderation of the edicts. In truth, this most vacillating,

confused, and unfortunate of men perhaps scarcely comprehended the

purport of his recent negotiations in Spain, nor perceived the drift of

his daily remarks at home. He was, however, somewhat vainglorious

immediately after his return, and excessively attentive to business. "He

talks like a King," said Morillon, spitefully, "negotiates night and day,

and makes all bow before him." His house was more thronged with

petitioners, courtiers, and men of affairs, than even the palace of the

Duchess. He avowed frequently that he would devote his life and his

fortune to the accomplishment of the King's commands, and declared his

uncompromising hostility to all who should venture to oppose that loyal

determination.

It was but a very short time, however, before a total change was

distinctly perceptible in his demeanor. These halcyon days were soon

fled. The arrival of fresh letters from Spain gave a most unequivocal

evidence of the royal determination, if, indeed, any doubt could be

rationally entertained before. The most stringent instructions to keep

the whole machinery of persecution constantly at work were transmitted to

the Duchess, and aroused the indignation of Orange and his followers.

They avowed that they could no longer trust the royal word, since, so

soon after Egmont's departure, the King had written despatches so much at

variance with his language, as reported by the envoy. There was nothing,

they said, clement and debonair in these injunctions upon gentlemen of

their position and sentiments to devote their time to the encouragement

of hangmen and inquisitors. The Duchess was unable to pacify the nobles.

Egmont was beside himself with rage. With his usual recklessness and

wrath, he expressed himself at more than one session of the state council

in most unmeasured terms. His anger had been more inflamed by information

which he had received from the second son of Berlaymont, a young and

indiscreet lad, who had most unfortunately communicated many secrets

which he had learned from his father, but which were never intended for

Egmont's ear.

Philip's habitual dissimulation had thus produced much unnecessary

perplexity. It was his custom to carry on correspondence through the aid

of various secretaries, and it was his invariable practice to deceive

them all. Those who were upon the most confidential terms with the

monarch, were most sure to be duped upon all important occasions. It has

been seen that even the astute Granvelle could not escape this common lot

of all who believed their breasts the depositories of the royal secrets.

Upon this occasion, Gonzalo Perez and Ruy Gomez complained bitterly that

they had known nothing of the letters which had recently been despatched

from Valladolid, while Tisnacq and Courterville had been ignorant of the

communications forwarded by the hands of Egmont. They avowed that the

King created infinite trouble by thus treating his affairs in one way

with one set of councillors and in an opposite sense with the others,

thus dissembling with all, and added that Philip was now much astonished

at the dissatisfaction created in the provinces by the discrepancy

between the French letters brought by Egmont, and the Spanish letters

since despatched to the Duchess. As this was his regular manner of

transacting business, not only for the Netherlands, but for all his

dominions, they were of opinion that such confusion and dissatisfaction

might well be expected.

After all, however, notwithstanding the indignation of Egmont, it must be

confessed that he had been an easy dupe. He had been dazzled by royal

smiles, intoxicated by court incense, contaminated by yet baser bribes.

He had been turned from the path of honor and the companionship of the

wise and noble to do the work of those who were to compass his

destruction. The Prince of Orange reproached him to his face with having

forgotten, when in Spain, to represent the views of his associates and

the best interests of the country, while he had well remembered his own

private objects, and accepted the lavish bounty of the King. Egmont,

stung to the heart by the reproof, from one whom he honored and who

wished him well, became sad and sombre for a long time, abstained from

the court and from society, and expressed frequently the intention of

retiring to his estates. He was, however, much governed by his secretary,

the Seigneur de Bakerzeel, a man of restless, intriguing, and deceitful

character, who at this period exercised as great influence over the Count

as Armenteros continued to maintain over the Duchess, whose unpopularity

from that and other circumstances was daily increasing.

In obedience to the commands of the King, the canons of Trent had been

published. They were nominally enforced at Cambray, but a fierce

opposition was made by the clergy themselves to the innovation in

Mechlin, Utrecht, and many other places.

This matter, together with other more vitally important questions, came

before the assembly of bishops and doctors, which, according to Philip's

instructions, had been convoked by the Duchess. The opinion of the

learned theologians was, on the whole, that the views of the Trent

Council, with regard to reformation of ecclesiastical morals and popular

education, was sound. There was some discordancy between the clerical and

lay doctors upon other points. The seigniors, lawyers, and deputies from

the estates were all in favor of repealing the penalty of death for

heretical offences of any kind. President Viglius, with all the bishops

and doctors of divinity, including the prelates of St. Omer, Namur and

Ypres, and four theological professors from Louvain, stoutly maintained

the contrary opinion. The President especially, declared himself

vehemently in favor of the death punishment, and expressed much anger

against those who were in favor of its abolition. The Duchess, upon the

second day of the assembly, propounded formally the question, whether any

change was to be made in the chastisement of heretics. The Prince of

Orange, with Counts Horn and Egmont, had, however, declined to take part

in the discussions, on the ground that it was not his Majesty's intention

that state councillors should deliver their opinions before strangers,

but that persons from outside had been summoned to communicate their

advice to the Council. The seigniors having thus washed their hands of

the matter, the doctors came to a conclusion with great alacrity. It was

their unanimous opinion that it comported neither with the service of God

nor the common weal, to make any change in the punishment, except,

perhaps, in the case of extreme youth; but that, on the contrary,

heretics were only to be dealt with by retaining the edicts in their

rigor, and by courageously chastising the criminals. After sitting for

the greater part of six days, the bishops and doctors of divinity reduced

their sentiments to writing, and affixed their signatures to the

document. Upon the great point of the change suggested in the penalties

of heresy, it was declared that no alteration was advisable in the

edicts, which had been working so well for thirty-five years. At the same

time it was suggested that "some persons, in respect to their age and

quality, might be executed or punished more or less rigorously than

others; some by death, some by galley slavery, some by perpetual

banishment and entire confiscation of property." The possibility was also

admitted, of mitigating the punishment of those who, without being

heretics or sectaries, might bring themselves within the provisions of

the edicts, "through curiosity, nonchalance, or otherwise." Such

offenders, it was hinted, might be "whipped with rods, fined, banished,

or subjected to similar penalties of a lighter nature." It will be

perceived by this slight sketch of the advice thus offered to the Duchess

that these theologians were disposed very carefully to strain the mercy,

which they imagined possible in some cases, but which was to drop only

upon the heads of the just. Heretics were still to be dealt with, so far

as the bishops and presidents could affect their doom, with unmitigated

rigor.

When the assembly was over, the Duchess, thus put in possession of the

recorded wisdom of these special councillors, asked her constitutional

advisers what she was to do with it. Orange, Egmont, Horn, Mansfeld

replied, however, that it was not their affair, and that their opinion

had not been demanded by his Majesty in the premises. The Duchess

accordingly transmitted to Philip the conclusions of the assembly,

together with the reasons of the seigniors for refusing to take part in

its deliberations. The sentiments of Orange could hardly be doubtful,

however, nor his silence fail to give offense to the higher powers. He

contented himself for the time with keeping his eyes and ears open to the

course of events, but he watched well. He had "little leisure for amusing

himself," as Brederode suggested. That free-spoken individual looked upon

the proceedings of the theological assembly with profound disgust. "Your

letter," he wrote to Count Louis, "is full of those blackguards of

bishops and presidents. I would the race were extinct, like that of green

dogs. They will always combat with the arms which they have ever used,

remaining to the end avaricious, brutal, obstinate, ambitious, et cetera.

I leave you to supply the rest."

Thus, then, it was settled beyond peradventure that there was to be no

compromise with heresy. The King had willed it. The theologians had

advised it. The Duchess had proclaimed it. It was supposed that without

the axe, the fire, and the rack, the Catholic religion would be

extinguished, and that the whole population of the Netherlands would

embrace the Reformed Faith. This was the distinct declaration of Viglius,

in a private letter to Granvelle. "Many seek to abolish the chastisement

of heresy," said he; "if they gain this point, actum est de religione

Catholica; for as most of the people are ignorant fools, the heretics

will soon be the great majority, if by fear of punishment they are not

kept in the true path."

The uneasiness, the terror, the wrath of the people seemed rapidly

culminating to a crisis. Nothing was talked of but the edicts and the

inquisition. Nothing else entered into the minds of men. In the streets,

in the shops, in the taverns, in the fields; at market, at church, at

funerals, at weddings; in the noble's castle, at the farmer's fireside,

in the mechanic's garret, upon the merchants' exchange, there was but one

perpetual subject of shuddering conversation. It was better, men began to

whisper to each other, to die at once than to live in perpetual slavery.

It was better to fall with arms in hand than to be tortured and butchered

by the inquisition. Who could expect to contend with such a foe in the

dark?

They reproached the municipal authorities with lending themselves as

instruments to the institution. They asked magistrates and sheriffs how

far they would go in their defence before God's tribunal for the

slaughter of his creatures, if they could only answer the divine

arraignment by appealing to the edict of 1550. On the other hand, the

inquisitors were clamorous in abuse of the languor and the cowardice of

the secular authorities. They wearied the ear of the Duchess with

complaints of the difficulties which they encountered in the execution of

their functions--of the slight alacrity on the part of the various

officials to assist them in the discharge of their duties.

Notwithstanding the express command of his Majesty to that effect, they

experienced, they said, a constant deficiency of that cheerful

co-operation which they had the right to claim, and there was perpetual

discord in consequence. They had been empowered by papal and by royal

decree to make use of the gaols, the constables, the whole penal

machinery of each province; yet the officers often refused to act, and

had even dared to close the prisons. Nevertheless, it had been intended,

as fully appeared by the imperial and royal instructions to the

inquisitors, that their action through the medium of the provincial

authorities should be unrestrained. Not satisfied with these

representations to the Regent, the inquisitors had also made a direct

appeal to the King. Judocus Tiletanus and Michael de Bay addressed to

Philip a letter from Louvain. They represented to him that they were the

only two left of the five inquisitors-general appointed by the Pope for

all the Netherlands, the other three having been recently converted into

bishops. Daily complaints, they said, were reaching them of the

prodigious advance of heresy, but their own office was becoming so

odious, so calumniated, and exposed to so much resistance, that they

could not perform its duties without personal danger. They urgently

demanded from his Majesty, therefore, additional support and assistance.

Thus the Duchess, exposed at once to the rising wrath of a whole people

and to the shrill blasts of inquisitorial anger, was tossed to and fro,

as upon a stormy sea. The commands of the King, too explicit to be

tampered with, were obeyed. The theological assembly had met and given

advice. The Council of Trent was here and there enforced. The edicts were

republished and the inquisitors encouraged. Moreover, in accordance with

Philip's suggestion, orders were now given that the heretics should be

executed at midnight in their dungeons, by binding their heads between

their knees, and then slowly suffocating them in tubs of water. Secret

drowning was substituted for public burning, in order that the heretic's

crown of vainglory, which was thought to console him in his agony, might

never be placed upon his head.

In the course of the summer, Magaret wrote to her brother that the

popular frenzy was becoming more and more intense. The people were crying

aloud, she said, that the Spanish inquisition, or a worse than Spanish

inquisition, had been established among them by means of bishops and

ecclesiastics. She urged Philip to cause the instructions for the

inquisitors to be revised. Egmont, she said, was vehement in expressing

his dissatisfaction at the discrepancy between Philip's language to him

by word of mouth and that of the royal despatches on the religious

question. The other seigniors were even more indignant.

While the popular commotion in the Netherlands was thus fearfully

increasing, another circumstance came to add to the prevailing

discontent. The celebrated interview between Catharine de Medici and her

daughter, the Queen of Spain, occurred in the middle of the month of

June, at Bayonne. The darkest suspicions as to the results to humanity of

the plots to be engendered in this famous conference between the

representatives of France and Spain were universally entertained. These

suspicions were most reasonable, but they were nevertheless mistaken. The

plan for a concerted action to exterminate the heretics in both kingdoms

had, as it was perfectly well known, been formed long before this epoch.

It was also no secret that the Queen Regent of France had been desirous

of meeting her son-in-law in order to confer with him upon important

matters, face to face. Philip, however, had latterly been disinclined for

the personal interview with Catharine. As his wife was most anxious to

meet her mother, it was nevertheless finally arranged that Queen Isabella

should make the journey; but he excused himself, on account of the

multiplicity of his affairs, from accompanying her in the expedition. The

Duke of Alva was, accordingly, appointed to attend the Queen to Bayonne.

Both were secretly instructed by Philip to leave nothing undone in the

approaching interview toward obtaining the hearty co-operation of

Catharine de Medici in a general and formally-arranged scheme for the

simultaneous extermination of all heretics in the French and Spanish

dominions. Alva's conduct in this diplomatic commission was stealthy in

the extreme. His letters reveal a subtlety of contrivance and delicacy of

handling such as the world has not generally reckoned among his

characteristics. All his adroitness, as well as the tact of Queen

Isabella, by whose ability Alva declared himself to have been astounded,

proved quite powerless before the steady fencing of the wily Catharine.

The Queen Regent, whose skill the Duke, even while defeated, acknowledged

to his master, continued firm in her design to maintain her own power by

holding the balance between Guise and Montmorency, between Leaguer and

Huguenot. So long as her enemies could be employed in exterminating each

other, she was willing to defer the extermination of the Huguenots. The

great massacre of St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer.

Alva was, to be sure, much encouraged at first by the language of the

French princes and nobles who were present at Bayonne. Monluc protested

that "they might saw the Queen Dowager in two before she would become

Huguenot." Montpensier exclaimed that "he would be cut in pieces for

Philip's service--that the Spanish monarch was the only hope for France,"

and, embracing Alva with fervor, he affirmed that "if his body were to be

opened at that moment, the name of Philip would be found imprinted upon

his heart." The Duke, having no power to proceed to an autopsy, physical

or moral, of Montpensier's interior, was left somewhat in the dark,

notwithstanding these ejaculations. His first conversation with the

youthful King, however, soon dispelled his hopes. He found immediately,

in his own words, that Charles the Ninth "had been doctored." To take up

arms, for religious reasons, against his own subjects, the monarch

declared to be ruinous and improper. It was obvious to Alva that the

royal pupil had learned his lesson for that occasion. It was a pity for

humanity that the wisdom thus hypocritically taught him could not have

sunk into his heart. The Duke did his best to bring forward the plans and

wishes of his royal master, but without success. The Queen Regent

proposed a league of the two Kings and the Emperor against the Turk, and

wished to arrange various matrimonial alliances between the sons and

daughters of the three houses. Alva expressed the opinion that the

alliances were already close enough, while, on the contrary, a secret

league against the Protestants would make all three families the safer.

Catherine, however, was not to be turned from her position. She refused

even to admit that the Chancellor de l'Hospital was a Huguenot, to which

the Duke replied that she was the only person in her kingdom who held

that opinion. She expressed an intention of convoking an assembly of

doctors, and Alva ridiculed in his letters to Philip the affectation of

such a proceeding. In short, she made it sufficiently evident that the

hour for the united action of the French and Spanish sovereigns against

their subjects had not struck, so that the famous Bayonne conference was

terminated without a result. It seemed not the less certain, however, in

the general opinion of mankind, that all the particulars of a regular

plot had been definitely arranged upon this occasion, for the

extermination of the Protestants, and the error has been propagated by

historians of great celebrity of all parties, down to our own days. The

secret letters of Alva, however, leave no doubt as to the facts.

In the course of November, fresh letters from Philip arrived in the

Netherlands, confirming every thing which he had previously written. He

wrote personally to the inquisitors-general, Tiletanus and De Bay,

encouraging them, commending them, promising them his support, and urging

them not to be deterred by any consideration from thoroughly fulfilling

their duties. He wrote Peter Titelmann a letter, in which he applauded

the pains taken by that functionary to remedy the ills which religion was

suffering, assured him of his gratitude, exhorted him to continue in his

virtuous course, and avowed his determination to spare neither pains,

expense, nor even his own life, to sustain the Catholic Faith. To the

Duchess he wrote at great length, and in most unequivocal language. He

denied that what he had written from Valladolid was of different meaning

from the sense of the despatches by Egmont. With regard to certain

Anabaptist prisoners, concerning whose fate Margaret had requested his

opinion, he commanded their execution, adding that such was his will in

the case of all, whatever their quality, who could be caught. That which

the people said in the Netherlands touching the inquisition, he

pronounced extremely distasteful to him. That institution, which had

existed under his predecessors, he declared more necessary than ever; nor

would he suffer it to be discredited. He desired his sister to put no

faith in idle talk, as to the inconveniences likely to flow from the

rigor of the inquisition. Much greater inconveniences would be the result

if the inquisitors did not proceed with their labors, and the Duchess was

commanded to write to the secular judges, enjoining upon them to place no

obstacles in the path, but to afford all the assistance which might be

required.

To Egmont, the King wrote with his own hand, applauding much that was

contained in the recent decisions of the assembly of bishops and doctors

of divinity, and commanding the Count to assist in the execution of the

royal determination. In affairs of religion, Philip expressed the opinion

that dissimulation and weakness were entirely out of place.

When these decisive letters came before the state council, the

consternation was extreme. The Duchess had counted, in spite of her

inmost convictions, upon less peremptory instructions. The Prince of

Orange, the Count of Egmont, and the Admiral, were loud in their

denunciations of the royal policy. There was a violent and protracted

debate. The excitement spread at once to the people. Inflammatory

hand-bills were circulated. Placards were posted every night upon the

doors of Orange, Egmont, and Horn, calling upon them to come forth boldly

as champions of the people and of liberty in religious matters. Banquets

were held daily at the houses of the nobility, in which the more ardent

and youthful of their order, with brains excited by wine and anger,

indulged in flaming invectives against the government, and interchanged

vows to protect each other and the cause of the oppressed provinces.

Meanwhile the privy council, to which body the Duchess had referred the

recent despatches from Madrid, made a report upon the whole subject to

the state council, during the month of November, sustaining the royal

views, and insisting upon the necessity of carrying them into effect. The

edicts and inquisition having been so vigorously insisted upon by the

King, nothing was to be done but to issue new proclamations throughout

the country, together with orders to bishops, councils, governors and

judges, that every care should be taken to enforce them to the full.

This report came before the state council, and was sustained by some of

its members. The Prince of Orange expressed the same uncompromising

hostility to the inquisition which he had always manifested, but observed

that the commands of the King were so precise and absolute, as to leave

no possibility of discussing that point. There was nothing to be done, he

said, but to obey, but he washed his hands of the fatal consequences

which he foresaw. There was no longer any middle course between obedience

and rebellion. This opinion, the soundness of which could scarcely be

disputed, was also sustained by Egmont and Horn.

Viglius, on the contrary, nervous, agitated, appalled, was now disposed

to temporize. He observed that if the seigniors feared such evil results,

it would be better to prevent, rather than to accelerate the danger which

would follow the proposed notification to the governors and municipal

authorities throughout the country, on the subject of the inquisition. To

make haste, was neither to fulfil the intentions nor to serve the

interests of the King, and it was desirable "to avoid emotion and

scandal." Upon these heads the President made a very long speech,

avowing, in conclusion, that if his Majesty should not find the course

proposed agreeable, he was ready to receive all the indignation upon his

own head.

Certainly, this position of the President was somewhat inconsistent with

his previous course. He had been most violent in his denunciations of all

who should interfere with the execution of the great edict of which he

had been the original draughtsman. He had recently been ferocious in

combating the opinion of those civilians in the assembly of doctors who

had advocated the abolition of the death penalty against heresy. He had

expressed with great energy his private opinion that the ancient religion

would perish if the machinery of persecution were taken away; yet he now

for the first time seemed to hear or to heed the outcry of a whole

nation, and to tremble at the sound. Now that the die had been cast, in

accordance with the counsels of his whole life, now that the royal

commands, often enigmatical and hesitating; were at last too distinct to

be misconstrued, and too peremptory to be tampered with--the president

imagined the possibility of delay. The health of the ancient Frisian had

but recently permitted him to resume his seat at the council board. His

presence there was but temporary, for he had received from Madrid the

acceptance of his resignation, accompanied with orders to discharge the

duties of President until the arrival of his successor, Charles de

Tisnacq. Thus, in his own language, the Duchess was still obliged to rely

for a season "upon her ancient Palinurus," a necessity far from agreeable

to her, for she had lost confidence in the pilot. It may be supposed that

he was anxious to smooth the troubled waters during the brief period in

which he was still to be exposed to their fury; but he poured out the oil

of his eloquence in vain. Nobody sustained his propositions. The Duchess,

although terrified at the probable consequences, felt the impossibility

of disobeying the deliberate decree of her brother. A proclamation was

accordingly prepared, by which it was ordered that the Council of Trent,

the edicts and the inquisition, should be published in every town and

village in the provinces, immediately, and once in six months forever

afterwards. The deed was done, and the Prince of Orange, stooping to the

ear of his next neighbor, as they sat at the council-board, whispered

that they were now about to witness the commencement of the most

extraordinary tragedy which had ever been enacted.

The prophecy was indeed a proof that the Prince could read the future,

but the sarcasm of the President, that the remark had been made in a tone

of exultation, was belied by every action of the prophet's life.

The fiat went forth. In the market-place of every town and village of the

Netherlands, the inquisition was again formally proclaimed. Every doubt

which had hitherto existed as to the intention of the government was

swept away. No argument was thenceforward to be permissible as to the

constitutionality of the edicts as to the compatibility of their

provisions with the privileges of the land. The cry of a people in its

agony ascended to Heaven. The decree was answered with a howl of

execration. The flames of popular frenzy arose lurid and threatening

above the house-tops of every town and village. The impending conflict

could no longer be mistaken. The awful tragedy which the great watchman

in the land had so long unceasingly predicted, was seen sweeping solemnly

and steadily onward. The superstitious eyes of the age saw supernatural

and ominous indications in the sky. Contending armies trampled the

clouds; blood dropped from heaven; the exterminating angel rode upon the

wind.

There was almost a cessation of the ordinary business of mankind.

Commerce was paralyzed. Antwerp shook as with an earthquake. A chasm

seemed to open, in which her prosperity and her very existence were to be

forever engulfed. The foreign merchants, manufacturers, and artisans fled

from her gates as if the plague were raging within them. Thriving cities

were likely soon to be depopulated. The metropolitan heart of the whole

country was almost motionless.

Men high in authority sympathized with the general indignation. The

Marquis Berghen, the younger Mansfeld, the Baron Montigny, openly refused

to enforce the edicts within their governments. Men of eminence inveighed

boldly and bitterly against the tyranny of the government, and counselled

disobedience. The Netherlanders, it was stoutly maintained, were not such

senseless brutes as to be ignorant of the mutual relation of prince and

people. They knew that the obligation of a king to his vassals was as

sacred as the duties of the subjects to the sovereign.

The four principal cities of Brabant first came forward in formal

denunciation of the outrage. An elaborate and conclusive document was

drawn up in their name, and presented to the Regent. It set forth that

the recent proclamation violated many articles in the "joyous entry."

That ancient constitution had circumscribed the power of the clergy, and

the jealousy had been felt in old times as much by the sovereign as the

people. No ecclesiastical tribunal had therefore been allowed, excepting

that of the Bishop of Cambray, whose jurisdiction was expressly confined

to three classes of cases--those growing out of marriages, testaments,

and mortmains.

It would be superfluous to discuss the point at the present day, whether

the directions to the inquisitors and the publication of the edicts

conflicted with the "joyous entrance." To take a man from his house and

burn him, after a brief preliminary examination, was clearly not to

follow the letter and spirit of the Brabantine habeas corpus, by which

inviolability of domicile and regular trials were secured and sworn to by

the monarch; yet such had been the uniform practice of inquisitors

throughout the country. The petition of the four cities was referred by

the Regent to the council of Brabant. The chancellor, or president judge

of that tribunal was notoriously corrupt--a creature of the Spanish. His

efforts to sustain the policy of the administration however vain. The

Duchess ordered the archives of the province to be searched for

precedents, and the council to report upon the petition. The case was too

plain for argument or dogmatism, but the attempt was made to take refuge

in obscurity. The answer of the council was hesitating and equivocal. The

Duchess insisted upon a distinct and categorical answer to the four

cities. Thus pressed, the council of Brabant declared roundly that no

inquisition of any kind had ever existed, in the provinces. It was

impossible that any other answer could be given, but Viglius, with his

associates in the privy council, were extremely angry at the conclusion.

The concession was, however, made, notwithstanding the bad example which,

according to some persons, the victory thus obtained by so important a

province would afford to the people in the other parts of the country.

Brabant was declared free of the inquisition. Meanwhile the pamphlets,

handbills, pasquils, and other popular productions were multiplied. To

use a Flemish expression, they "snowed in the streets." They were nailed

nightly on all the great houses in Brussels. Patriots were called upon to

strike, speak, redress. Pungent lampoons, impassioned invectives, and

earnest remonstrances, were thrust into the hands of the Duchess. The

publications, as they appeared; were greedily devoured by the people. "We

are willing," it was said, in a remarkable letter to the King, "to die

for the Gospel, but we read therein 'Render unto Caesar that which is

Caesar's, and unto God that which is God's.' We thank God that our

enemies themselves are compelled to bear witness to our piety and

patience; so that it is a common saying--'He swears not; he is a

Protestant; he is neither a fornicator nor a drunkard; he is of the new

sect.' Yet, notwithstanding these testimonials to our character, no

manner of punishment has been forgotten by which we can possibly be

Chastised." This statement of the morality of the Puritans of the

Netherlands was the justification of martyrs--not the self-glorification

of Pharisees. The fact was incontrovertible. Their tenets were rigid, but

their lives were pure. They belonged generally to the middling and lower

classes. They were industrious artisans, who desired to live in the fear

of God and in honor of their King. They were protected by nobles and

gentlemen of high position, very many of whom came afterwards warmly to

espouse the creed which at first they had only generously defended. Their

whole character and position resembled, in many features, those of the

English Puritans, who, three quarters of a century afterwards, fled for

refuge to the Dutch Republic, and thence departed to establish the

American Republic. The difference was that the Netherlanders were exposed

to a longer persecution and a far more intense martyrdom.

Towards the end of the year (1565) which was closing in such universal

gloom; the contemporary chronicles are enlivened with a fitful gleam of

sunshine. The light enlivens only the more elevated regions of the

Flemish world, but it is pathetic to catch a glimpse of those nobles,

many of whose lives were to be so heroic, and whose destinies so tragic,

as amid the shadows projected by coming evil, they still found time for

the chivalrous festivals of their land and epoch. A splendid tournament

was held at the Chateau d'Antoing to celebrate the nuptials of Baron

Montigny with the daughter of Prince d'Espinoy. Orange, Horn, and

Hoogstraaten were the challengers, and maintained themselves victoriously

against all comers, Egmont and other distinguished knights being, among

the number.

Thus brilliantly and gaily moved the first hours of that marriage which

before six months had fled was to be so darkly terminated. The doom which

awaited the chivalrous bridegroom in the dungeon of Simancas was ere long

to be recorded in one of the foulest chapters of Philip's tyranny.

A still more elaborate marriage-festival, of which the hero was, at a

later day, to exercise a most decisive influence over the fortunes of the

land, was celebrated at Brussels before the close of the year. It will be

remembered that Alexander, Prince of Parma, had accompanied Egmont on his

return from Spain in the month of April. The Duchess had been delighted

with the appearance of her son, then twenty years of age, but already an

accomplished cavalier. She had expressed her especial pleasure in finding

him so thoroughly a Spaniard "in manner, costume, and conversation," that

it could not be supposed he had ever visited any other land, or spoken

any other tongue than that of Spain.

The nobles of the Flemish court did not participate in the mother's

enthusiasm. It could not be denied that he was a handsome and gallant

young prince; but his arrogance was so intolerable as to disgust even

those most disposed to pay homage to Margaret's son. He kept himself

mainly in haughty retirement, dined habitually alone in his own

apartments, and scarcely honored any of the gentlemen of the Netherlands

with his notice. Even Egmont, to whose care he had been especially

recommended by Philip, was slighted. If, occasionally, he honored one or

two of the seigniors with an invitation to his table, he sat alone in

solemn state at the head of the board, while the guests, to whom he

scarcely vouchsafed a syllable, were placed on stools without backs,

below the salt. Such insolence, it may be supposed, was sufficiently

galling to men of the proud character, but somewhat reckless demeanor,

which distinguished the Netherland aristocracy. After a short time they

held themselves aloof, thinking it sufficient to endure such airs from

Philip. The Duchess at first encouraged the young Prince in his

haughtiness, but soon became sad, as she witnessed its effects. It was

the universal opinion that the young Prince was a mere compound of pride

and emptiness. "There is nothing at all in the man," said Chantonnay.

Certainly the expression was not a fortunate one. Time was to show that

there was more in the man than in all the governors despatched

successively by Philip to the Netherlands; but the proof was to be

deferred to a later epoch. Meantime, his mother was occupied and

exceedingly perplexed with his approaching nuptials. He had been

affianced early in the year to the Princess Donna Maria of Portugal. It

was found necessary, therefore, to send a fleet of several vessels to

Lisbon, to fetch the bride to the Netherlands, the wedding being

appointed to take place in Brussels. This expense alone was considerable,

and the preparations for banquets, jousts, and other festivities, were

likewise undertaken on so magnificent a scale that the Duke, her husband,

was offended at Margaret's extravagance. The people, by whom she was not

beloved, commented bitterly on the prodigalities which they were

witnessing in a period of dearth and trouble. Many of the nobles mocked

at her perplexity. To crown the whole, the young Prince was so obliging

as to express the hope, in his mother's hearing, that the bridal fleet,

then on its way from Portugal, might sink with all it contained, to the

bottom of the sea.

The poor Duchess was infinitely chagrined by all these circumstances. The

"insane and outrageous expenses" in which the nuptials had involved her,

the rebukes of her husband, the sneers of the seigniors, the undutiful

epigrams of her son, the ridicule of the people, affected her spirits to

such a degree, harassed as she was with grave matters of state, that she

kept her rooms for days together, weeping, hour after hour, in the most

piteous manner. Her distress was the town talk; nevertheless, the fleet

arrived in the autumn, and brought the youthful Maria to the provinces.

This young lady, if the faithful historiographer of the Farnese house is

to be credited, was the paragon of princesses.

[This princess, in her teens, might already exclaim, with the

venerable Faustus:

"Habe nun Philosophie

Juristerei and Medicin

Und leider ach: Theologie

Durch studirt mit heissem Bemuhen," etc.

The panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century were not

accustomed to do their work by halves.--Strada.]

She was the daughter of Prince Edward, and granddaughter of John the

Third. She was young and beautiful; she could talk both Latin and Greek,

besides being well versed in philosophy, mathematics and theology. She

had the scriptures at her tongue's end, both the old dispensation and the

new, and could quote from the fathers with the promptness of a bishop.

She was so strictly orthodox that, on being compelled by stress of

weather to land in England, she declined all communication with Queen

Elizabeth, on account of her heresy. She was so eminently chaste that she

could neither read the sonnets of Petrarch, nor lean on the arm of a

gentleman. Her delicacy upon such points was, indeed, carried to such

excess, that upon one occasion when the ship which was bringing her to

the Netherlands was discovered to be burning, she rebuked a rude fellow

who came forward to save her life, assuring him that there was less

contamination in the touch of fire than in that of man. Fortunately, the

flames were extinguished, and the Phoenix of Portugal was permitted to

descend, unburned, upon the bleak shores of Flanders.

The occasion, notwithstanding the recent tears of the Duchess, and the

arrogance of the Prince, was the signal for much festivity among the

courtiers of Brussels. It was also the epoch from which movements of a

secret and important character were to be dated. The chevaliers of the

Fleece were assembled, and Viglius pronounced before them one of his most

classical orations. He had a good deal to say concerning the private

adventures of Saint Andrew, patron of the Order, and went into some

details of a conversation which that venerated personage had once held

with the proconsul Aegeas. The moral which he deduced from his narrative

was the necessity of union among the magnates for the maintenance of the

Catholic faith; the nobility and the Church being the two columns upon

which the whole social fabric reposed. It is to be feared that the

President became rather prosy upon the occasion. Perhaps his homily, like

those of the fictitious Archbishop of Granada, began to smack of the

apoplexy from which he had so recently escaped. Perhaps, the meeting

being one of hilarity, the younger nobles became restive under the

infliction of a very long and very solemn harangue. At any rate, as the

meeting broke up, there was a good dial of jesting on the subject. De

Hammes, commonly called "Toison d'Or," councillor and king-at-arms of the

Order, said that the President had been seeing visions and talking with

Saint Andrew in a dream. Marquis Berghen asked for the source whence he

had derived such intimate acquaintance with the ideas of the Saint. The

President took these remarks rather testily, and, from trifling, the

company became soon earnestly engaged in a warm discussion of the

agitating topics of the day. It soon became evident to Viglius that De

Hammer and others of his comrades had been dealing with dangerous things.

He began shrewdly to suspect that the popular heresy was rapidly

extending into higher regions; but it was not the President alone who

discovered how widely the contamination was spreading. The meeting, the

accidental small talk, which had passed so swiftly from gaiety to

gravity, the rapid exchange of ideas, and the free-masonry by which

intelligence upon forbidden topics had been mutually conveyed, became

events of historical importance. Interviews between nobles, who, in the

course of the festivities produced by the Montigny and Parma marriages,

had discovered that they entertained a secret similarity of sentiment

upon vital questions, became of frequent occurrence. The result to which

such conferences led will be narrated in the following chapter.

Meantime, upon the 11th November, 1565, the marriage of Prince Alexander

and Donna Maria was celebrated; with great solemnity, by the Archbishop

of Cambray, in the chapel of the court at Brussels. On the following

Sunday the wedding banquet was held in the great hall, where, ten years

previously, the memorable abdication of the bridegroom's imperial

grandfather had taken place.

The walls were again hung with the magnificent tapestry of Gideon, while

the Knights of the Fleece, with all the other grandees of the land, were

assembled to grace the spectacle. The King was represented by his envoy

in England, Don Guzman de Silva, who came to Brussels for the occasion,

and who had been selected for this duty because, according to Armenteros,

"he was endowed, beside his prudence, with so much witty gracefulness

with ladies in matters of pastime and entertainment." Early in the month

of December, a famous tournament was held in the great market-place of

Brussels, the Duke of Parma, the Duke of Aerschot, and Count Egmont being

judges of the jousts. Count Mansfeld was the challenger, assisted by his

son Charles, celebrated among the gentry of the land for his dexterity in

such sports. To Count Charles was awarded upon this occasion the silver

cup from the lady of the lists. Count Bossu received the prize for

breaking best his lances; the Seigneur de Beauvoir for the most splendid

entrance; Count Louis, of Nassau, for having borne himself most gallantly

in the melee. On the same evening the nobles, together with the bridal

pair, were entertained at a splendid supper, given by the city of

Brussels in the magnificent Hotel de Ville. On this occasion the prizes

gained at the tournament were distributed, amid the applause and hilarity

of all the revellers.

Thus, with banquet, tourney, and merry marriage bells, with gaiety

gilding the surface of society, while a deadly hatred to the inquisition

was eating into the heart of the nation, and while the fires of civil war

were already kindling, of which no living man was destined to witness the

extinction, ended the year 1565.

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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 10.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.

1855