Books: The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1572
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John Lothrop Motley >> The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1572
But nothing could exceed the satisfaction which the event occasioned in
the mind of Philip the Second. There was an end now of all assistance
from the French government to the Netherland Protestants. "The news of
the events upon Saint Bartholomew's day," wrote the French envoy at
Madrid, Saint Goard, to Charles IX., "arrived on the 7th September. The
King, on receiving the intelligence, showed, contrary to his natural
custom, so much gaiety, that he seemed more delighted than with all the
good fortune or happy incidents which had ever before occurred to him.
He called all his familiars about him in order to assure them that your
Majesty was his good brother, and that no one else deserved the title of
Most Christian. He sent his secretary Cayas to me with his felicitations
upon the event, and with the information that he was just going to Saint
Jerome to render thanks to God, and to offer his prayers that your
Majesty might receive Divine support in this great affair. I went to
see him next morning, and as soon as I came into his presence he began
to laugh, and with demonstrations of extreme contentment, to praise your
Majesty as deserving your title of Most Christian, telling me there was
no King worthy to be your Majesty's companion, either for valor or
prudence. He praised the steadfast resolution and the long dissimulation
of so great an enterprise, which all the world would not be able to
comprehend."
"I thanked him," continued the embassador, "and I said that I thanked
God for enabling your Majesty to prove to his Master that his apprentice
had learned his trade, and deserved his title of most Christian King.
I added, that he ought to confess that he owed the preservation of the
Netherlands to your Majesty."
Nothing certainly could, in Philip's apprehension, be more delightful
than this most unexpected and most opportune intelligence. Charles IX.,
whose intrigues in the Netherlands he had long known, had now been
suddenly converted by this stupendous crime into his most powerful ally,
while at the same time the Protestants of Europe would learn that there
was still another crowned head in Christendom more deserving of
abhorrence than himself. He wrote immediately to Alva, expressing his
satisfaction that the King of France had disembarrassed himself of such
pernicious men, because he would now be obliged to cultivate the
friendship of Spain, neither the English Queen nor the German Protestants
being thenceforth capable of trusting him. He informed the Duke,
moreover, that the French envoy, Saint Goard, had been urging him to
command the immediate execution of Genlis and his companions, who had
been made prisoners, as well as all the Frenchmen who would be captured
in Mons; and that he fully concurred in the propriety of the measure.
"The sooner," said Philip, "these noxious plants are extirpated from the
earth, the less fear there is that a fresh crop will spring up." The
monarch therefore added, with his own hand, to the letter, "I desire that
if you have not already disembarrassed the world of them, you will do it
immediately, and inform me thereof, for I see no reason why it should be
deferred."
This is the demoniacal picture painted by the French ambassador, and by
Philip's own hand, of the Spanish monarch's joy that his "Most Christian"
brother had just murdered twenty-five thousand of his own subjects. In
this cold-blooded way, too, did his Catholic Majesty order the execution
of some thousand Huguenots additionally, in order more fully to carry out
his royal brother's plans; yet Philip could write of himself, "that all
the world recognized the gentleness of his nature and the mildness of his
intentions."
In truth, the advice thus given by Saint Goard on the subject of the
French prisoners in Alva's possessions, was a natural result of the Saint
Bartholomew. Here were officers and soldiers whom Charles IX. had
himself sent into the Netherlands to fight for the Protestant cause
against Philip and Alva. Already, the papers found upon them had placed
him in some embarrassment, and exposed his duplicity to the Spanish
government, before the great massacre had made such signal reparation for
his delinquency. He had ordered Mondoucet, his envoy in the Netherlands,
to use dissimulation to an unstinted amount, to continue his intrigues
with the Protestants, and to deny stoutly all proofs of such connivance.
"I see that the papers found upon Genlis;" he wrote twelve days before
the massacre, "have been put into the hands of Assonleville, and that
they know everything done by Genlis to have been committed with my
consent."
[These remarkable letters exchanged between Charles IX. and
Mondoucet have recently been published by M. Emile Gachet (chef du
bureau paleographique aux Archives de Belgique) from a manuscript
discovered by him in the library at Rheims.--Compte Rendu de la Com.
Roy. d'Hist., iv. 340, sqq.]
"Nevertheless, you will tell the Duke of Alva that these are lies invented
to excite suspicion against me. You will also give him occasional
information of the enemy's affairs, in order to make him believe in your
integrity. Even if he does not believe you, my purpose will be answered,
provided you do it dexterously. At the same time you must keep up a
constant communication with the Prince of Orange, taking great care to
prevent discovery of your intelligence with King."
Were not these masterstrokes of diplomacy worthy of a King whom his
mother, from boyhood upwards, had caused to study Macchiavelli's
"Prince," and who had thoroughly taken to heart the maxim, often repeated
in those days, that the "Science of reigning was the science of lying"?
The joy in the Spanish camp before Mons was unbounded. It was as if the
only bulwark between the Netherland rebels and total destruction had been
suddenly withdrawn. With anthems in Saint Gudule, with bonfires, festive
illuminations, roaring artillery, with trumpets also, and with shawms,
was the glorious holiday celebrated in court and camp, in honor of the
vast murder committed by the Most Christian King upon his Christian
subjects; nor was a moment lost in apprising the Huguenot soldiers shut
up with Louis of Nassau in the beleaguered city of the great catastrophe
which was to render all their valor fruitless. "'T was a punishment,"
said a Spanish soldier, who fought most courageously before Mons, and who
elaborately described the siege afterwards, "well worthy of a king whose
title is 'The Most Christian,' and it was still more honorable to inflict
it with his own hands as he did." Nor was the observation a pithy
sarcasm, but a frank expression of opinion, from a man celebrated alike
for the skill with which he handled both his sword and his pen.
The, French envoy in the Netherlands was, of course, immediately informed
by his sovereign of the great event: Charles IX. gave a very pithy
account of the transaction. "To prevent the success of the enterprise
planned by the Admiral," wrote the King on the 26th of August, with hands
yet reeking, and while the havoc throughout France was at its height,
"I have been obliged to permit the said Guises to rush upon the said
Admiral,--which they have done, the said Admiral having been killed and
all his adherents. A very great number of those belonging to the new
religion have also been massacred and cut to pieces. It is probable that
the fire thus kindled will spread through all the cities of my kingdom,
and that all those of the said religion will be made sure of." Not
often, certainly, in history, has a Christian king spoken thus calmly
of butchering his subjects while the work was proceeding all around
him. It is to be observed, moreover, that the usual excuse for such
enormities, religious fanaticism, can not be even suggested on this
occasion. Catharine, in times past had favored Huguenots as much as
Catholics, while Charles had been, up to the very moment of the crime,
in strict alliance with the heretics of both France and Flanders, and
furthering the schemes of Orange and Nassau. Nay, even at this very
moment, and in this very letter in which he gave the news of the
massacre, he charged his envoy still to maintain the closest but most
secret intelligence with the Prince of Orange; taking great care that
the Duke of Alva should not discover these relations. His motives were,
of course, to prevent the Prince from abandoning his designs, and from
coming to make a disturbance in France. The King, now that the deed was
done, was most anxious to reap all the fruits of his crime. "Now, M. de
Mondoucet, it is necessary in such affairs," he continued, "to have an
eye to every possible contingency. I know that this news will be most
agreeable to the Duke of Alva, for it is most favorable to his designs.
At the same time, I don't desire that he alone should gather the fruit.
I don't choose that he should, according to his excellent custom, conduct
his affairs in such wise as to throw the Prince of Orange upon my hands,
besides sending back to France Genlis and the other prisoners, as well
as the French now shut up in Mons."
This was a sufficiently plain hint, which Mondoucet could not well
misunderstand. "Observe the Duke's countenance carefully when you
give him this message," added the King, "and let me know his reply."
In order, however, that there might be no mistake about the matter,
Charles wrote again to his ambassador, five days afterwards, distinctly
stating the regret which he should feel if Alva should not take the city
of Mons, or if he should take it by composition. "Tell the Duke," said
he, "that it is most important for the service of his master and of God
that those Frenchmen and others in Mons should be cut in pieces." He
wrote another letter upon the name day, such was his anxiety upon the
subject, instructing the envoy to urge upon Alva the necessity of
chastising those rebels to the French crown. "If he tells you,"
continued Charles, "that this is tacitly requiring him to put to death
all the French prisoners now in hand as well to cut in pieces every man
in Mons, you will say to him that this is exactly what he ought to do,
and that he will be guilty of a great wrong to Christianity if he does
otherwise." Certainly, the Duke, having been thus distinctly ordered,
both by his own master and by his Christian Majesty, to put every
one of these Frenchmen to death, had a sufficiency of royal warrant.
Nevertheless, he was not able to execute entirely these ferocious
instructions. The prisoners already in his power were not destined to
escape, but the city of Mons, in his own language, "proved to have
sharper teeth than he supposed."
Mondoucet lost no time in placing before Alva the urgent necessity of
accomplishing the extensive and cold-blooded massacre thus proposed.
"The Duke has replied," wrote the envoy to his sovereign, "that he is
executing his prisoners every day, and that he has but a few left.
Nevertheless, for some reason which he does not mention, he is reserving
the principal noblemen and chiefs." He afterwards informed his master
that Genlis, Jumelles, and the other leaders, had engaged, if Alva would
grant them a reasonable ransom, to induce the French in Mons to leave
the city, but that the Duke, although his language was growing less
confident, still hoped to take the town by assault. "I have urged him,"
he added, "to put them all to death, assuring him that he would be
responsible for the consequences of a contrary course."--"Why does not
your Most Christian master," asked Alva, "order these Frenchmen in Mons
to come to him under oath to make no disturbance? Then my prisoners will
be at my discretion and I shall get my city."--"Because," answered the
envoy, "they will not trust his Most Christian Majesty, and will prefer
to die in Mons."--[Mondoucet to Charles IX., 15th September, 1572.]
This certainly was a most sensible reply, but it is instructive to
witness the cynicism with which the envoy accepts this position for his
master, while coldly recording the results of all these sanguinary
conversations.
Such was the condition of affairs when the Prince of Orange arrived at
Peronne, between Binche and the Duke of Alva's entrenchments. The
besieging army was rich in notabilities of elevated rank. Don Frederic
of Toledo had hitherto commanded, but on the 27th of August, the Dukes of
Medina Coeli and of Alva had arrived in the camp. Directly afterwards
came the warlike Archbishop of Cologne, at the head of two thousand
cavalry. There was but one chance for the Prince of Orange, and
experience had taught him, four years before, its slenderness. He might
still provoke his adversary into a pitched battle, and he relied upon God
for the result. In his own words, "he trusted ever that the great God of
armies was with him, and would fight in the midst of his forces." If so
long as Alva remained in his impregnable camp, it was impossible to
attack him, or to throw reinforcements into Mons. The Prince soon found,
too, that Alva was far too wise to hazard his position by a superfluous
combat. The Duke knew that the cavalry of the Prince was superior to his
own. He expressed himself entirely unwilling to play into the Prince's
hands, instead of winning the game which was no longer doubtful. The
Huguenot soldiers within Mons were in despair and mutiny; Louis of Nassau
lay in his bed consuming with a dangerous fever; Genlis was a prisoner,
and his army cut to pieces; Coligny was murdered, and Protestant France
paralyzed; the troops of Orange, enlisted but for three months, were
already rebellious, and sure to break into open insubordination when the
consequences of the Paris massacre should become entirely clear to them;
and there were, therefore, even more cogent reasons than in 1568, why
Alva should remain perfectly still, and see his enemy's cause founder
before his eyes. The valiant Archbishop of Cologne was most eager for
the fray. He rode daily at the Duke's side, with harness on his back and
pistols in his holsters, armed and attired like one of his own troopers,
and urging the Duke, with vehemence, to a pitched battle with the Prince.
The Duke commended, but did not yield to, the prelate's enthusiasm.
"'Tis a fine figure of a man, with his corslet and pistols," he wrote to
Philip, "and he shows great affection for your Majesty's service."
The issue of the campaign was inevitable. On the 11th September, Don
Frederic, with a force of four thousand picked men, established himself
at Saint Florian, a village near the Havre gate of the city, while the
Prince had encamped at Hermigny, within half a league of the same place,
whence he attempted to introduce reinforcements into the town. On the
night of the 11th and 12th, Don Frederic hazarded an encamisada upon the
enemy's camp, which proved eminently successful, and had nearly resulted
in the capture of the Prince himself. A chosen band of six hundred
arquebussers, attired, as was customary in these nocturnal expeditions,
with their shirts outside their armor, that they might recognize each
other in the darkness, were led by Julian Romero, within the lines of the
enemy. The sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised, and for a
moment powerless, while, for two hours long, from one o'clock in the
morning until three, the Spaniards butchered their foes, hardly aroused
from their sleep, ignorant by how small a force they had been thus
suddenly surprised, and unable in the confusion to distinguish between
friend and foe. The boldest, led by Julian in person, made at once for
the Prince's tent. His guards and himself were in profound sleep, but a
small spaniel, who always passed the night upon his bed, was a more
faithful sentinel. The creature sprang forward, barking furiously at the
sound of hostile footsteps, and scratching his master's face with his
paws.--There was but just time for the Prince to mount a horse which was
ready saddled, and to effect his escape through the darkness, before his
enemies sprang into the tent. His servants were cut down, his master of
the horse and two of his secretaries, who gained their saddles a moment
later, all lost their lives, and but for the little dog's watchfulness,
William of Orange, upon whose shoulders the whole weight of his country's
fortunes depended, would have been led within a week to an ignominious
death. To his dying day, the Prince ever afterwards kept a spaniel of
the same race in his bed-chamber. The midnight slaughter still
continued, but the Spaniards in their fury, set fire to the tents. The
glare of the conflagration showed the Orangists by how paltry a force
they had been surprised. Before they could rally, however, Romero led
off his arquebusiers, every one of whom had at least killed his man.
Six hundred of the Prince's troops had been put to the sword, while many
others were burned in their beds, or drowned in the little rivulet which
flowed outside their camp. Only sixty Spaniards lost their lives.
This disaster did not alter the plans of the Prince, for those plans had
already been frustrated. The whole marrow of his enterprise had been
destroyed in an instant by the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. He
retreated to Wronne and Nivelles, an assassin, named Heist, a German,
by birth, but a French chevalier, following him secretly in his camp,
pledged to take his life for a large reward promised by Alva--an
enterprise not destined, however, to be successful. The soldiers flatly
refused to remain an hour longer in the field, or even to furnish an
escort for Count Louis, if, by chance, he could be brought out of the
town. The Prince was obliged to inform his brother of the desperate
state of his affairs, and to advise him to capitulate on the best terms
which he could make. With a heavy heart, he left the chivalrous Louis
besieged in the city which he had so gallantly captured, and took his way
across the Meuse towards the Rhine. A furious mutiny broke out among his
troops. His life was, with difficulty, saved from the brutal soldiery--
infuriated at his inability to pay them, except in the over-due
securities of the Holland cities--by the exertions of the officers who
still regarded him with veneration and affection. Crossing the Rhine at
Orsoy, he disbanded his army and betook himself, almost alone, to
Holland.
Yet even in this hour of distress and defeat, the Prince seemed more
heroic than many a conqueror in his day of triumph. With all his hopes
blasted, with the whole fabric of his country's fortunes shattered by the
colossal crime of his royal ally, he never lost his confidence in himself
nor his unfaltering trust in God. All the cities which, but a few weeks
before, had so eagerly raised his standard, now fell off at once. He
went to Holland, the only province which remained true, and which still
looked up to him as its saviour, but he went thither expecting and
prepared to perish. "There I will make my sepulchre," was his simple and
sublime expression in a private letter to his brother.
He had advanced to the rescue of Louis, with city after city opening its
arms to receive him. He had expected to be joined on the march by
Coligny, at the head of a chosen army, and he was now obliged to leave
his brother to his fate, having the massacre of the Admiral and his
confederates substituted for their expected army of assistance, and with
every city and every province forsaking his cause as eagerly as they had
so lately embraced it. "It has pleased God," he said, "to take away
every hope which we could have founded upon man; the King has published
that the massacre was by his orders, and has forbidden all his subjects,
upon pain of death, to assist me; he has, moreover, sent succor to Alva.
Had it not been for this, we had been masters of the Duke, and should
have made him capitulate at our pleasure." Yet even then he was not cast
down.
Nor was his political sagacity liable to impeachment by the extent to
which he had been thus deceived by the French court. "So far from being
reprehensible that I did not suspect such a crime," he said, "I should
rather be chargeable with malignity had I been capable of so sinister a
suspicion. 'Tis not an ordinary thing to conceal such enormous
deliberations under the plausible cover of a marriage festival."
Meanwhile, Count Louis lay confined to his couch with a burning fever.
His soldiers refused any longer to hold the city, now that the altered
intentions of Charles IX. were known and the forces of Orange withdrawn.
Alva offered the most honorable conditions, and it was therefore
impossible for the Count to make longer resistance. The city was so
important, and time was at that moment so valuable that the Duke was
willing to forego his vengeance upon the rebel whom he so cordially
detested, and to be satisfied with depriving, him of the prize which he
had seized with such audacity. "It would have afforded me sincere
pleasure," wrote the Duke, "over and above the benefit to God and your
Majesty, to have had the Count of Nassau in my power. I would overleap
every obstacle to seize him, such is the particular hatred which I bear
the man." Under, the circumstances, however, he acknowledged that the
result of the council of war could only be to grant liberal terms.
On the 19th September, accordingly, articles of capitulation were signed
between the distinguished De la None with three others on the one part,
and the Seigneur de Noircarmes and three others on the side of Spain.
The town was given over to Alva, but all the soldiers were to go out with
their weapons and property. Those of the townspeople who had borne arms
against his Majesty, and all who still held to the Reformed religion,
were to retire with the soldiery. The troops were to pledge themselves
not to serve in future against the Kings of France or Spain, but from
this provision Louis, with his English and German soldiers, was expressly
excepted, the Count indignantly repudiating the idea of such a pledge, or
of discontinuing his hostilities for an instant. It was also agreed that
convoys should be furnished, and hostages exchanged, for the due
observance of the terms of the treaty. The preliminaries having been
thus settled, the patriot forces abandoned the town.
Count Louis, rising from his sick bed, paid his respects in person to the
victorious generals, at their request. He was received in Alva's camp
with an extraordinary show of admiration and esteem. The Duke of Medina
Coeli overwhelmed him with courtesies and "basolomanos," while Don
Frederic assured him, in the high-flown language of Spanish compliment,
that there was nothing which he would not do to serve him, and that he
would take a greater pleasure in executing his slightest wish than if he
had been his next of kin.
As the Count next day, still suffering with fever, and attired in his
long dressing-gown, was taking his departure from the city, he ordered
his carriage to stop at the entrance to Don Frederic's quarters. That
general, who had been standing incognito near the door, gazing with
honest admiration at the hero of so many a hard-fought field, withdrew
as he approached, that he might not give the invalid the trouble of
alighting. Louis, however, recognising him, addressed him with the
Spanish salutation, "Perdone vuestra Senoria la pesedumbre," and paused
at the gate. Don Frederic, from politeness to his condition, did not
present himself, but sent an aid-de-camp to express his compliments and
good wishes. Having exchanged these courtesies, Louis left the city,
conveyed, as had been agreed upon, by a guard of Spanish troops. There
was a deep meaning in the respect with which the Spanish generals had
treated the rebel chieftain. Although the massacre of Saint Bartholomew
met with Alva's entire approbation, yet it was his cue to affect a holy
horror at the event, and he avowed that he would "rather cut off both his
hands than be guilty of such a deed"--as if those hangman's hands had the
right to protest against any murder, however wholesale. Count Louis
suspected at once, and soon afterwards thoroughly understood; the real
motives of the chivalrous treatment which he had received. He well knew
that these very men would have sent him to the scaffold; had he fallen
into their power, and he therefore estimated their courtesy at its proper
value.
It was distinctly stated, in the capitulation of the city, that all the
soldiers, as well as such of the inhabitants as had borne arms, should be
allowed to leave the city, with all their property. The rest of the
people, it was agreed, might remain without molestation to their persons
or estates. It has been the general opinion of historians that the
articles of this convention were maintained by the conquerors in good
faith. Never was a more signal error. The capitulation was made late
at night, on the 20th September, without the provision which Charles IX.
had hoped for: the massacre, namely, of De la None and his companions.
As for Genlis and those who had been taken prisoners at his defeat,
their doom had already been sealed. The city was evacuated on the 21st
September: Alva entered it upon the 24th. Most of the volunteers
departed with the garrison, but many who had, most unfortunately,
prolonged their farewells to their families, trusting to the word of the
Spanish Captain Molinos, were thrown into prison. Noircarmes the butcher
of Valenciennes, now made his appearance in Mons. As grand bailiff of
Hainault, he came to the place as one in authority, and his deeds were
now to complete the infamy which must for ever surround his name.
In brutal violation of the terms upon which the town had surrendered,
he now set about the work of massacre and pillage. A Commission of
Troubles, in close imitation of the famous Blood Council at Brussels, was
established, the members of the tribunal being appointed by Noircarmes,
and all being inhabitants of the town. The council commenced proceedings
by condemning all the volunteers, although expressly included .in the
capitulation. Their wives and children were all banished; their property
all confiscated. On the 15th December, the executions commenced. The
intrepid De Leste, silk manufacturer, who had commanded a band of
volunteers, and sustained during the siege the assaults of Alva's troops
with remarkable courage at a very critical moment, was one of the
earliest victims. In consideration "that he was a gentleman, and not
among the most malicious," he was executed by sword. "In respect that he
heard the mass, and made a sweet and Catholic end," it was allowed that
he should be "buried in consecrated earth." Many others followed in
quick succession. Some were beheaded, some were hanged, some were burned
alive. All who had borne arms or worked at the fortifications were,
of course, put to death. Such as refused to confess and receive the
Catholic sacraments perished by fire. A poor wretch, accused of having
ridiculed these mysteries, had his tongue torn out before being beheaded.
A cobbler, named Blaise Bouzet, was hanged for having eaten meat-soup
upon Friday. He was also accused of going to the Protestant preachings
for the sake of participating in the alms distributed an these occasions,
a crime for which many other paupers were executed. An old man of sixty-
two was sent to the scaffold for having permitted his son to bear arms
among the volunteers. At last, when all pretexts were wanting to justify
executions; the council assigned as motives for its decrees an adhesion
of heart on the part of the victims to the cause of the insurgents,
or to the doctrines of the Reformed Church. Ten, twelve, twenty persons,
were often hanged, burned, or beheaded in a single day. Gibbets laden
with mutilated bodies lined the public highways,--while Noircarmes, by
frightful expressions of approbation, excited without ceasing the fury of
his satellites. This monster would perhaps, be less worthy of execration
had he been governed in these foul proceedings by fanatical bigotry or by
political hatred; but his motives were of the most sordid description.
It was mainly to acquire gold for himself that he ordained all this
carnage. With the same pen which signed the death-sentences of the
richest victims, he drew orders to his own benefit on their confiscated
property. The lion's share of the plunder was appropriated by himself.
He desired the estate; of Francois de Glarges, Seigneur d'Eslesmes. The
gentleman had committed no offence of any kind, and, moreover, lived.
beyond the French frontier. Nevertheless, in contempt of international
law, the neighbouring territory was invaded, and d'Eslesmes dragged
before the blood tribunal of Mons. Noircarmes had drawn up beforehand,
in his own handwriting, both the terms of the accusation and of the
sentence. The victim was innocent and a Catholic, but he was rich.
He confessed to have been twice at the preaching, from curiosity, and
to have omitted taking the sacrament at the previous Easter. For these
offences he was beheaded, and his confiscated estate adjudged at an
almost nominal price to the secretary of Noircarmes, bidding for his
master. "You can do me no greater pleasure," wrote Noircarmes to the
council, "than to make quick work with all these rebels, and to proceed
with the confiscation of their estates, real and personal. Don't fail to
put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got."