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Title: The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1559-60
Author: John Lothrop Motley
Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4805]
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Edition: 10
Language: English
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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 5.
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
ADMINISTRATION OF THE DUCHESS MARGARET.
1559-1560 [CHAPTER I.]
Biographical sketch and portrait of Margaret of Parma--The state
council--Berlaymont--Viglius--Sketch of William the Silent--Portrait
of Antony Perrenot, afterwards Cardinal Granvelle--General view of
the political, social and religious condition of the Netherlands--
Habits of the aristocracy--Emulation in extravagance--Pecuniary
embarrassments--Sympathy for the Reformation, steadily increasing
among the people, the true cause of the impending revolt--Measures
of the government.--Edict of 1550 described--Papal Bulls granted to
Philip for increasing the number of Bishops in the Netherlands--
Necessity for retaining the Spanish troops to enforce the policy of
persecution.
Margaret of Parma, newly appointed Regent of the Netherlands, was the
natural daughter of Charles the Fifth, and his eldest born child. Her
mother, of a respectable family called Van der Genst, in Oudenarde, had
been adopted and brought up by the distinguished house of Hoogstraaten.
Peculiar circumstances, not necessary to relate at length, had palliated
the fault to which Margaret owed her imperial origin, and gave the child
almost a legitimate claim upon its father's protection. The claim was
honorably acknowledged. Margaret was in her infancy placed by the
Emperor in the charge of his paternal aunt, Margaret of Savoy, then
Regent of the provinces. Upon the death of that princess, the child was
entrusted to the care of the Emperor's sister, Mary, Queen Dowager of
Hungary, who had succeeded to the government, and who occupied it until
the abdication. The huntress-queen communicated her tastes to her
youthful niece, and Margaret soon outrivalled her instructress. The
ardor with which she pursued the stag, and the courageous horsemanship
which she always displayed, proved her, too, no degenerate descendant of
Mary of Burgundy. Her education for the distinguished position in which
she had somewhat surreptitiously been placed was at least not neglected
in this particular. When, soon after the memorable sack of Rome, the
Pope and the Emperor had been reconciled, and it had been decided that
the Medici family should be elevated upon the ruins of Florentine
liberty, Margaret's hand was conferred in marriage upon the pontiff's
nephew Alexander. The wretched profligate who was thus selected to mate
with the Emperor's eldest born child and to appropriate the fair demesnes
of the Tuscan republic was nominally the offspring of Lorenzo de Medici
by a Moorish slave, although generally reputed a bastard of the Pope
himself. The nuptials were celebrated with great pomp at Naples, where
the Emperor rode at the tournament in the guise of a Moorish warrior.
At Florence splendid festivities had also been held, which were troubled
with omens believed to be highly unfavorable. It hardly needed, however,
preternatural appearances in heaven or on earth to proclaim the marriage
ill-starred which united a child of twelve years with a worn-out
debauchee of twenty-seven. Fortunately for Margaret, the funereal
portents proved true. Her husband, within the first year of their wedded
life, fell a victim to his own profligacy, and was assassinated by his
kinsman, Lorenzino de Medici. Cosmo, his successor in the tyranny of
Florence, was desirous of succeeding to the hand of Margaret, but the
politic Emperor, thinking that he had already done enough to conciliate
that house, was inclined to bind to his interests the family which now
occupied the papal throne. Margaret was accordingly a few years
afterwards united to Ottavio Farnese, nephew of Paul the Third. It was
still her fate to be unequally matched. Having while still a child been
wedded to a man of more than twice her years, she was now, at the age of
twenty, united to an immature youth of thirteen. She conceived so strong
an aversion to her new husband, that it became impossible for them to
live together in peace. Ottavio accordingly went to the wars, and in
1541 accompanied the Emperor in his memorable expedition to Barbary.
Rumors of disaster by battle and tempest reaching Europe before the
results of the expedition were accurately known, reports that the Emperor
had been lost in a storm, and that the young Ottavio had perished with
him, awakened remorse in the bosom of Margaret. It seemed to her that he
had been driven forth by domestic inclemency to fall a victim to the
elements. When, however, the truth became known, and it was ascertained
that her husband, although still living, was lying dangerously ill in the
charge of the Emperor, the repugnance which had been founded upon his
extreme youth changed to passionate fondness. His absence, and his
faithful military attendance upon her father, caused a revulsion in her
feelings, and awakened her admiration. When Ottavio, now created Duke of
Parma and Piacenza, returned to Rome, he was received by his wife with
open arms. Their union was soon blessed with twins, and but for a
certain imperiousness of disposition which Margaret had inherited from
her father, and which she was too apt to exercise even upon her husband,
the marriage would have been sufficiently fortunate.
Various considerations pointed her out to Philip as a suitable person for
the office of Regent, although there seemed some mystery about the
appointment which demanded explanation. It was thought that her birth
would make her acceptable to the people; but perhaps, the secret reason
with Philip was, that she alone of all other candidates would be amenable
to the control of the churchman in whose hand he intended placing the
real administration of the provinces. Moreover, her husband was very
desirous that the citadel of Piacenza, still garrisoned by Spanish
troops, should be surrendered to him. Philip was disposed to conciliate
the Duke, but unwilling to give up the fortress. He felt that Ottavio
would be flattered by the nomination of his wife to so important an
office, and be not too much dissatisfied at finding himself relieved for
a time from her imperious fondness. Her residence in the Netherlands
would guarantee domestic tranquillity to her husband, and peace in Italy
to the King. Margaret would be a hostage for the fidelity of the Duke,
who had, moreover, given his eldest son to Philip to be educated in his
service.
She was about thirty-seven years of age when she arrived in the
Netherlands, with the reputation of possessing high talents, and a proud
and energetic character. She was an enthusiastic Catholic, and had sat
at the feet of Loyola, who had been her confessor and spiritual guide.
She felt a greater horror for heretics than for any other species of
malefactors, and looked up to her father's bloody edicts as if they had
been special revelations from on high. She was most strenuous in her
observance of Roman rites, and was accustomed to wash the feet of twelve
virgins every holy week, and to endow them in marriage afterwards.--Her
acquirements, save that of the art of horsemanship, were not remarkable.
Carefully educated in the Machiavellian and Medicean school of politics,
she was versed in that "dissimulation," to which liberal Anglo-Saxons
give a shorter name, but which formed the main substance of statesmanship
at the court of Charles and Philip. In other respects her accomplishments
were but meagre, and she had little acquaintance with any language but
Italian. Her personal appearance, which was masculine, but not without
a certain grand and imperial fascination, harmonized with the opinion
generally entertained of her character. The famous moustache upon her
upper lips was supposed to indicate authority and virility of purpose,
an impression which was confirmed by the circumstance that she was liable
to severe attacks of gout, a disorder usually considered more appropriate
to the sterner sex.
Such were the previous career and public reputation of the Duchess
Margaret. It remains to be unfolded whether her character and
endowments, as exemplified in her new position, were to justify the
choice of Philip.
The members of the state council, as already observed, were Berlaymont,
Viglius, Arras, Orange, and Egmont.
The first was, likewise, chief of the finance department. Most of the
Catholic writers described him as a noble of loyal and highly honorable
character. Those of the Protestant party, on the contrary, uniformly
denounced him as greedy, avaricious, and extremely sanguinary. That he
was a brave and devoted soldier, a bitter papist, and an inflexible
adherent to the royal cause, has never been disputed. The Baron himself,
with his four courageous and accomplished sons, were ever in the front
ranks to defend the crown against the nation. It must be confessed,
however, that fanatical loyalty loses most of the romance with which
genius and poetry have so often hallowed the sentiment, when the
"legitimate" prince for whom the sword is drawn is not only an alien in
tongue and blood, but filled with undisguised hatred for the land he
claims to rule.
Viglius van Aytta van Zuichem was a learned Frisian, born, according to
some writers, of "boors' degree, but having no inclination for boorish
work". According to other authorities, which the President himself
favored, he was of noble origin; but, whatever his race, it is certain
that whether gentle or simple, it derived its first and only historical
illustration from his remarkable talents and acquirements. These in
early youth were so great as to acquire the commendation of Erasmus.
He had studied in Louvain, Paris, and Padua, had refused the tutorship
Philip when that prince was still a child, and had afterwards filled a
professorship at Ingolstadt. After rejecting several offers of promotion
from the Emperor, he had at last accepted in 1542 a seat in the council
of Mechlin, of which body he had become president in 1545. He had been
one of the peace commissioners to France in 1558, and was now president
of the privy council, a member of the state council, and of the inner and
secret committee of that board, called the Consults. Much odium was
attached to his name for his share in the composition of the famous edict
of 1550. The rough draught was usually attributed to his pen, but he
complained bitterly, in letters written at this time, of injustice done
him in this respect, and maintained that he had endeavored, without
success, to induce the Emperor to mitigate the severity of the edict.
One does not feel very strongly inclined to accept his excuses, however,
when his general opinions on the subject of religion are remembered. He
was most bigoted in precept and practice. Religious liberty he regarded
as the most detestable and baleful of doctrines; heresy he denounced as
the most unpardonable of crimes.
From no man's mouth flowed more bitter or more elegant commonplaces than
from that of the learned president against those blackest of malefactors,
the men who claimed within their own walls the right to worship God
according to their own consciences. For a common person, not learned in
law or divinity, to enter into his closet, to shut the door, and to pray
to Him who seeth in secret, was, in his opinion, to open wide the gate of
destruction for all the land, and to bring in the Father of Evil at once
to fly away with the whole population, body and soul. "If every man,"
said he to Hopper, "is to believe what he likes in his own house, we
shall have hearth gods and tutelar divinities, again, the country will
swarm with a thousand errors and sects, and very few there will be, I
fear, who will allow themselves to be enclosed in the sheepfold of
Christ. I have ever considered this opinion," continued the president,
"the most pernicious of all. They who hold it have a contempt for all
religion, and are neither more nor less than atheists. This vague,
fireside liberty should be by every possible means extirpated; therefore
did Christ institute shepherds to drive his wandering sheep back into the
fold of the true Church; thus only can we guard the lambs against the
ravening wolves, and prevent their being carried away from the flock of
Christ to the flock of Belial. Liberty of religion, or of conscience, as
they call it, ought never to be tolerated."
This was the cant with which Viglius was ever ready to feed not only his
faithful Hopper, but all the world beside. The president was naturally
anxious that the fold of Christ should be entrusted to none but regular
shepherds, for he looked forward to taking one of the most lucrative
crooks into his own hand, when he should retire from his secular career.
It is now necessary to say a few introductory words concerning the man
who, from this time forth, begins to rise upon the history of his country
with daily increasing grandeur and influence. William of Nassau, Prince
of Orange, although still young in years, is already the central
personage about whom the events and the characters of the epoch most
naturally group themselves; destined as he is to become more and more
with each succeeding year the vivifying source of light, strength, and
national life to a whole people.
The Nassau family first emerges into distinct existence in the middle of
the eleventh century. It divides itself almost as soon as known into two
great branches. The elder remained in Germany, ascended the imperial
throne in the thirteenth century in the person of Adolph of Nassau and
gave to the country many electors, bishops, and generals. The younger
and more illustrious branch retained the modest property and petty
sovereignty of Nassau Dillenbourg, but at the same time transplanted
itself to the Netherlands, where it attained at an early period to great
power and large possessions. The ancestors of William, as Dukes of
Gueldres, had begun to exercise sovereignty in the provinces four
centuries before the advent of the house of Burgundy. That overshadowing
family afterwards numbered the Netherland Nassaus among its most stanch
and powerful adherents. Engelbert the Second was distinguished in the
turbulent councils and in the battle-fields of Charles the Bold, and was
afterwards the unwavering supporter of Maximilian, in court and camp.
Dying childless, he was succeeded by his brother John, whose two sons,
Henry and William, of Nassau, divided the great inheritance after their
father's death, William succeeded to the German estates, became a convert
to Protestantism, and introduced the Reformation into his dominions.
Henry, the eldest son, received the family possessions and titles in
Luxembourg, Brabant, Flanders and Holland, and distinguished himself as
much as his uncle Engelbert, in the service of the Burgundo-Austrian
house. The confidential friend of Charles the Fifth, whose governor he
had been in that Emperor's boyhood, he was ever his most efficient and
reliable adherent. It was he whose influence placed the imperial crown
upon the head of Charles. In 1515 he espoused Claudia de Chalons, sister
of Prince Philibert of Orange, "in order," as he wrote to his father,
"to be obedient to his imperial Majesty, to please the King of France,
and more particularly for the sake of his own honor and profit."
His son Rene de Nassau-Chalons succeeded Philibert. The little
principality of Orange, so pleasantly situated between Provence and
Dauphiny, but in such dangerous proximity to the seat of the "Babylonian
captivity" of the popes at Avignon, thus passed to the family of Nassau.
The title was of high antiquity. Already in the reign of Charlemagne,
Guillaume au Court-Nez, or "William with the Short Nose," had defended
the little--town of Orange against the assaults of the Saracens. The
interest and authority acquired in the demesnes thus preserved by his
valor became extensive, and in process of time hereditary in his race.
The principality became an absolute and free sovereignty, and had already
descended, in defiance of the Salic law, through the three distinct
families of Orange, Baux, and Chalons.
In 1544, Prince Rene died at the Emperor's feet in the trenches of Saint
Dizier. Having no legitimate children, he left all his titles and
estates to his cousin-german, William of Nassau, son of his father's
brother William, who thus at the age of eleven years became William the
Ninth of Orange. For this child, whom the future was to summon to such
high destinies and such heroic sacrifices, the past and present seemed to
have gathered riches and power together from many sources. He was the
descendant of the Othos, the Engelberts, and the Henries, of the
Netherlands, the representative of the Philiberts and the Renes of
France; the chief of a house, humbler in resources and position in
Germany, but still of high rank, and which had already done good service
to humanity by being among the first to embrace the great principles of
the Reformation.
His father, younger brother of the Emperor's friend Henry, was called
William the Rich. He was, however, only rich in children. Of these he
had five sons and seven daughters by his wife Juliana of Stolberg. She
was a person of most exemplary character and unaffected piety. She
instilled into the minds of all her children the elements of that
devotional sentiment which was her own striking characteristic, and it
was destined that the seed sown early should increase to an abundant
harvest. Nothing can be more tender or more touching than the letters
which still exist from her hand, written to her illustrious sons in hours
of anxiety or anguish, and to the last, recommending to them with as much
earnest simplicity as if they were still little children at her knee, to
rely always in the midst of the trials and dangers which were to beset
their paths through life, upon the great hand of God. Among the mothers
of great men, Juliana of Stolberg deserves a foremost place, and it is no
slight eulogy that she was worthy to have been the mother of William of
Orange and of Lewis, Adolphus, Henry, and John of Nassau.
At the age of eleven years, William having thus unexpectedly succeeded to
such great possessions, was sent from his father's roof to be educated in
Brussels. No destiny seemed to lie before the young prince but an
education at the Emperor's court, to be followed by military adventures,
embassies, viceroyalties, and a life of luxury and magnificence. At a
very early age he came, accordingly, as a page into the Emperor's family.
Charles recognized, with his customary quickness, the remarkable
character of the boy. At fifteen, William was the intimate, almost
confidential friend of the Emperor, who prided himself, above all other
gifts, on his power of reading and of using men. The youth was so
constant an attendant upon his imperial chief that even when interviews
with the highest personages, and upon the gravest affairs, were taking
place, Charles would never suffer him to be considered superfluous or
intrusive. There seemed to be no secrets which the Emperor held too high
for the comprehension or discretion of his page. His perceptive and
reflective faculties, naturally of remarkable keenness and depth, thus
acquired a precocious and extraordinary development. He was brought up
behind the curtain of that great stage where the world's dramas were
daily enacted. The machinery and the masks which produced the grand
delusions of history had no deceptions for him. Carefully to observe
men's actions, and silently to ponder upon their motives, was the
favorite occupation of the Prince during his apprenticeship at court.
As he advanced to man's estate, he was selected by the Emperor for the
highest duties. Charles, whose only merit, so far as the provinces were
concerned, was in having been born in Ghent, and that by an ignoble
accident, was glad to employ this representative of so many great
Netherland houses, in the defence of the land. Before the Prince was
twenty-one he was appointed general-in-chief of the army on the French
frontier, in the absence of the Duke of Savoy. The post was coveted by
many most distinguished soldiers: the Counts of Buren, Bossu, Lalaing,
Aremberg, Meghem, and particularly by Count Egmont; yet Charles showed
his extraordinary confidence in the Prince of Orange, by selecting him
for the station, although he had hardly reached maturity, and was
moreover absent in France. The young Prince acquitted himself of his
high command in a manner which justified his appointment.
It was the Prince's shoulder upon which the Emperor leaned at the
abdication; the Prince's hand which bore the imperial insignia of the
discrowned monarch to Ferdinand, at Augsburg. With these duties his
relations with Charles were ended, and those with Philip begun. He was
with the army during the hostilities which were soon after resumed in
Picardy; he was the secret negotiator of the preliminary arrangement with
France, soon afterwards confirmed by the triumphant treaty of April,
1559. He had conducted these initiatory conferences with the Constable
Montmorency and Marshal de Saint Andre with great sagacity, although
hardly a man in years, and by so doing he had laid Philip under deep
obligations. The King was so inexpressibly anxious for peace that he
would have been capable of conducting a treaty upon almost any terms.
He assured the Prince that "the greatest service he could render him in
this world was to make peace, and that he desired to have it at any price
what ever, so eager was he to return to Spain." To the envoy Suriano,
Philip had held the same language. "Oh, Ambassador," said he, "I wish
peace on any terms, and if the King of France had not sued for it, I
would have begged for it myself."
With such impatience on the part of the sovereign, it certainly
manifested diplomatic abilities of a high character in the Prince,
that the treaty negotiated by him amounted to a capitulation by France.
He was one of the hostages selected by Henry for the due execution of the
treaty, and while in France made that remarkable discovery which was to
color his life. While hunting with the King in the forest of Vincennes,
the Prince and Henry found themselves alone together, and separated from
the rest of the company. The French monarch's mind was full of the great
scheme which had just secretly been formed by Philip and himself, to
extirpate Protestantism by a general extirpation of Protestants. Philip
had been most anxious to conclude the public treaty with France, that he
might be the sooner able to negotiate that secret convention by which he
and his Most Christian Majesty were solemnly to bind themselves to
massacre all the converts to the new religion in France and the
Netherlands. This conspiracy of the two Kings against their subjects was
the matter nearest the hearts of both. The Duke of Alva, a fellow
hostage with William of Orange, was the plenipotentiary to conduct this
more important arrangement. The French monarch, somewhat imprudently
imagining that the Prince was also a party to the plot, opened the whole
subject to him without reserve. He complained of the constantly
increasing numbers of sectaries in his kingdom, and protested that his
conscience would never be easy, nor his state secure until his realm
should be delivered of "that accursed vermin." A civil revolution, under
pretext of a religious reformation, was his constant apprehension,
particularly since so many notable personages in the realm, and even
princes of the blood, were already tainted with heresy. Nevertheless,
with the favor of heaven, and the assistance of his son and brother
Philip, he hoped soon to be master of the rebels. The King then
proceeded, with cynical minuteness, to lay before his discreet companion
the particulars of the royal plot, and the manner in which all heretics,
whether high or humble, were to be discovered and massacred at the most
convenient season. For the furtherance of the scheme in the Netherlands,
it was understood that the Spanish regiments would be exceedingly
efficient. The Prince, although horror-struck and indignant at the royal
revelations, held his peace, and kept his countenance. The King was not
aware that, in opening this delicate negotiation to Alva's colleague and
Philip's plenipotentiary, he had given a warning of inestimable value to
the man who had been born to resist the machinations of Philip and of
Alva. William of Orange earned the surname of "the Silent," from the
manner in which he received these communications of Henry without
revealing to the monarch, by word or look, the enormous blunder which he
had committed. His purpose was fixed from that hour. A few days
afterwards he obtained permission to visit the Netherlands, where he
took measures to excite, with all his influence, the strongest and most
general opposition to the continued presence of the Spanish troops, of
which forces, touch against his will, he had been, in conjunction with
Egmont, appointed chief. He already felt, in his own language, that "an
inquisition for the Netherlands had been, resolved upon more cruel than
that of Spain; since it would need but to look askance at an image to be
cast into the flames." Although having as yet no spark of religious
sympathy for the reformers, he could not, he said, "but feel compassion
for so many virtuous men and women thus devoted to massacre," and he
determined to save them if he could!' At the departure of Philip he had
received instructions, both patent and secret, for his guidance as
stadholder of Holland, Friesland, and Utrecht. He was ordered "most
expressly to correct and extirpate the sects reprobated by our Holy
Mother Church; to execute the edicts of his Imperial Majesty, renewed by
the King, with absolute rigor. He was to see that the judges carried out
the edicts, without infraction, alteration, or moderation, since they
were there to enforce, not to make or to discuss the law." In his secret
instructions he was informed that the execution of the edicts was to be
with all rigor, and without any respect of persons. He was also reminded
that, whereas some persons had imagined the severity of the law "to be
only intended against Anabaptists, on the contrary, the edicts were to be
enforced on Lutherans and all other sectaries without distinction."
Moreover, in one of his last interviews with Philip, the King had given
him the names of several "excellent persons suspected of the new
religion," and had commanded him to have them put to death. This,
however, he not only omitted to do, but on the contrary gave them
warning, so that they might effect their escape, "thinking it more
necessary to obey God than man."
William of Orange, at the departure of the King for Spain, was in his
twenty-seventh year. He was a widower; his first wife, Anne of Egmont,
having died in 1558, after seven years of wedlock. This lady, to whom
he had been united when they were both eighteen years of age, was the
daughter of the celebrated general, Count de Buren, and the greatest
heiress in the Netherlands. William had thus been faithful to the family
traditions, and had increased his possessions by a wealthy alliance.
He had two children, Philip and Mary. The marriage had been more
amicable than princely marriages arranged for convenience often prove.
The letters of the Prince to his wife indicate tenderness and
contentment. At the same time he was accused, at a later period, of
"having murdered her with a dagger." The ridiculous tale was not even
credited by those who reported it, but it is worth mentioning, as a proof
that no calumny was too senseless to be invented concerning the man whose
character was from that hour forth to be the mark of slander, and whose
whole life was to be its signal, although often unavailing, refutation.
Yet we are not to regard William of Orange, thus on the threshold of his
great career, by the light diffused from a somewhat later period. In no
historical character more remarkably than in his is the law of constant
development and progress illustrated. At twenty-six he is not the "pater
patriae," the great man struggling upward and onward against a host of
enemies and obstacles almost beyond human strength, and along the dark
and dangerous path leading through conflict, privation, and ceaseless
labor to no repose but death. On the contrary, his foot was hardly on
the first step of that difficult ascent which was to rise before him all
his lifetime. He was still among the primrose paths. He was rich,
powerful, of sovereign rank. He had only the germs within him of what
was thereafter to expand into moral and intellectual greatness. He had
small sympathy for the religious reformation, of which he was to be one
of the most distinguished champions. He was a Catholic, nominally, and
in outward observance. With doctrines he troubled himself but little.
He had given orders to enforce conformity to the ancient Church, not with
bloodshed, yet with comparative strictness, in his principality of
Orange. Beyond the compliance with rites and forms, thought
indispensable in those days to a personage of such high degree, he did
not occupy himself with theology. He was a Catholic, as Egmont and Horn,
Berlaymont and Mansfeld, Montigny and even Brederode, were Catholic. It
was only tanners, dyers and apostate priests who were Protestants at that
day in the Netherlands. His determination to protect a multitude of his
harmless inferiors from horrible deaths did not proceed from sympathy
with their religious sentiments, but merely from a generous and manly
detestation of murder. He carefully averted his mind from sacred
matters. If indeed the seed implanted by his pious parents were really
the germ of his future conversion to Protestantism, it must be confessed
that it lay dormant a long time. But his mind was in other pursuits.
He was disposed for an easy, joyous, luxurious, princely life. Banquets,
masquerades, tournaments, the chase, interspersed with the routine of
official duties, civil and military, seemed likely to fill out his life.
His hospitality, like his fortune, was almost regal. While the King and
the foreign envoys were still in the Netherlands, his house, the splendid
Nassau palace of Brussels, was ever open. He entertained for the
monarch, who was, or who imagined himself to be, too poor to discharge
his own duties in this respect, but he entertained at his own expense.
This splendid household was still continued. Twenty-four noblemen and
eighteen pages of gentle birth officiated regularly in his family. His
establishment was on so extensive a scale that upon one day twenty-eight
master cooks were dismissed, for the purpose of diminishing the family
expenses, and there was hardly a princely house in Germany which did not
send cooks to learn their business in so magnificent a kitchen. The
reputation of his table remained undiminished for years. We find at
a later period, that Philip, in the course of one of the nominal
reconciliations which took place several times between the monarch and
William of Orange, wrote that, his head cook being dead, he begged the
Prince to "make him a present of his chief cook, Master Herman, who was
understood to be very skilful."
In this hospitable mansion, the feasting continued night and day. From
early morning till noon, the breakfast-tables were spread with wines and
luxurious viands in constant succession, to all comers and at every
moment.--The dinner and supper were daily banquets for a multitude of
guests. The highest nobles were not those alone who were entertained.
Men of lower degree were welcomed with a charming hospitality which made
them feel themselves at their ease. Contemporaries of all parties unite
in eulogizing the winning address and gentle manners of the Prince.
"Never," says a most bitter Catholic historian, "did an arrogant or
indiscreet word fall from his lips. He, upon no occasion, manifested
anger to his servants, however much they might be in fault, but contented
himself with admonishing them graciously, without menace or insult.
He had a gentle and agreeable tongue, with which he could turn all the
gentlemen at court any way he liked. He was beloved and honored by the
whole community." His manner was graceful, familiar, caressing, and yet
dignified. He had the good breeding which comes from the heart, refined
into an inexpressible charm from his constant intercourse, almost from
his cradle, with mankind of all ranks.
It may be supposed that this train of living was attended with expense.
Moreover, he had various other establishments in town and country;
besides his almost royal residence in Brussels. He was ardently fond of
the chase, particularly of the knightly sport of falconry. In the
country he "consoled himself by taking every day a heron in the clouds."
His falconers alone cost him annually fifteen hundred florins, after he
had reduced their expenses to the lowest possible point. He was much in
debt, even at this early period and with his princely fortune. "We come
of a race," he wrote carelessly to his brother Louis, "who are somewhat
bad managers in our young days, but when we grow older, we do better,
like our late father: 'sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper et in
secula seculorum'. My greatest difficulty," he adds, "as usual, is on
account of the falconers."
His debts already amounted, according to Granvelle's statement, to
800,000 or 900,000 florins. He had embarrassed himself, not only through
his splendid extravagance, by which all the world about him were made to
partake of his wealth, but by accepting the high offices to which he had
been appointed. When general-in-chief on the frontier, his salary was
three hundred florins monthly; "not enough," as he said, "to pay the
servants in his tent," his necessary expenses being twenty-five hundred
florins, as appears by a letter to his wife. His embassy to carry the
crown to Ferdinand, and his subsequent residence as a hostage for the
treaty in Paris, were also very onerous, and he received no salary;
according to the economical system in this respect pursued by Charles and
Philip. In these two embassies or missions alone, together with the
entertainments offered by him to the court and to foreigners, after the
peace at Brussels, the Prince spent, according to his own estimate,
1,500,000 florins. He was, however, although deeply, not desperately
involved, and had already taken active measures to regulate and reduce
his establishment. His revenues were vast, both in his own right and in
that of his deceased wife. He had large claims upon the royal treasury
for service and expenditure. He had besides ample sums to receive from
the ransoms of the prisoners of St. Quentin and Gravelines, having served
in both campaigns. The amount to be received by individuals from this
source may be estimated from the fact that Count Horn, by no means one
of the most favored in the victorious armies, had received from Leonor
d'Orleans, Due de Loggieville, a ransom of eighty thousand crowns. The
sum due, if payment were enforced, from the prisoners assigned to Egmont,
Orange, and others, must have been very large. Granvelle estimated the
whole amount at two millions; adding, characteristically, "that this kind
of speculation was a practice" which our good old fathers, lovers of
virtue, would not have found laudable. In this the churchman was right,
but he might have added that the "lovers of virtue" would have found it
as little "laudable" for ecclesiastics to dispose of the sacred offices
in their gift, for carpets, tapestry, and annual payments of certain
percentages upon the cure of souls. If the profits respectively gained
by military and clerical speculators in that day should be compared, the
disadvantage would hardly be found to lie with those of the long robe.
Such, then, at the beginning of 1560, was William of Orange; a generous,
stately, magnificent, powerful grandee. As a military commander, he had
acquitted himself very creditably of highly important functions at an
early age. Nevertheless it was the opinion of many persons, that he was
of a timid temperament. He was even accused of having manifested an
unseemly panic at Philippeville, and of having only been restrained by
the expostulations of his officers, from abandoning both that fortress
and Charlemont to Admiral Coligny, who had made his appearance in the
neighborhood, merely at the head of a reconnoitring party. If the story
were true, it would be chiefly important as indicating that the Prince of
Orange was one of the many historical characters, originally of an
excitable and even timorous physical organization, whom moral courage and
a strong will have afterwards converted into dauntless heroes. Certain
it is that he was destined to confront open danger in every form, that
his path was to lead through perpetual ambush, yet that his cheerful
confidence and tranquil courage were to become not only unquestionable
but proverbial. It may be safely asserted, however, that the story was
an invention to be classed with those fictions which made him the
murderer of his first wife, a common conspirator against Philip's crown
and person, and a crafty malefactor in general, without a single virtue.
It must be remembered that even the terrible Alva, who lived in harness
almost from the cradle to the grave, was, so late as at this period,
censured for timidity, and had been accused in youth of flat cowardice.
He despised the insinuation, which for him had no meaning. There is no
doubt too that caution was a predominant characteristic of the Prince.
It was one of the chief sources of his greatness. At that period,
perhaps at any period, he would have been incapable of such brilliant and
dashing exploits as had made the name of Egmont so famous. It had even
become a proverb, "the counsel of Orange, the execution of Egmont," yet
we shall have occasion to see how far this physical promptness which had
been so felicitous upon the battle-field was likely to avail the hero of
St. Quentin in the great political combat which was approaching.
As to the talents of the Prince, there was no difference of opinion. His
enemies never contested the subtlety and breadth of his intellect, his
adroitness and capacity in conducting state affairs, his knowledge of
human nature, and the profoundness of his views. In many respects it
must be confessed that his surname of The Silent, like many similar
appellations, was a misnomer. William of Orange was neither "silent" nor
"taciturn," yet these are the epithets which will be forever associated
with the name of a man who, in private, was the most affable, cheerful,
and delightful of companions, and who on a thousand great public
occasions was to prove himself, both by pen and by speech, the most
eloquent man of his age. His mental accomplishments were considerable:
He had studied history with attention, and he spoke and wrote with
facility Latin, French, German, Flemish, and Spanish.
The man, however, in whose hands the administration of the Netherlands
was in reality placed, was Anthony Perrenot, then Bishop of Arras, soon
to be known by the more celebrated title of Cardinal Granvelle. He was
the chief of the Consults, or secret council of three, by whose
deliberations the Duchess Regent was to be governed. His father,
Nicholas Perrenot, of an obscure family in Burgundy, had been long the
favorite minister and man of business to the Emperor Charles. Anthony,
the eldest of thirteen children, was born in 1517. He was early
distinguished for his talents. He studied at Dole, Padua, Paris, and
Louvain. At, the age of twenty he spoke seven languages with perfect
facility, while his acquaintance with civil and ecclesiastical laws was
considered prodigious. At the age of twenty-three he became a canon of
Liege Cathedral. The necessary eight quarters of gentility produced upon
that occasion have accordingly been displayed by his panegyrists in
triumphant refutation of that theory which gave him a blacksmith for his
grandfather. At the same period, although he had not reached the
requisite age, the rich bishopric of Arras had already been prepared
for him by his father's care. Three years afterwards, in 1543, he
distinguished himself by a most learned and brilliant harangue before
the Council of Trent, by which display he so much charmed the Emperor,
that he created him councillor of state. A few years afterwards he
rendered the unscrupulous Charles still more valuable proofs of devotion
and dexterity by the part he played in the memorable imprisonment of the
Landgrave of Hesse and the Saxon Dukes. He was thereafter constantly
employed in embassies and other offices of trust and profit.
There was no doubt as to his profound and varied learning, nor as to his
natural quickness and dexterity. He was ready witted, smooth and fluent
of tongue, fertile in expedients, courageous, resolute. He thoroughly
understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors. He knew
how to govern under the appearance of obeying. He possessed exquisite
tact in appreciating the characters of those far above him in rank and
beneath him in intellect. He could accommodate himself with great
readiness to the idiosyncrasies of sovereigns. He was a chameleon to
the hand which fed him. In his intercourse with the King, he colored
himself, as it were, with the King's character. He was not himself, but
Philip; not the sullen, hesitating, confused Philip, however, but Philip
endowed with eloquence, readiness, facility. The King ever found himself
anticipated with the most delicate obsequiousness, beheld his struggling
ideas change into winged words without ceasing to be his own. No
flattery could be more adroit. The bishop accommodated himself to
the King's epistolary habits. The silver-tongued and ready debater
substituted protocols for conversation, in deference to a monarch who
could not speak. He corresponded with Philip, with Margaret of Parma,
with every one. He wrote folios to the Duchess when they were in the
same palace. He would write letters forty pages long to the King, and
send off another courier on the same day with two or three additional
despatches of identical date. Such prolixity enchanted the King, whose
greediness for business epistles was insatiable. The painstaking monarch
toiled, pen in hand, after his wonderful minister in vain. Philip was
only fit to be the bishop's clerk; yet he imagined himself to be the
directing and governing power. He scrawled apostilles in the margins to
prove that he had read with attention, and persuaded himself that he
suggested when he scarcely even comprehended. The bishop gave advice and
issued instructions when he seemed to be only receiving them. He was the
substance while he affected to be the shadow. These tactics were
comparatively easy and likely to be triumphant, so long as he had only to
deal with inferior intellects like those of Philip and Margaret. When he
should be matched against political genius and lofty character combined,
it was possible that his resources might not prove so all-sufficient.
His political principles were sharply defined in reality, but smoothed
over by a conventional and decorous benevolence of language, which
deceived vulgar minds. He was a strict absolutist. His deference to
arbitrary power was profound and slavish. God and "the master," as he
always called Philip, he professed to serve with equal humility. "It
seems to me," said he, in a letter of this epoch, "that I shall never be
able to fulfil the obligation of slave which I owe to your majesty, to
whom I am bound by so firm a chain;--at any rate, I shall never fail to
struggle for that end with sincerity."
As a matter of course, he was a firm opponent of the national rights of
the Netherlands, however artfully he disguised the sharp sword of violent
absolutism under a garland of flourishing phraseology. He had
strenuously warned Philip against assembling the States-general before
his departure for the sake of asking them for supplies. He earnestly
deprecated allowing the constitutional authorities any control over the
expenditures of the government, and averred that this practice under the
Regent Mary had been the cause of endless trouble. It may easily be
supposed that other rights were as little to his taste as the claim to
vote the subsidies, a privilege which was in reality indisputable. Men
who stood forth in defence of the provincial constitutions were, in his
opinion, mere demagogues and hypocrites; their only motive being to curry
favor with the populace. Yet these charters were, after all,
sufficiently limited. The natural rights of man were topics which had
never been broached. Man had only natural wrongs. None ventured to
doubt that sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God. The rights of
the Netherlands were special, not general; plural, not singular;
liberties, not liberty; "privileges," not maxims. They were practical,
not theoretical; historical, not philosophical. Still, such as they
were, they were facts, acquisitions. They had been purchased by the
blood and toil of brave ancestors; they amounted--however open to
criticism upon broad humanitarian grounds, of which few at that day had
ever dreamed--to a solid, substantial dyke against the arbitrary power
which was ever chafing and fretting to destroy its barriers. No men
were more subtle or more diligent in corroding the foundation of these
bulwarks than the disciples of Granvelle. Yet one would have thought
it possible to tolerate an amount of practical freedom so different
from the wild, social speculations which in later days, have made both
tyrants and reasonable lovers of our race tremble with apprehension.
The Netherlanders claimed, mainly, the right to vote the money which was
demanded in such enormous profusion from their painfully-acquired wealth;
they were also unwilling to be burned alive if they objected to
transubstantiation. Granvelle was most distinctly of an opposite opinion
upon both topics. He strenuously deprecated the interference of the
states with the subsidies, and it was by his advice that the remorseless
edict of 1550, the Emperor's ordinance of blood and fire, was re-enacted,
as the very first measure of Philip's reign. Such were his sentiments as
to national and popular rights by representation. For the people itself
--"that vile and mischievous animal called the people"--as he expressed
it, he entertained a cheerful contempt.
His aptitude for managing men was very great; his capacity for affairs
incontestable; but it must be always understood as the capacity for the
affairs of absolutism. He was a clever, scheming politician, an adroit
manager; it remained to be seen whether he had a claim to the character
of a statesman. His industry was enormous. He could write fifty letters
a day with his own hand. He could dictate to half a dozen amanuenses at
once, on as many different subjects, in as many different languages, and
send them all away exhausted.
He was already rich. His income from his see and other livings was
estimated, in 1557, at ten thousand dollars--[1885 approximation. The
decimal point more places to the right would in 2000 not be out of line.
D.W.]--; his property in ready money, "furniture, tapestry, and the
like," at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When it is considered
that, as compared with our times, these sums represent a revenue of a
hundred thousand, and a capital of two millions and a half in addition,
it may be safely asserted that the prelate had at least made a good
beginning. Besides his regular income, moreover, he had handsome
receipts from that simony which was reduced to a system, and which gave
him a liberal profit, generally in the shape of an annuity, upon every
benefice which he conferred. He was, however, by no means satisfied.
His appetite was as boundless as the sea; he was still a shameless
mendicant of pecuniary favors and lucrative offices. Already, in 1552,
the Emperor had roundly rebuked his greediness. "As to what you say of
getting no 'merced' nor 'ayuda de costa,'" said he, "'tis merced and
ayuda de costa quite sufficient, when one has fat benefices, pensions,
and salaries, with which a man might manage to support himself." The
bishop, however, was not easily abashed, and he was at the epoch which
now occupies us, earnestly and successfully soliciting from Philip the
lucrative abbey of Saint Armand. Not that he would have accepted this
preferment, "could the abbey have been annexed to any of the new
bishoprics;" on the contrary, he assured the king that "to carry out so
holy a work as the erection of those new sees, he would willingly have
contributed even out of his own miserable pittance."
It not being considered expedient to confiscate the abbey to any
particular bishop, Philip accordingly presented it to the prelate of
Arras, together with a handsome sum of money in the shape of an "ayuda de
costa" beside. The thrifty bishop, who foresaw the advent of troublous
times in the Netherlands, however, took care in the letters by which he
sent his thanks, to instruct the King to secure the money upon crown
property in Arragon, Naples, and Sicily, as matters in the provinces were
beginning to look very precarious.
Such, at the commencement of the Duchess Margaret's administration, were
the characters and the previous histories of the persons into whose hands
the Netherlands were entrusted. None of them have been prejudged. We
have contented ourselves with stating the facts with regard to all, up to
the period at which we have arrived. Their characters have been
sketched, not according to subsequent developments, but as they appeared
at the opening of this important epoch.
The aspect of the country and its inhabitants offered many sharp
contrasts, and revealed many sources of future trouble.
The aristocracy of the Netherlands was excessively extravagant,
dissipated, and already considerably embarrassed in circumstances. It
had been the policy of the Emperor and of Philip to confer high offices,
civil, military, and diplomatic, upon the leading nobles, by which
enormous expenses were entailed upon them, without any corresponding
salaries. The case of Orange has been already alluded to, and there were
many other nobles less able to afford the expense, who had been indulged
with these ruinous honors. During the war, there had been, however, many
chances of bettering broken fortunes. Victory brought immense prizes to
the leading officers. The ransoms of so many illustrious prisoners as
had graced the triumphs of Saint Quentin and Gravelines had been
extremely profitable. These sources of wealth had now been cut off; yet,
on the departure of the King from the Netherlands, the luxury increased
instead of diminishing, "Instead of one court," said a contemporary, "you
would have said that there were fifty." Nothing could be more sumptuous
than the modes of life in Brussels. The household of Orange has been
already painted. That of Egmont was almost as magnificent. A rivalry in
hospitality and in display began among the highest nobles, and extended
to those less able to maintain themselves in the contest. During the war
there had been the valiant emulation of the battlefield; gentlemen had
vied with each other how best to illustrate an ancient name with deeds of
desperate valor, to repair the fortunes of a ruined house with the spoils
of war. They now sought to surpass each other in splendid extravagance.
It was an eager competition who should build the stateliest palaces, have
the greatest number of noble pages and gentlemen in waiting, the most
gorgeous liveries, the most hospitable tables, the most scientific cooks.
There was, also, much depravity as well as extravagance. The morals of
high society were loose. Gaming was practised to a frightful extent.
Drunkenness was a prevailing characteristic of the higher classes. Even
the Prince of Orange himself, at this period, although never addicted to
habitual excess, was extremely convivial in his tastes, tolerating scenes
and companions, not likely at a later day to find much favor in his
sight. "We kept Saint Martin's joyously," he wrote, at about this
period, to his brother, "and in the most jovial company. Brederode was
one day in such a state that I thought he would certainly die, but he has
now got over it." Count Brederode, soon afterwards to become so
conspicuous in the early scenes of the revolt, was, in truth, most
notorious for his performances in these banqueting scenes. He appeared
to have vowed as uncompromising hostility to cold water as to the
inquisition, and always denounced both with the same fierce and ludicrous
vehemence. Their constant connection with Germany at that period did not
improve the sobriety of the Netherlands' nobles. The aristocracy of that
country, as is well known, were most "potent at potting." "When the
German finds himself sober," said the bitter Badovaro, "he believes
himself to be ill." Gladly, since the peace, they had welcomed the
opportunities afforded for many a deep carouse with their Netherlands
cousins. The approaching marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Saxon
princess--an episode which will soon engage our attention--gave rise to
tremendous orgies. Count Schwartzburg, the Prince's brother-in-law, and
one of the negotiators of the marriage, found many occasions to
strengthen the bonds of harmony between the countries by indulgence of
these common tastes. "I have had many princes and counts at my table,"
he wrote to Orange, "where a good deal more was drunk than eaten. The
Rhinegrave's brother fell down dead after drinking too much malvoisie;
but we have had him balsamed and sent home to his family."
These disorders among the higher ranks were in reality so extensive as
to justify the biting remark of the Venetian: "The gentlemen intoxicate
themselves every day," said he, "and the ladies also; but much less than
the men." His remarks as to the morality, in other respects, of both
sexes were equally sweeping, and not more complimentary.
If these were the characteristics of the most distinguished society,
it may be supposed that they were reproduced with more or less intensity
throughout all the more remote but concentric circles of life, as far as
the seductive splendor of the court could radiate. The lesser nobles
emulated the grandees, and vied with each other in splendid
establishments, banquets, masquerades, and equipages. The natural
consequences of such extravagance followed. Their estates were
mortgaged, deeply and more deeply; then, after a few years, sold to the
merchants, or rich advocates and other gentlemen of the robe, to whom
they had been pledged. The more closely ruin stared the victims in the
face, the more heedlessly did they plunge into excesses. "Such were the
circumstances," moralizes a Catholic writer, "to which, at an earlier
period, the affairs of Catiline, Cethegus, Lentulus, and others of that
faction had been reduced, when they undertook to overthrow the Roman
republic." Many of the nobles being thus embarrassed, and some even
desperate, in their condition, it was thought that they were desirous of
creating disturbances in the commonwealth, that the payment of just debts
might be avoided, that their mortgaged lands might be wrested by main
force from the low-born individuals who had become possessed of them,
that, in particular, the rich abbey lands held by idle priests might be
appropriated to the use of impoverished gentlemen who could turn them to
so much better account. It is quite probable that interested motives
such as these were not entirely inactive among a comparatively small
class of gentlemen. The religious reformation in every land of Europe
derived a portion of its strength from the opportunity it afforded to
potentates and great nobles for helping themselves to Church property.
No doubt many Netherlanders thought that their fortunes might be improved
at the expense of the monks, and for the benefit of religion. Even
without apostasy from the mother Church, they looked with longing eyes
on the wealth of her favored and indolent children. They thought that
the King would do well to carve a round number of handsome military
commanderies out of the abbey lands, whose possessors should be bound
to military service after the ancient manner of fiefs, so that a splendid
cavalry, headed by the gentlemen of the country, should be ever ready to
mount and ride at the royal pleasure, in place of a horde of lazy
epicureans, telling beads and indulging themselves in luxurious vice.
Such views were entertained; such language often held. These
circumstances and sentiments had their influence among the causes which
produced the great revolt now impending. Care should be taken, however,
not to exaggerate that influence. It is a prodigious mistake to refer
this great historical event to sources so insufficient as the ambition of
a few great nobles, and the embarrassments of a larger number of needy
gentlemen. The Netherlands revolt was not an aristocratic, but a
popular, although certainly not a democratic movement. It was a great
episode--the longest, the darkest, the bloodiest, the most important
episode in the history of the religious reformation in Europe. The
nobles so conspicuous upon the surface at the outbreak, only drifted
before a storm which they neither caused nor controlled. Even the most
powerful and the most sagacious were tossed to and fro by the surge of
great events, which, as they rolled more and more tumultuously around
them, seemed to become both irresistible and unfathomable.
For the state of the people was very different from the condition of the
aristocracy. The period of martyrdom had lasted long and was to last
loner; but there were symptoms that it might one day be succeeded by a
more active stage of popular disease. The tumults of the Netherlands
were long in ripening; when the final outbreak came it would have been
more philosophical to enquire, not why it had occurred, but how it could
have been so long postponed. During the reign of Charles, the sixteenth
century had been advancing steadily in strength as the once omnipotent
Emperor lapsed into decrepitude. That extraordinary century had not
dawned upon the earth only to increase the strength of absolutism and
superstition. The new world had not been discovered, the ancient world
reconquered, the printing-press perfected, only that the inquisition
might reign undisturbed over the fairest portions of the earth, and
chartered hypocrisy fatten upon its richest lands. It was impossible
that the most energetic and quick-witted people of Europe should not feel
sympathy with the great effort made by Christendom to shake off the
incubus which had so long paralyzed her hands and brain. In the
Netherlands, where the attachment to Rome had never been intense, where
in the old times, the Bishops of Utrecht had been rather Ghibelline than
Guelph, where all the earlier sects of dissenters--Waldenses, Lollards,
Hussites--had found numerous converts and thousands of martyrs, it was
inevitable that there should be a response from the popular heart to the
deeper agitation which now reached to the very core of Christendom. In
those provinces, so industrious and energetic, the disgust was likely to
be most easily awakened for a system under which so many friars battened
in luxury upon the toils of others, contributing nothing to the taxation,
nor to the military defence of the country, exercising no productive
avocation, except their trade in indulgences, and squandering in taverns
and brothels the annual sums derived from their traffic in licences to
commit murder, incest, and every other crime known to humanity.
The people were numerous, industrious, accustomed for centuries to a
state of comparative civil freedom, and to a lively foreign trade, by
which their minds were saved from the stagnation of bigotry. It was
natural that they should begin to generalize, and to pass from the
concrete images presented them in the Flemish monasteries to the abstract
character of Rome itself. The Flemish, above all their other qualities,
were a commercial nation. Commerce was the mother of their freedom, so
far as they had acquired it, in civil matters. It was struggling to give
birth to a larger liberty, to freedom of conscience. The provinces were
situated in the very heart of Europe. The blood of a world-wide traffic
was daily coursing through the thousand arteries of that water-in-woven
territory. There was a mutual exchange between the Netherlands and all
the world; and ideas were as liberally interchanged as goods. Truth was
imported as freely as less precious merchandise. The psalms of Marot
were as current as the drugs of Molucca or the diamonds of Borneo. The
prohibitory measures of a despotic government could not annihilate this
intellectual trade, nor could bigotry devise an effective quarantine to
exclude the religious pest which lurked in every bale of merchandise, and
was wafted on every breeze from East and West.
The edicts of the Emperor had been endured, but not accepted. The
horrible persecution under which so many thousands had sunk had produced
its inevitable result. Fertilized by all this innocent blood, the soil
of the Netherlands became as a watered garden, in which liberty, civil
and religious, was to flourish perennially. The scaffold had its daily
victims, but did not make a single convert. The statistics of these
crimes will perhaps never be accurately adjusted, nor will it be
ascertained whether the famous estimate of Grotius was an exaggerated or
an inadequate calculation. Those who love horrible details may find
ample material. The chronicles contain the lists of these obscure
martyrs; but their names, hardly pronounced in their life-time, sound
barbarously in our ears, and will never ring through the trumpet of fame.
Yet they were men who dared and suffered as much as men can dare and
suffer in this world, and for the noblest cause which can inspire
humanity. Fanatics they certainly were not, if fanaticism consists in
show, without corresponding substance. For them all was terrible
reality. The Emperor and his edicts were realities, the axe, the stake
were realities, and the heroism with which men took each other by the
hand and walked into the flames, or with which women sang a song of
triumph while the grave-digger was shovelling the earth upon their living
faces, was a reality also.
Thus, the people of the Netherlands were already pervaded, throughout the
whole extent of the country, with the expanding spirit of religious
reformation. It was inevitable that sooner or later an explosion was to
arrive. They were placed between two great countries, where the new
principles had already taken root. The Lutheranism of Germany and the
Calvinism of France had each its share in producing the Netherland
revolt, but a mistake is perhaps often made in estimating the relative
proportion of these several influences. The Reformation first entered
the provinces, not through the Augsburg, but the Huguenot gate. The
fiery field-preachers from the south of France first inflamed the
excitable hearts of the kindred population of the south-western
Netherlands. The Walloons were the first to rebel against and the first
to reconcile themselves with papal Rome, exactly as their Celtic
ancestors, fifteen centuries earlier, had been foremost in the revolt
against imperial Rome, and precipitate in their submission to her
overshadowing power. The Batavians, slower to be moved but more
steadfast, retained the impulse which they received from the same source
which was already agitating their "Welsh" compatriots. There were
already French preachers at Valenciennes and Tournay, to be followed,
as we shall have occasion to see, by many others. Without undervaluing
the influence of the German Churches, and particularly of the garrison-
preaching of the German military chaplains in the Netherlands, it may be
safely asserted that the early Reformers of the provinces were mainly
Huguenots in their belief: The Dutch Church became, accordingly, not
Lutheran, but Calvinistic, and the founder of the commonwealth hardly
ceased to be a nominal Catholic before he became an adherent to the same
creed.
In the mean time, it is more natural to regard the great movement,
psychologically speaking, as a whole, whether it revealed itself in
France, Germany, the Netherlands, England, or Scotland. The policy of
governments, national character, individual interests, and other
collateral circumstances, modified the result; but the great cause was
the same; the source of all the movements was elemental, natural, and
single. The Reformation in Germany had been adjourned for half a century
by the Augsburg religious peace, just concluded. It was held in suspense
in France through the Macchiavellian policy which Catharine de Medici had
just adopted, and was for several years to prosecute, of balancing one
party against the other, so as to neutralize all power but her own. The
great contest was accordingly transferred to the Netherlands, to be
fought out for the rest of the century, while the whole of Christendom
were to look anxiously for the result. From the East and from the West
the clouds rolled away, leaving a comparatively bright and peaceful
atmosphere, only that they might concentrate themselves with portentous
blackness over the devoted soil of the Netherlands. In Germany, the
princes, not the people, had conquered Rome, and to the princes, not the
people, were secured the benefits of the victory--the spoils of churches,
and the right to worship according to conscience. The people had the
right to conform to their ruler's creed, or to depart from his land.
Still, as a matter of fact, many of the princes being Reformers, a large
mass of the population had acquired the privilege for their own
generation and that of their children to practise that religion which
they actually approved. This was a fact, and a more comfortable one than
the necessity of choosing between what they considered wicked idolatry
and the stake--the only election left to their Netherland brethren. In
France, the accidental splinter from Montgomery's lance had deferred the
Huguenot massacre for a dozen years. During the period in which the
Queen Regent was resolved to play her fast and loose policy, all the
persuasions of Philip and the arts of Alva were powerless to induce her
to carry out the scheme which Henry had revealed to Orange in the forest
of Vincennes. When the crime came at last, it was as blundering as it
was bloody; at once premeditated and accidental; the isolated execution
of an interregal conspiracy, existing for half a generation, yet
exploding without concert; a wholesale massacre, but a piecemeal plot.
The aristocracy and the masses being thus, from a variety of causes, in
this agitated and dangerous condition, what were the measures of the
government?
The edict of 1550 had been re-enacted immediately after Philip's
accession to sovereignty. It is necessary that the reader should be made
acquainted with some of the leading provisions of this famous document,
thus laid down above all the constitutions as the organic law of the
land. A few plain facts, entirely without rhetorical varnish, will prove
more impressive in this case than superfluous declamation. The American
will judge whether the wrongs inflicted by Laud and Charles upon his
Puritan ancestors were the severest which a people has had to undergo,
and whether the Dutch Republic does not track its source to the same
high, religious origin as that of our own commonwealth.
"No one," said the edict, "shall print, write, copy, keep, conceal, sell,
buy or give in churches, streets, or other places, any book or writing
made by Martin Luther, John Ecolampadius, Ulrich Zwinglius, Martin Bucer,
John Calvin, or other heretics reprobated by the Holy Church; nor break,
or otherwise injure the images of the holy virgin or canonized saints....
nor in his house hold conventicles, or illegal gatherings, or be present
at any such in which the adherents of the above-mentioned heretics
teach, baptize, and form conspiracies against the Holy Church and the
general welfare..... Moreover, we forbid," continues the edict, in name
of the sovereign, "all lay persons to converse or dispute concerning the
Holy Scriptures, openly or secretly, especially on any doubtful or
difficult matters, or to read, teach, or expound the Scriptures, unless
they have duly studied theology and been approved by some renowned
university..... or to preach secretly, or openly, or to entertain any of
the opinions of the above-mentioned heretics..... on pain, should anyone
be found to have contravened any of the points above-mentioned, as
perturbators of our state and of the general quiet, to be punished in the
following manner." And how were they to be punished? What was the
penalty inflicted upon the man or woman who owned a hymn-book, or who
hazarded the opinion in private, that Luther was not quite wrong in
doubting the power of a monk to sell for money the license to commit
murder or incest; or upon the parent, not being a Roman Catholic doctor
of divinity, who should read Christ's Sermon on the Mount to his children
in his own parlor or shop? How were crimes like these to be visited upon
the transgressor? Was it by reprimand, fine, imprisonment, banishment,
or by branding on the forehead, by the cropping of the ears or the
slitting of nostrils, as was practised upon the Puritan fathers of New
England for their nonconformity? It was by a sharper chastisement than
any of these methods. The Puritan fathers of the Dutch Republic had to
struggle against a darker doom. The edict went on to provide--
"That such perturbators of the general quiet are to be executed, to wit:
the men with the sword and the women to be buried alive, if they do not
persist in their errors; if they do persist in them, then they are to be
executed with fire; all their property in both cases being confiscated to
the crown."
Thus, the clemency of the sovereign permitted the repentant heretic to be
beheaded or buried, alive, instead of being burned.
The edict further provided against all misprision of heresy by making
those who failed to betray the suspected liable to the same punishment as
if suspected or convicted themselves: "we forbid," said the decree, "all
persons to lodge, entertain, furnish with food, fire, or clothing, or
otherwise to favor any one holden or notoriously suspected of being a
heretic;..... and any one failing to denounce any such we ordain shall be
liable to the above-mentioned punishments."
The edict went on to provide, "that if any person, being not convicted of
heresy or error, but greatly suspected thereof, and therefore condemned
by the spiritual judge to abjure such heresy, or by the secular
magistrate to make public fine and reparation, shall again become
suspected or tainted with heresy--although it should not appear that he
has contravened or violated any one of our abovementioned commands--
nevertheless, we do will and ordain that such person shall be considered
as relapsed, and, as such, be punished with loss of life and property,
without any hope of moderation or mitigation of the above-mentioned
penalties."
Furthermore, it was decreed, that "the spiritual judges, desiring to
proceed against any one for the crime of heresy, shall request any of our
sovereign courts or provincial councils to appoint any one of their
college, or such other adjunct as the council shall select, to preside
over the proceedings to be instituted against the suspected. All who
know of any person tainted with heresy are required to denounce and
give them up to all judges, officers of the bishops, or others having
authority on the premises, on pain of being punished according to the
pleasure of the judge. Likewise, all shall be obliged, who know of any
place where such heretics keep themselves, to declare them to the
authorities, on pain of being held as accomplices, and punished as such
heretics themselves would be if apprehended."
In order to secure the greatest number of arrests by a direct appeal to
the most ignoble, but not the least powerful principle of human nature,
it was ordained "that the informer, in case of conviction, should be
entitled to one half the property of the accused, if not more than one
hundred pounds Flemish; if more, then ten per cent. of all such excess."
Treachery to one's friends was encouraged by the provision, "that if
any man being present at any secret conventicle, shall afterwards come
forward and betray his fellow-members of the congregation, he shall
receive full pardon."
In order that neither the good people of the Netherlands, nor the judges
and inquisitors should delude themselves with the notion that these
fanatic decrees were only intended to inspire terror, not for practical
execution, the sovereign continued to ordain--"to the end that the judges
and officers may have no reason, under pretext that the penalties are too
great and heavy and only devised to terrify delinquents, to punish them
less severely than they deserve--that the culprits be really punished by
the penalties above declared; forbidding all judges to alter or moderate
the penalties in any manner forbidding any one, of whatsoever condition,
to ask of us, or of any one having authority, to grant pardon, or to
present any petition in favor of such heretics, exiles, or fugitives, on
penalty of being declared forever incapable of civil and military office,
and of being, arbitrarily punished besides."
Such were the leading provisions of this famous edict, originally
promulgated in 1550 as a recapitulation and condensation of all the
previous ordinances of the Emperor upon religious subjects. By its style
and title it was a perpetual edict, and, according to one of its clauses,
was to be published forever, once in every six months, in every city and
village of the Netherlands. It had been promulgated at Augsburg, where
the Emperor was holding a diet, upon the 25th of September. Its severity
had so appalled the Dowager Queen of Hungary, that she had made a journey
to Augsburg expressly to procure a mitigation of some of its provisions.
The principal alteration which she was able to obtain of the Emperor was,
however, in the phraseology only. As a concession to popular, prejudice,
the words "spiritual judges" were substituted for "inquisitors" wherever
that expression had occurred in the original draft.
The edict had been re-enacted by the express advice of the Bishop of
Arras, immediately on the accession of Philip: The prelate knew the value
of the Emperor's name; he may have thought, also, that it would be
difficult to increase the sharpness of the ordinances. "I advised the
King," says Granvelle, in a letter written a few years later, "to make no
change in the placards, but to proclaim the text drawn up by the Emperor,
republishing the whole as the King's edict, with express insertion of the
phrase, 'Carolus,' etc. I recommended this lest men should calumniate
his Majesty as wishing to introduce novelties in the matter of religion."
This edict, containing the provisions which have been laid before the
reader, was now to be enforced with the utmost rigor; every official
personage, from the stadholders down, having received the most stringent
instructions to that effect, under Philip's own hand. This was the first
gift of Philip and of Granvelle to the Netherlands; of the monarch who
said of himself that he had always, "from the beginning of his
government, followed the path of clemency, according to his natural
disposition, so well known to all the world;" of the prelate who said of
himself, "that he had ever combated the opinion that any thing could be
accomplished by terror, death, and violence."
During the period of the French and Papal war, it has been seen that the
execution of these edicts had been permitted to slacken. It was now
resumed with redoubled fury. Moreover, a new measure had increased the
disaffection and dismay of the people, already sufficiently filled with
apprehension. As an additional security for the supremacy of the ancient
religion, it had been thought desirable that the number of bishops should
be increased. There were but four sees in the Netherlands, those of
Arras, Cambray, Tournay, and Utrecht. That of Utrecht was within the
archiepiscopate of Cologne; the other three were within that of Rheims.
It seemed proper that the prelates of the Netherlands should owe no
extraprovincial allegiance. It was likewise thought that three millions
of souls required more than four spiritual superintendents. At any rate,
whatever might be the interest of the flocks, it was certain that those
broad and fertile pastures would sustain more than the present number of
shepherds. The wealth of the religious houses in the provinces was very
great. The abbey of Afflighem alone had a revenue of fifty thousand
florins, and there were many others scarcely inferior in wealth. But
these institutions were comparatively independent both of King and Pope.
Electing their own superiors from time to time, in nowise desirous of any
change by which their ease might be disturbed and their riches
endangered, the honest friars were not likely to engage in any very
vigorous crusade against heresy, nor for the sake of introducing or
strengthening Spanish institutions, which they knew to be abominated by
the people, to take the risk, of driving all their disciples into revolt
and apostacy. Comforting themselves with an Erasmian philosophy, which
they thought best suited to the times, they were as little likely as the
Sage of Rotterdam himself would have been, to make martyrs of themselves
for the sake of extirpating Calvinism. The abbots and monks were, in
political matters, very much under the influence of the great nobles, in
whose company they occupied the benches of the upper house of the States-
general.
Doctor Francis Sonnius had been sent on a mission to the Pope, for the
purpose of representing the necessity of an increase in the episcopal
force of the Netherlands. Just as the King was taking his departure,
the commissioner arrived, bringing with him the Bull of Paul the Fourth,
dated May 18, 1559. This was afterwards confirmed by that of Pius the
Fourth, in January of the following year. The document stated that
"Paul the Fourth, slave of slaves, wishing to provide for the welfare of
the provinces and the eternal salvation of their inhabitants, had
determined to plant in that fruitful field several new bishoprics. The
enemy of mankind being abroad," said the Bull, "in so many forms at that
particular time, and the Netherlands, then under the sway of that beloved
son of his holiness, Philip the Catholic, being compassed about with
heretic and schismatic nations, it was believed that the eternal welfare
of the land was in great danger. At the period of the original
establishment of Cathedral churches, the provinces had been sparsely
peopled; they had now become filled to overflowing, so that the original
ecclesiastical arrangement did not suffice. The harvest was plentiful,
but the laborers were few."
In consideration of these and other reasons, three archbishoprics were
accordingly appointed. That of Mechlin was to be principal, under which
were constituted six bishoprics, those, namely, of Antwerp, Bois le Due,
Rurmond, Ghent, Bruges and Ypres. That of Cambray was second, with the
four subordinate dioceses of Tournay, Arras, Saint Omer and Namur. The
third archbishopric was that of Utrecht, with the five sees of Haarlem,
Middelburg, Leeuwarden, Groningen and Deventer.
The nomination to these important offices was granted to the King,
subject to confirmation by the Pope. Moreover, it was ordained by the
Bull that "each bishop should appoint nine additional prebendaries, who
were to assist him in the matter of the inquisition throughout his
bishopric, two of whom were themselves to be inquisitors."
To sustain these two great measures, through which Philip hoped once and
forever to extinguish 1he Netherland heresy, it was considered desirable
that the Spanish troops still remaining in the provinces, should be kept
there indefinitely.
The force was not large, amounting hardly to four thousand men, but they
were unscrupulous, and admirably disciplined. As the entering wedge, by
which a military and ecclesiastical despotism was eventually to be forced
into the very heart of the land, they were invaluable. The moral effect
to be hoped from the regular presence of a Spanish standing army during a
time of peace in the Netherlands could hardly be exaggerated. Philip was
therefore determined to employ every argument and subterfuge to detain
the troops.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
Govern under the appearance of obeying
Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
No calumny was too senseless to be invented
Ruinous honors
Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
That vile and mischievous animal called the people
Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
William of Nassau, Prince of Orange
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1559-60 ***
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