while the Spanish troops in the immediate vicinity would not understand
them. It seemed, therefore, the part of wisdom and of dignity for him to
be silent, communing only with his God. The Count assented to this
reasoning, and abandoned his intention of saying a few farewell words to
the people, by many of whom he believed himself tenderly beloved. He now
made many preparations for the morrow, in order that his thoughts, in the
last moments, might not be distracted by mechanical details, cutting the
collar from his doublet and from his shirt with his own hands, in order
that those of the hangman might have no excuse for contaminating his
person. The rest of the night was passed in prayer and meditation.
Fewer circumstances concerning the last night of Count Horn's life have
been preserved. It is, however, well ascertained that the Admiral
received the sudden news of his condemnation with absolute composure. He
was assisted at his devotional exercises in prison by the curate of La
Chapelle.
During the night, the necessary preparations for the morning tragedy had
been made in the great square of Brussels. It was the intention of
government to strike terror to the heart of the people by the exhibition
of an impressive and appalling spectacle. The absolute and irresponsible
destiny which ruled them was to be made manifest by the immolation of
these two men, so elevated by rank, powerful connexion, and distinguished
service.
The effect would be heightened by the character of the, locality where
the gloomy show was to be presented. The great square of Brussels had
always a striking and theatrical aspect. Its architectural effects,
suggesting in some degree the meretricious union between Oriental and a
corrupt Grecian art, accomplished in the medieval midnight, have amazed
the eyes of many generations. The splendid Hotel de Ville, with its
daring spire and elaborate front, ornamented one side of the place;
directly opposite was the graceful but incoherent facade of the Brood-
huis, now the last earthly resting-place of the two distinguished
victims, while grouped around these principal buildings rose the
fantastic palaces of the Archers, Mariners, and of other guilds, with
their festooned walls and toppling gables bedizened profusely with
emblems, statues, and quaint decorations. The place had been alike the
scene of many a brilliant tournament and of many a bloody execution.
Gallant knights had contended within its precincts, while bright eyes
rained influence from all those picturesque balconies and decorated
windows. Martyrs to religious and to political liberty had, upon the
same spot, endured agonies which might have roused every stone of its
pavement to mutiny or softened them to pity. Here Egmont himself, in
happier days, had often borne away the prize of skill or of valor, the
cynosure of every eye; and hence, almost in the noon of a life
illustrated by many brilliant actions, he was to be sent, by the
hand of tyranny, to his great account.
On the morning of the 5th of June, three thousand Spanish troops were
drawn up in battle array around a scaffold which had been erected in the
centre of the square. Upon this scaffold, which was covered with black
cloth, were placed two velvet cushions, two iron spikes, and a small
table. Upon the table was a silver crucifix. The provost-marshal,
Spelle, sat on horseback below, with his red wand in his hand, little
dreaming that for him a darker doom was reserved than that of which he
was now the minister. The executioner was concealed beneath the
draperies of the scaffold.
At eleven o'clock, a company of Spanish soldiers, led by Julian Romero
and Captain Salinas, arrived at Egmont's chamber. The Count was ready
for them. They were about to bind his hands, but he warmly protested
against the indignity, and, opening the folds of his robe, showed them
that he had himself shorn off his collars, and made preparations for his
death. His request was granted. Egmont, with the Bishop at his side,
then walked with a steady step the short distance which separated him
from the place of execution. Julian Romero and the guard followed him.
On his way, he read aloud the fifty-first Psalm: "Hear my cry, O God, and
give ear unto my prayer!" He seemed to have selected these scriptural
passages as a proof that, notwithstanding the machinations of his
enemies, and the cruel punishment to which they had led him, loyalty to
his sovereign was as deeply rooted and as religious a sentiment in his
bosom as devotion to his God. "Thou wilt prolong the King's life; and
his years as many generations. He shall abide before God for ever!
O prepare mercy and truth which may preserve him." Such was the
remarkable prayer of the condemned traitor on his way to the block.
Having ascended the scaffold, he walked across it twice or thrice. He
was dressed in a tabard or robe of red damask, over which was thrown a
short black mantle, embroidered in gold. He had a black silk hat, with
black and white plumes, on his head, and held a handkerchief in his hand.
As he strode to and fro, he expressed a bitter regret that he had not
been permitted to die, sword in hand, fighting for his country and his
king. Sanguine to the last, he passionately asked Romero, whether the
sentence was really irrevocable, whether a pardon was not even then to be
granted. The marshal shrugged his shoulders, murmuring a negative reply.
Upon this, Egmont gnashed his teeth together, rather in rage than
despair. Shortly afterward commanding himself again, he threw aside his
robe and mantle, and took the badge of the Golden Fleece from his neck.
Kneeling, then, upon one of the cushions, he said the Lord's Prayer
aloud, and requested the Bishop, who knelt at his side, to repeat it
thrice. After this, the prelate gave him the silver crucifix to kiss,
and then pronounced his blessing upon him. This done, the Count rose
again to his feet, laid aside his hat and handkerchief, knelt again upon
the cushion, drew a little cap over his eyes, and, folding his hands
together, cried with a loud voice, "Lord, into Thy hands I commit my
spirit." The executioner then suddenly appeared, and severed his head
from his shoulders at a single blow.
A moment of shuddering silence succeeded the stroke. The whole vast
assembly seemed to have felt it in their own hearts. Tears fell from the
eyes even of the Spanish soldiery, for they knew and honored Egmont as a
valiant general. The French embassador, Mondoucet, looking upon the
scene from a secret place, whispered that he had now seen the head fall
before which France had twice trembled. Tears were even seen upon the
iron cheek of Alva, as, from a window in a house directly opposite the
scaffold, he looked out upon the scene.
A dark cloth was now quickly thrown over the body and the blood, and,
within a few minutes, the Admiral was seen advancing through the crowd.
His bald head was uncovered, his hands were unbound. He calmly saluted
such of his acquaintances as he chanced to recognize upon his path. Under
a black cloak, which he threw off when he had ascended the scaffold, he
wore a plain, dark doublet, and he did not, like Egmont, wear the
insignia of the Fleece. Casting his eyes upon the corpse, which lay
covered with the dark cloth, he asked if it were the body of Egmont.
Being answered in the affirmative, he muttered a few words in Spanish,
which were not distinctly audible. His attention was next caught by the
sight of his own coat of arms reversed, and he expressed anger at this
indignity to his escutcheon, protesting that he had not deserved the
insult. He then spoke a few words to the crowd below, wishing them
happiness, and begging them to pray for his soul. He did not kiss the
crucifix, but he knelt upon the scaffold to pray, and was assisted in his
devotions by the Bishop of Ypres. When they were concluded, he rose
again to his feet. Then drawing a Milan cap completely over his face,
and uttering, in Latin, the same invocation which Egmont had used, he
submitted his neck to the stroke.
Egmont had obtained, as a last favor, that his execution should precede
that of his friend. Deeming himself in part to blame for Horn's
reappearance in Brussels after the arrival of Alva, and for his, death,
which was the result, he wished to be spared the pang of seeing him dead.
Gemma Frisius, the astrologer who had cast the horoscope of Count Horn at
his birth, had come to him in the most solemn manner to warn him against
visiting Brussels. The Count had answered stoutly that he placed his
trust in God, and that, moreover, his friend Egmont was going thither
also, who had engaged that no worse fate should befal the one of them
than the other.
The heads of both sufferers were now exposed for two hours upon the iron
stakes. Their bodies, placed in coffins, remained during the same
interval upon the scaffold. Meantime, notwithstanding the presence of
the troops, the populace could not be restrained from tears and from
execrations. Many crowded about the scaffold, and dipped their
handkerchiefs in the blood, to be preserved afterwards as memorials of
the crime and as ensigns of revenge.
The bodies were afterwards delivered to their friends. A stately
procession of the guilds, accompanied by many of the clergy, conveyed
their coffins to the church of Saint Gudule. Thence the body of Egmont
was carried to the convent of Saint Clara, near the old Brussels gate,
where it was embalmed. His escutcheon and banners were hung upon the
outward wall of his residence, by order of the Countess. By command of
Alva they were immediately torn down. His remains were afterwards
conveyed to his city of Sottegem, in Flanders, where they were interred.
Count Horn was entombed at Kempen. The bodies had been removed from the
scaffold at two o'clock. The heads remained exposed between burning
torches for two hours longer. They were then taken down, enclosed in
boxes, and, as it was generally supposed, despatched to Madrid. The King
was thus enabled to look upon the dead faces of his victims without the
trouble of a journey to the provinces.
Thus died Philip Montmorency, Count of Horn, and Lamoral of Egmont,
Prince of Gaveren. The more intense sympathy which seemed to attach
itself to the fate of Egmont, rendered the misfortune of his companion in
arms and in death comparatively less interesting.
Egmont is a great historical figure, but he was certainly not a great
man. His execution remains an enduring monument not only of Philip's
cruelty and perfidy but of his dullness. The King had everything to hope
from Egmont and nothing to fear. Granvelle knew the man well, and,
almost to the last, could not believe in the possibility of so
unparalleled a blunder as that which was to make a victim, a martyr,
and a popular idol of a personage brave indeed, but incredibly
vacillating and inordinately vain, who, by a little management, might
have been converted into a most useful instrument for the royal purposes.
It is not necessary to recapitulate the events of Egmont's career.
Step by step we have studied his course, and at no single period have
we discovered even a germ of those elements which make the national
champion. His pride of order rendered him furious at the insolence of
Granvelle, and caused him to chafe under his dominion. His vanity of
high rank and of distinguished military service made him covet the
highest place under the Crown, while his hatred of those by whom he
considered himself defrauded of his claims, converted him into a
malcontent. He had no sympathy with the people, but he loved, as a grand
Seignior, to be looked up to and admired by a gaping crowd. He was an
unwavering Catholic, held sectaries in utter loathing, and, after the
image-breaking, took a positive pleasure in hanging ministers, together
with their congregations, and in pressing the besieged Christians of
Valenciennes to extremities. Upon more than one occasion he pronounced
his unequivocal approval of the infamous edicts, and he exerted himself
at times to enforce them within his province. The transitory impression
made upon his mind by the lofty nature of Orange was easily effaced in
Spain by court flattery and by royal bribes. Notwithstanding the
coldness, the rebuffs, and the repeated warnings which might have saved
him from destruction, nothing could turn him at last from the fanatic
loyalty towards which, after much wavering, his mind irrevocably pointed.
His voluntary humiliation as a general, a grandee, a Fleming, and a
Christian before the insolent Alva upon his first arrival, would move our
contempt were it not for the gentler emotions suggested by the infatuated
nobleman's doom. Upon the departure of Orange, Egmont was only too eager
to be employed by Philip in any work which the monarch could find for him
to do. Yet this was the man whom Philip chose, through the executioner's
sword, to convert into a popular idol, and whom Poetry has loved to
contemplate as a romantic champion of freedom.
As for Horn, details enough have likewise been given of his career to
enable the reader thoroughly to understand the man. He was a person of
mediocre abilities and thoroughly commonplace character. His high rank
and his tragic fate are all which make him interesting. He had little
love for court or people. Broken in fortunes, he passed his time mainly
in brooding over the ingratitude of Charles and Philip, and in
complaining bitterly of the disappointments to which their policy had
doomed him. He cared nothing for Cardinalists or confederates. He
disliked Brederode, he detested Granvelle. Gloomy and morose, he went to
bed, while the men who were called his fellow-conspirators were dining
and making merry in the same house with himself: He had as little
sympathy with the cry of "Vivent les gueux" as for that of "Vive le Roy."
The most interesting features in his character are his generosity toward
his absent brother and the manliness with which, as Montigny's
representative at Tournay, he chose rather to confront the anger of the
government, and to incur the deadly revenge of Philip, than make himself
the executioner of the harmless Christians in Tournay. In this regard,
his conduct is vastly more entitled to our respect than that of Egmont,
and he was certainly more deserving of reverence from the people, even
though deserted by all men while living, and left headless and solitary
in his coffin at Saint Gudule.
The hatred for Alva, which sprang from the graves of these illustrious
victims, waxed daily more intense. "Like things of another world," wrote
Hoogstraaten, "seem the cries, lamentations, and just compassion which
all the inhabitants of Brussels, noble or ignoble, feel for such
barbarous tyranny, while this Nero of an Alva is boasting that he will do
the same to all whom he lays his hands upon." No man believed that the
two nobles had committed a crime, and many were even disposed to acquit
Philip of his share in the judicial murder. The people ascribed the
execution solely to the personal jealousy of the Duke. They discoursed
to each other not only of the envy with which the Governor-general had
always regarded the military triumphs of his rival, but related that
Egmont had at different times won large sums of Alva at games of hazard,
and that he had moreover, on several occasions, carried off the prize
from the Duke in shooting at the popinjay. Nevertheless, in spite of all
these absurd rumors, there is no doubt that Philip and Alva must share
equally in the guilt of the transaction, and that the "chastisement" had
been arranged before Alva had departed from Spain.
The Countess Egmont remained at the convent of Cambre with her eleven
children, plunged in misery and in poverty. The Duke wrote to Philip,
that he doubted if there were so wretched a family in the world. He, at
the same time, congratulated his sovereign on the certainty that the more
intense the effects, the more fruitful would be the example of this great
execution. He stated that the Countess was considered a most saintly
woman, and that there had been scarcely a night in which, attended by her
daughters, she had not gone forth bare-footed to offer up prayers for her
husband in every church within the city. He added, that it was doubtful
whether they had money enough to buy themselves a supper that very night,
and he begged the King to allow them the means of supporting life. He
advised that the Countess should be placed, without delay in a Spanish
convent, where her daughters might at once take the veil, assuring his
Majesty that her dower was entirely inadequate to her support. Thus
humanely recommending his sovereign to bestow an alms on the family which
his own hand had reduced from a princely station to beggary, the Viceroy
proceeded to detail the recent events in Friesland, together with the
measures which he was about taking to avenge the defeat and death of
Count Aremberg.
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