Books: The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1564 65
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John Lothrop Motley >> The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1564 65
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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